‘Do you like that, Vivi?’
She moaned in answer, too overcome with sensation to form a coherent response. He backed her to the mirror, his fingers toying with her neckline where his thumbs grazed her nipples and the exquisite pressure coaxed a delicious tremor in response. ‘Max.’
‘Yes?’
His voice sounded as tight as hers.
‘Are you going to touch me again…there?’ Desire shot through her, the breathless words her most daring, but she needed to know.
‘You’ve too many skirts.’ His low-spoken complaint vibrated against her throat and he inhaled as if he wished to breathe her in, hold her inside of him.
‘Oh.’ Disappointment laced her answer and he chuckled, low and raspy against her neck, the vibration heightening the exquisite torture he caused. She slanted her head to allow him better access, the heated rush of their encounter near overwhelming yet she wanted more, needed more. He slipped a hand beneath her hair, the strands tangled between his fingers in his rush to slide along her spine and cradle her neck, his mouth once again atop hers, demanding she match him stroke for stroke. He tasted like erotic sin, forbidden fantasy, each rub of his tongue stoking the fire set ablaze by his unexpected appearance. Questions of every variety troubled her better sense and she let them go, anxious to be lost in sensation.
He lowered her sleeve with an agile slide of fabric, a trail of gooseflesh left in the wake. She slit her eyes, the walls reflecting candlelight and their tangled limbs from every angle until he broke away and drew her attention, their exhalations mingled, eyes matched. A thick lock of too-long hair fell across his brow. With an unrepentant, wicked half-smile he tugged her neckline lower, her chemise and corset exposed, the ribbon tie as weak in resisting his intention as her will.
‘Show me how beautiful you are.’ His raspy demand broke the quiet, his breathing ragged.
He waited, his gaze unwavering, while her pulse jumped with an odd mixture of objection and intrigue, his clandestine command all too tempting. She waited as well, spellbound by his dark intensity and enigmatic allure, her heart thrumming a frantic tattoo. What did he expect her to do? Open the buttons? Reveal herself?
He’d touched her that afternoon at the Underworld but he’d never seen her. Her eyes flicked to the candlelit lantern above his head, its yellow glow lending shallow illumination to their secretive assignation. How much would he truly see if she opened her bodice? Her hands trembled as she raised them to the pearl buttons. Her nipples tightened; her breasts grew heavy and sensitive within her corset.
His hand snatched over hers, stopping the action before it began.
‘Come here.’ He wrapped her in his embrace and lifted her chin with one fingertip, gently pressing a kiss and at the same time righting her sleeve. ‘It’s time for you to go.’
He lingered, no longer than the length of her exhalation and then reached above her head to a latch hidden by the crease where mirror met ceiling. Before she could object a single word, he shifted the glass panel on the left and with a brief backward glance vanished from sight.
The invariable sway of the wall lantern proved she hadn’t imagined the entire episode and too, her body hummed with the intimate heat of his last kiss.
‘There you are.’
She whirled towards Crispin’s voice, drawing a huge breath to force clarity before she ran a hand down her hair, grateful she’d worn it secured in a simple bandeau. She attempted a smile thankful for the shallow light, yet aware she’d fail to convince Crispin’s sagacious inspection. He rushed down the corridor towards her.
‘Are you all right?’
His voice held a tender note and her heart faltered, stricken with the piteous truth he had grown concerned when they’d separated. She had no time to consider it though as he clasped her hand and towed her forward.
‘Let’s quit this place. I’m not fond of it at all.’ He guided her forward, his hold tight despite offering an intermittent glance over his shoulder every third step to ensure she indeed followed. ‘You’re trembling.’
‘Yes. I lost my way.’ She shuddered through another breath. ‘This attraction proved full of unexpected surprises.’
With assertion, they exited the looking-glass house to find Sophie waiting, a short cup of lemonade in hand. ‘Good heavens, what happened to you?’ She straightened Vivienne’s neckline with a tug and hooked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. ‘Were you scared? You look a bit unravelled actually.’ She scanned Vivienne’s face a hard minute, at last abandoning the effort with a raised eyebrow when no explanation was forthcoming. ‘We can talk of it later if you prefer.’
Vivienne offered a wobbly smile that quickly developed strength. ‘Let’s stroll through the folly as Sophie wished earlier.’
‘That sounds a capital idea.’ Crispin asserted himself between the two females and offered both arms. ‘Flowers and ruins are more the thing for our evening.’
The usual ease of familiarity enveloped their trio and Vivienne didn’t dare glance back at the looking-glass house, afraid she might see something, someone. She jumped into the conversation, which had advanced to jam tartlets and cinnamon cakes as their chosen indulgence, and kept her eyes straight forward though her heart lacked the same resolve.
Sin waited for Wilson near Horsemonger Lane Gaol, the prison home to over three hundred criminals, many who would be executed at the gallows. Prison was too good for Pimms. Prison offered bland food, a bug-infested cot and ample opportunity for any man to perpetuate his taste for perversion, therefore making the accommodations above Pimms’ worth. Once he rid the world of the man, his life could resume a vein of normalcy.
It was only due to a missive sent by Wilson that Sin set foot near the property, angling his shoulder against the concealing lintel of an accommodation house on the corner of Swan Street in wait of the reliable informant. This was an area of social exclusion and homelessness. No one would choose to live near a prison, but social barriers and poverty often negotiate one’s life more than desire.
He cast a glance to the opposing corner, expecting Wilson, and instead catching the attention of two men, one lanthorn-jawed, his stomach slightly protuberant, the other with black-rimmed eyes, his ragged habiliments declaring him piteous. No one deserved unmerited starvation.
Sin shook his head and looked away, anxious to get on with his meeting. Wilson was never late. His absence caused concern. Sin measured the time by a glance to the sun, noting the dark clouds and threatening accumulation of billows along the horizon. Rain wasn’t far off. He’d wait a few minutes more.
As he did often when he needed relief, he conjured images of Vivienne, of late her sultry expression of bewitching innocence when she’d reached to open her chemise. She’d appeared so beautiful, the glimmer of suspended candlelight casting shadows and shine to her eyelashes and lovely tresses. He liked her hair unbound. How much easier for him to slide his hands through the lengths. Still he’d managed a great effort of restraint. When she’d reached for the first button, his cock strained, his body ached to see what lay beneath those layers of silk and linen. She would have shown him. He saw it in her beguiling green eyes.
He blinked hard. What was he doing? Why had he asked her to reveal herself? The answer came too easily. He needed to prove something in that moment, prove her loyalty to him…not that fair-haired nob Adonis.
It was wrong.
He scoffed, disgusted with his ridiculous spurt of jealousy and irrational interest. Sexual encounters came easily at the hell. Satisfying randy urges took little effort, but this was different altogether. Vivienne stayed with him. No matter whether he was engrossed in business or the mundane daily tasks needed to oversee the hell, with unexplainable constancy, her melodic voice, intoxicating fragrance and beatific smile, were always with him right below his skin, a fever in his blood. All his life he’d used his fists to express emotion and gain what he wanted. As he’d matured he employed a clever intelligence to assist, but
the feelings coursing through him concerning Vivienne were unfamiliar. And that truth cut the deepest.
It didn’t matter when he finished enacting revenge. His version of normal would never include Vivienne, lest everyone forget to which side of the blanket he belonged. The likelihood of that occurrence posed odds he would not gamble upon. Someone as precious as Vivienne deserved much more than he could offer. She warranted an erudite husband, a gentleman who would socialize in the finest circles with au courant acquaintances and every advantage.
Someone like Adonis.
He smothered the abhorrent deduction, uncomfortable with delving any deeper into why it tore him in two. He’d existed alone for so long, the lifestyle fit like worn leather boots. He relished the obscurity of tender emotion, anger easier to manage. Not that he didn’t enjoy companionship or yearn for it on another level, a deeper soul-cleaving level, but it was safer to ignore that question than try to find a suitable answer. He was accustomed to being independent. Life made more sense when he had only to rely on himself, free of obligation, most especially those of the heart.
He pushed from the wall and strode to the corner, his boot heels hollow on the cobblestones. He’d find no waiting hackney in this part of London. Best he walk a while and purge his unrest.
He’d conquered most of his distemper by the time he returned to the Underworld. Paying the driver, he swung from the hack and up the three steps to the front door. It would be hours before they opened to the public, but ledgers and paperwork demanded his attention beyond the parameters of business hours. Numbers often drowned idle regret.
He settled behind his desk with two fingers of brandy and flipped open the leather journal listing the largest vowels, elbow shakers of whom he held debt so grievous it was unlikely they’d ever recoup. He scrutinized the names, lost in mental sums when Cole knocked and entered. Sin meant to dodge all questions about the previous night but it was the first subject Cole speared.
‘What happened to you?’ He dropped on the couch in his usual spot. ‘Not that I was so bored amongst the jasmine to notice another’s tryst or absence thereof, but it was the occurrence afterward that made Luke and I curious to your whereabouts.’
‘And?’ He flipped the ledger closed and tossed back the remaining brandy in his glass. Neither of his partners knew about the miscreant who’d confronted him and injured Ransom, but assuming it was Pimms there seemed no reason to share his enemies when Cole and Luke had complicated personal agendas. Which reminded him, he needed to send a message to Wilson. It wasn’t like the informant to abandon a specified meeting.
‘Not sure really.’ Cole shook his head as if undecided how much credence to give the information. ‘As Luke and I made for the last available skiff we noticed a man trailing us, dressed in black with a low-brimmed hat. At first we didn’t think anything of it. I mean, we visited the playground of pickpockets, sharpers and lady-birds. Plenty of Vauxhall patrons leave with rum goggles; others keep a low profile because they shouldn’t be there in the first place.’
When Cole paused, Sin prodded. ‘And then what happened?’
‘It wasn’t until we were aboard the skiff and on water that the clouds cleared and moonlight flooded the embankment, lending us a better view of the man who watched us. Luke remembered seeing the same stranger outside the hell about a week ago: a short-statured man with a jagged scar on his cheek.’ Cole slanted his fingers to indicate the diagonal marking. ‘Does that mean anything to you?’
Sin shook his head in the negative. The intruder who confronted him on the street the other night was tall, fairly muscular, and as far as he could tell, possessed no distinguishable scar, though his view of the man’s face was limited by shadows. ‘No.’
‘There were five of us on that skiff, but I’d swear the little bracket-faced man was staring straight at me. I have no idea why.’ Cole stood and paced to the other side of the room. ‘He locked eyes as we pulled away and at the last minute the cur traced a finger across his neck.’ Cole did the same, his expression solemn.
Sin took this in with a thoughtful pause. ‘Luke’s leaving in two days’ time. We’ll be more short-handed than usual. I’ll have Ace and a few of the street boys keep watch. If anyone is marking our hell and targeting you, we’ll find out soon enough.’ He blew a frustrated breath and rose from behind the desk. ‘More than likely, you ran into a jug-bitten sot who was angry you nabbed the last skiff before he did.’
Cole gave a shrug and began to leave. ‘I hope so. Dying an untimely death is not on my schedule this week.’ He threw the door open to find Luke poised to enter on the other side and the two changed places, Luke closing the panel once again.
‘Heading out?’ Sin eyed his friend’s determined expression and considered pouring another brandy, but he’d wait and see where the conversation led.
‘Almost.’ Luke paced a line in front of the desk. ‘My stepbrother’s a cruel, heartless man.’
‘Agreed.’ Sin knew better than anyone how one’s family could perpetrate the cruellest actions.
‘Just because he has a title doesn’t mean he can take my son.’ Luke paused, his eyes bright with anger. ‘He can steal my money, sully my name, but he has no right to Nathaniel.’
Sin allowed his friend to rail. ‘You’re a better man.’ He couldn’t imagine losing one’s child. He still experienced the pain of his mother’s tragic death. At least he’d never have to face the responsibility and endless worry of a wife and children. He’d resigned himself long ago to living life alone and the decision suited.
‘It’s been years since I’ve mourned my situation, bastardry never more impactful than now.’
‘A man is not responsible for his birth.’ How well the three knew that to be true.
‘I agree, though it’s times like this when I wouldn’t mind the influence of a title. My stepbrother’s viscountcy has afforded him every advantage to escape my pursuit.’ Luke stopped in the middle of the floor.
‘Everything in London can be bought and sold. If you’d like, I can contact the Duke of Kent on your behalf. We haven’t spoken in ten years, but I remain confident he would grant me the favour.’ He didn’t add that Kent would likely be thrilled to see him, renew their friendship and gladly grant the boon requested. Letters to that effect had arrived years prior, but Sin had ignored them.
All those years ago at Eton as they sought the vicissitudes of higher education, Sin possessed the brawn to deter mean-spirited bullies with a few solid punches. He’d hadn’t formed any friendships considering the scar of his birth, but one afternoon he’d grown tired of watching a slight lad accept the torment of two oversized youths whenever beyond the headmaster’s watch. Sin took the two bullies down with no effort and in return gained the eternal gratitude of the boy, a lad named Hugh Amberson.
Through unfortunate death and a lack of male heirs, Hugh became the Duke of Kent with unexpected prematurity. Despite random correspondence in the years directly after Eton, Sin never stayed in one place long enough for Hugh to find him. And, too, he never saw a reason to enter Hugh’s world and be reminded of all the reasons he didn’t belong.
‘I’ll keep that in mind. I wouldn’t wish to add trouble to your life by ripping open old wounds.’ Luke extended his hand in a gesture that superseded their usual informal conversation. ‘Thank you.’
Sin clasped his friend’s palm in a firm handshake and didn’t say more.
Chapter Thirteen
Rain slashed the windows in a fresh onslaught of weather, disturbing the placidity Vivienne found in the sitting room. It had stormed the better part of the night, thunder and lightning, twin villains who robbed her fitful sleep. At last she’d risen in the wee hours to pace the floor, hopeful the winds would abate but it proved to no avail, her emotions as turbulent as the sky’s distemper.
Now warmed by a tea tray prepared by Cook, she welcomed the solitude of morning for no other reason than to review the tumultuous events of last evening’s e
xcursion to Vauxhall.
Mercy, she couldn’t keep away the memory of Max’s tongue inside her mouth and the bedevilling question he posed at the Underworld. What if I were to kiss you there? She squirmed deeper into the overstuffed cushion of her chair beside the hearth, his suggestion evoking all kinds of unbidden sensitivity, his kisses last evening pure sin. What would it feel like to have his hot mouth— She blinked rapidly and forced away the image.
Despite the heated passion she’d seen in Max’s intense gaze, his eyes possessed a haunting pain no devilment could conceal by way of wolfish charm. Oh, he was handsome in the worst way. So much so one was tempted to overlook the underlying emotion masked by strength and command, but she’d noticed the flicker of pained insecurity, heard the slight change in his voice’s tenor when he’d asked of Crispin’s identity. Did that mean Max cared for her? There was no way to decipher affection from jealousy. Often the two qualities intertwined and, at times, seemed dependent upon each other, though she’d have to rely on Sophie’s knowledge more than her own.
And Crispin, he too showed great emotion with no attempt to disguise his adoration. Releasing a defeated exhalation, she stirred an additional teaspoon of sugar into her tea, and took a sip, disappointed when it tasted overly sweet. What was she to do? She didn’t wish to see anyone hurt, including herself.
When would she see Max again? She could hardly carry out her plan to reform the man when she craved his ruin, the contradiction of purpose most unsettling. She held his vowels. Shouldn’t she return them? Her purposeful misinterpretation of his debt almost amused except, the conundrum proved nearly impossible, their social circles never to intersect. Still she wished for another chance meeting, the opportunity to learn beyond the sweet seduction of his perfected kiss. She was of a giving nature, raised by her mother to do unto others and improve their lives, even if that work meant sacrifice on her part.
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