‘Of course, I don’t flatter myself that I could handle this on my own—rousting about on the downs as a boy is a far cry from navigating the seamier parts of London unnoticed. But I’ll be roughly dressed, and will stay with another of the Bow Street men, who is to provide reinforcements for Hines, if necessary. I want to be near in case we discover...something it would be more proper for me to pursue. Because if we do, I shall pursue it immediately.’
‘How I wish I could go, too!’ She raised a hand to forestall his protest. ‘I know that’s not possible—it would be selfish, as well as imprudent, to trail along and end up deflecting Mr Hines from his mission with the need to shield me from danger. But oh, how just waiting chafes at me! Promise me you will return and let me know what happened—no matter how late! There’s no way I will be able to sleep until I know the outcome. Until I know you are safe.’
He laid his hand over hers, and she closed her eyes, a little sigh of pleasure escaping her lips at even that small measure of contact.
‘You mustn’t worry, Maggie. If I end up in harm’s way, it’s no more than I deserve, for placing you in danger.’
‘If you feel you deserve retribution for that, only think how I would feel if you were injured, trying to protect me!’ she retorted.
He lifted her hand and placed a lingering kiss on it, his gaze as he raised his eyes smouldering enough to dispel her worries that he was ready to end their liaison.
‘How I’ve missed you every morning,’ she whispered.
‘Not half as much as I’ve missed you,’ he assured her.
‘Then may your mission tonight go well, so we may resume our visits to Upper Brook Street.’
‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure.’
He stared at her mouth, the intensity of his gaze making her lips tingle and firing her body with need. She closed her eyes and raised her chin, hoping he would follow with his lips the path of his gaze.
She sensed him leaning closer, and her senses exulted. But just as she felt the warmth of his breath and parted her lips to welcome him, he jerked away, cold air replacing that warm promise.
‘I’d better go before I do something we’ll both regret,’ he said, his voice strained.
‘Have you taken some sort of holy vow not to kiss me until this quest is completed?’ she asked, aware she sounded more than a little sulky. ‘You might regret it. I would just enjoy it.’
‘Temptress!’ he said as he rose from the sofa. ‘I will make you pay for teasing me...later.’
‘Now that,’ she replied, struggling to silence the complaints of her frustrated body, ‘sounds a great deal more promising.’
She walked with him to the parlour door. ‘You will call later tonight—promise me?’
He nodded. ‘I promise.’
With that, she let him go. Tonight, she knew as she walked back to her study, the time would crawl more slowly than ever.
Chapter Eighteen
Maggie tried to stay calm as the night progressed, concentrating on conversing with her great-aunt at dinner, then forcing herself to scan the novel she’d told her great-aunt she intended to read when she’d insisted Aunt Lilly attend her evening entertainments as planned.
By the time her great-aunt returned after midnight, Maggie had become less and less successful at diverting herself. No longer able to concentrate, she abandoned the book to take up some cards. Quickly tiring of playing against herself, she tossed down the pasteboard in frustration and jumped up to pace about the room.
By the time the clock struck one, she was swearing oaths under her breath her great-aunt would have been shocked to discover she knew. If she’d had any idea where Giles could be found, she would have gone out in pursuit.
Finally, as the mantel clock stuck the half past one, a drowsy footman knocked at her door. ‘Lady Margaret, there’s a gentleman begging to see you. I told him it was—’
‘Show him in at once,’ she cut the lad off, so relieved she exhaled in a rush that left her dizzy. With her next breath, she vowed she would throttle Giles for making her wait so long.
But the tart words died on her tongue when the door opened to admit, not Giles, but his friend David Tanner Smith.
Fear like an icy hand clutched her heart. ‘What happened? Where is Giles?’
‘Don’t worry!’ he assured her. ‘He’s hurt—but not seriously,’ he added at her gasp. ‘I’m so sorry you had to wait so long. Apparently after Hines left the inn, Godfrey and some others circled behind them as they made their way out of Seven Dials. Giles sustained a knife wound to his hand, but is otherwise unharmed—he gave as good as he got, he told me. He’s already had a doctor clean the wound and bandage it.’
‘Thank Heaven for that!’ Maggie cried, glad for the doctor’s treatment, but not at all reassured that the result would not be serious. A knife puncture could fester, become inflamed...
‘Unbeknownst to Giles,’ Smith continued, ‘the doctor slipped some laudanum in the wine he gave him as a restorative. He’d written you a note—badly, with his left hand—but fell asleep before he could instruct Phillips to deliver it, and only woke up when I came in. Knowing by now you’d probably be frantic, I offered to come in person and reassure you, since a note written in a wobbly hand that admitted he’d been injured might have been alarming. Shall I relate the whole of what happened?’
She tried to tell herself this was Giles, not Robbie. Not the lover who’d been brought back to her broken, battered—and dead.
Trying to stem a rising panic, she said, ‘Never mind, I’ll ask Giles. I’m coming back with you. I want to see that wound myself.’
Smith stared at her for a moment. ‘I don’t suppose I need to remind you how...improper it would be for you to visit a gentleman’s rooms? Or the result to your reputation, should the visit become known.’
‘You do not,’ she snapped. Not even to herself could she fully explain the urgent need to fly to him. ‘Don’t you understand? I must see for myself that he’s not in danger! Do you think I care if the ladies of society cut me from their invitation lists or gossip behind my back? I have no desire to remarry, and I doubt my father’s political associates care in the least what I do. Papa—well, I can bring him around. And that’s only if someone finds out. If I am in and out again before daylight, most likely no one will ever know.’
Her determination must have been written on her face, for after another glance, Mr Smith made no further attempt to dissuade her. ‘Then we must see that you are back before dawn.’
She nodded. ‘I’ll get my cloak.’
* * *
A half-hour later, slipping along like proverbial thieves in the night, Mr Smith and a heavily veiled Maggie walked into Albany towards the rooms Giles shared with his friend. Ushering her into the common area, Mr Smith whispered, ‘He may be sleeping. I’ll be in my chamber. Call if you need anything, and when you’re ready to return, let me know.’
Her hands trembling with anxiety, Maggie hurried to the door of the chamber Mr Smith indicated, and quietly let herself in.
A candle burned at his bedside. In the flickering light, Maggie could make out Giles reclining against the pillows, still wearing torn and soiled breeches and a ragged shirt. His hair was dishevelled, cuts and what appeared to be developing bruises shadowed his chin and cheekbone, and his injured hand, wrapped in a bloodied bandage, lay propped on a pillow.
Despite herself, Maggie uttered an involuntary cry of distress.
Giles opened his eyes to squint up at her. ‘Maggie?’
‘Yes, Maggie,’ she replied, rushing to his side. ‘You look a fright! First I shall clean you up, and then I will abuse you for scaring me to death. That was the longest night of my life!’
He seemed to come fully awake then, sucking in a breath with a hiss as he struggled to sit up straight. ‘Stars
in Heaven, what was Davie thinking? He shouldn’t have brought you here!’
‘Don’t blame him. I would have come on my own, if he hadn’t escorted me.’
‘But, Maggie—’
‘Hush, and don’t give me any treckle about propriety. Where can I get clean water?’
‘Phillips left some in the basin, there on the dresser. I’d intended to finish washing up, but apparently that damned sawbones drugged my wine.’
‘He probably wanted to make sure you rested until the bleeding stopped. And don’t get up now, lest you start it again,’ she said, putting a hand on his chest to restrain him.
His bare chest, where some of his shirt had been torn away. Despite her anxiety, deep within, a current of response stirred at this touch of flesh on flesh.
For a moment, they both stared at her hand, resting there so intimately.
‘Really, sweetheart, I’m not that badly hurt,’ he said at last.
‘I hope not,’ she replied, pulling herself back to her task. ‘But I’ll reserve judgement until we get you out of those filthy garments and re-bandage that hand.’
Following his direction, she fetched water, soap, and clean rags. Helping him to sit at the side of the bed, she tugged up the ruined shirt and carefully eased him out of it.
There were cuts and scrapes on his shoulder, but minor enough that he didn’t even flinch as she gently washed away the dirt. There was indeed a bruise on his cheek and another on his chin, but the skin was unbroken, nor did he protest when she pressed on them.
‘It’s been a long time since I’ve taken a right to the chin,’ he said. ‘A glancing blow, fortunately.’
‘Mr Smith told me your group was attacked. What happened?’
‘Hines went to the tavern to find Godfrey, posing as an intermediary for someone who needed a problem “disposed of”, and was willing to pay handsomely. Godfrey agreed to consider it, and named a price. But he must have been suspicious to be sought out again so soon after the...incident in Kent. After Hines left, he gathered some mates to follow us. But Hines had warned us about that possibility, so we weren’t totally unprepared for the attack. Unluckily for them, all three of us once had aspirations to the fancy, and we weren’t the prime pigeons for plucking they must have expected. After a bit of a dust-up, we overcame them and marched them off to the constable. If it hadn’t been for Godfrey pulling out a knife at the last, I’d have walked away with nothing more than a few bruises.’
While he talked, Maggie moved her ministrations from his back to his chest and arms, washing off the dirt and patting him dry with the soft cloth. As she stroked over his arms and shoulders, Giles fell silent. ‘It’s worth a little cut to the hand, to have you do that.’
‘We’ll see, when I get to the hand! Now, out of those breeches. I’m afraid both they and the shirt are only fit for the rag-and-bone man.’
She tugged at his waistband, urging him to stand long enough for her to peel down the trousers, but he hesitated.
She looked up into his eyes. ‘Surely you’re not shy! It’s not as though I haven’t see you—or parts of you—before.’
‘True, you’ve not seen the whole package unwrapped at once,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘And when you do, you’ll know immediately that I find the idea—very arousing.’
Her breath hitched and expectation swirled in the pit of her stomach. But she did need to get him out of his dirty garments and under his blankets, with his bandages changed so he could rest—and she could chastely return to Aunt Lilly’s.
‘I promise not to stare—more than I have to,’ she added.
He stood then, and let her tug the trousers down and pull off the socks. Only then did she raise her eyes—to find him, as he’d hinted, fully erect.
She’d had glancing views of his rigid member as she caressed him within the confines of his breeches, or under and through the linen of his shirt. But to see him completely naked, from toes to collarbone, every handsome well-made line of him, the curve of calf, strong-muscled thighs, flat belly, broad chest, strong arms and shoulders...
Her mouth dried and her heartbeat galloped. Conflicted between desire and duty, Maggie tried to remind herself that, no matter how ready he might appear, he’d sustained an injury and needed to avoid any exertion that might start it bleeding again.
He simply stood there watching her, his blue eyes molten in the candlelight, every muscle taut, temptation incarnate, waiting for her to decide.
Near cursing with frustration and regret, she stuttered, ‘W-we’d better get you u-under the bedclothes, before you catch a ch-chill.’
He laughed, something between a chuckle and a groan. ‘I’m not likely to be chilled any time soon.’
Instead of making her smile, his attempt at humour reminded her of the danger his wound might pose. ‘Let’s just hope you don’t turn feverish, either.’
He let her help him back into bed. She was proud that, though it took gritted teeth and incredible will-power, she managed to keep herself from running her fingers over any of that glorious naked flesh before she hid it under the blankets.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath to refocus her mind, she pulled a chair close to the bed. Bringing the candle nearer to shed the most light on the injury, she gently unwound the bloody bandage.
She gasped, tears starting to her eyes. A long, jagged cut slashed across his palm, biting deep beneath the thumb, where the doctor had closed the gap with tiny stitches. Blood still seeped from the edges, but the wound appeared stable, the skin scraped and reddened, but not warm with fever. Yet, anyway.
‘You should sprinkle yarrow powder on it, to keep it from b-bleeding,’ she said, a hitch in her voice as she swiped a wrist across her eyes, having unaccountable difficulty trying to stem the trickle of tears.
‘Don’t worry, sweetheart,’ Giles said, his voice tender. ‘It was a clean cut, fortunately done after we finished rolling about the alleyway. It’s going to pain me for a while, but it will heal.’
Out of memory, the images attacked her. Broken bones that left the limbs at odd, unnatural angles. And blood—blood everywhere.
‘I’m sorry—I’m sorry!’ she said, trying to hold back the sobs. ‘It’s just...midnight, shadows, and candlelight, and blood... It b-brings it all back.’
‘When they carried your husband home,’ he guessed.
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘Poor sweetheart,’ he murmured. With his good hand, he pulled her up on the bed and hugged her against him.
The frustration of being confined, the strain and worry of waiting, and the nightmare images of blood and injury must have worn her down, for the tears fell harder and faster until she was clinging to Giles, sobbing uncontrollably. He held her tightly, caressing her back and murmuring soothingly.
At last, the tears were spent. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, embarrassed at her lack of control. ‘I promise, I’m not usually such a watering-pot.’
‘Nor are you often called to tend dirty and bleeding gentlemen in the middle of the night,’ he replied. ‘You’re tired, sweeting. Rest here a bit, and we’ll send you home.’
She snuggled against him. But as the misery ebbed and calm returned, she became more and more aware that the arms that cradled her were bare, and the body beneath the bedclothes completely naked.
Little chills chased up and down her arms, and simmering arousal boiled back up. Could she leave without paying homage to that glorious manhood?
‘No, I shouldn’t,’ she murmured, only half-aware she’d spoken the words aloud. ‘You need rest, too.’
She looked at him, to see his eyes blazing again with heat and need. ‘Thanks to the good doctor, I’ve already had a rest.’
Wavering, she said, ‘I should kiss you goodbye, and go. Your poor hand!’
‘I have one good one,’
he said, and pulled her to him.
His lips met hers—and she was lost.
Their days of separation and abstinence seemed to have created a boiling cauldron of desire that required only that small nudge to spill out of control. She couldn’t get enough of the taste of him, thrusting into his mouth, laving tongue against tongue, deep and hard and fast.
While they kissed, she tugged at the bedclothes, until she could reach within and run her hand over the bare flesh, as she’d yearned to since the moment she unclothed him. He caught her hand and brought it down to his erection, guiding her fingers over and around him.
She wanted more, closer. Lifting herself up, still kissing him, she dragged the covers aside, baring his body to her sight as well as her touch. But she craved the feel of skin against skin.
Too impatient for the slow process of undoing all the pins and fastenings of her bodice, she simply pulled up her skirts and lay against him, sighing with delight as she rubbed her bared legs against his.
But that wasn’t enough either—she burned to feel him, around and within her, inside that aching needy place that had wanted for him for weeks. Rising up on her knees, she parted her legs and straddled him, stroking her hot centre over the slick velvet of his hardness.
He broke the kiss, his eyes wild, half-focused. ‘Are you...sure?’
‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘Yes.’
Clutching his shoulders, she leaned down to kiss him as she thrust down with her hips, and sheathed him within. He pulled her close and she rubbed against him, savouring the delicious stretch and fullness.
Ah, this was paradise, the exquisite feel of him buried deep, pulsing within her. She heard a moan, not sure whether it was his or hers.
He rocked, just a slight movement within her, and suddenly it was impossible to remain still. She thrust down, pulled back, thrust down, the pleasure of it almost unbearably intense. And then they were moving together, one body, one flesh, one need, one purpose, racing each other to glorious completion.
Afterwards, Maggie lay trembling against him, listening to the frantic beat of his heart that echoed her own. An indescribable peace settled over her, satiation and fulfilment and something more, something profound and tender that penetrated to the depths of her soul with a sense of its beauty and rightness.
Forbidden Nights with the Viscount Page 21
