He cradled her face in his hands as his gaze searched hers. "I would have my kiss now."
A hot shiver ran down her spine at those six little words.
Quinn inched closer until their breath mingled. She wanted to make light of the situation, to ask if he would find her lips today, but the quip wouldn't come to her tongue. A tremble started in her knees, and she thought herself a young girl again, weak at the thought of her first kiss. Ridiculous. She had far more experience than he, and the thought of a mere kiss shouldn't move her this way.
Ianthe closed her eyes and tilted her chin up as the moment of anticipation stretched out and a hungry yearning swirled inside her. His lips touched hers. Warm and firm, they slid over her flesh. She sighed and parted her lips, but too late.
He was gone, pulling his head back a few inches.
She opened her eyes to find his warm, laughing gaze.
"That's four," he said as he stroked the side of her face.
Part of her wanted to kick him in the shins. What was this coy nonsense? She was a courtesan; she could lift her skirts and take him into her body and it would elicit as much excitement as thinking about kippers for breakfast. But hearing him ask for his kiss made her sluggish pulse race. The tiniest caress from his lips, and liquid heat ran through her limbs until she could moan for more.
"At least you found my lips this time, though I'm not entirely sure you know what to do with them." There, she'd managed a quick barb. Perhaps he was an inexperienced lover? A virgin, even? She stared into his gaze. No. There was a self-assurance in his gaze that told her he knew exactly what he was doing.
A slow chuckle rumbled from deep within his chest. "Are you always this impatient to have things over and done with? I'm quite enjoying the anticipation, myself. Each kiss is to be savoured like an expensive wine. Each sip builds on the previous one. Each day takes us a little farther along this road together."
Quinn still held her face. They were so close, and intimacy drew them closer. She fought an urge to press herself to his chest, to have him fold her in his arms. To hear him repeat that one word again, together, as though he was thinking about more than the next few days. Dratted man.
"You’d better go while you still look presentable. Keeping your appearance tidy seems as difficult as keeping a ten-year-old boy clean. Imagine if you could shift—Perkins’ work would be undone in an instant." She said the words and almost immediately wished she could call them back.
Pain flashed through his gaze, and his hands dropped to his sides. "Until this afternoon, then." He gave a somewhat stiff bow and turned on his heel.
Ianthe watched his retreating back and then touched a hand to her mouth. What was she doing?
Sarah entered the room and cast a glance at the exiting Quinn. She closed the door behind him. "You're playing a dangerous game with that one, for all he seems young and innocent. You forget there's a wolf inside him, a predatory beast that could shred you to ribbons."
"I've not forgotten," she whispered, as a fingertip traced the line he'd taken along her lip.
To endure in this world, Ianthe had built a dam. It held back all her hopes, dreams, and most importantly, her emotions. To part her legs and service men for coin, she had to turn herself off. She couldn't feel, or the hurt would overwhelm her. Quinn Muir wielded a pickaxe, and had attacked the stone walls of her dam. First cracks appeared, and then a leak. A tiny trickle of emotion had already escaped. What would happen if he broke through, if the entire reservoir of ten years of hiding her true self flooded her being? Would she survive such a wave of despair, emptiness, and crushed hopes?
11
Quinn
* * *
Quinn didn't have far to travel from Ianthe's modest house in Knightsbridge to his destination in Kensington. He decided to walk, since his horse was stabled at the mews not far from Aunt Maggie's home, and he'd rather not waste coin on a hackney. Buying the parasol for Ianthe had put a dent in his finances that he had yet to repair. The exercise also gave him valuable time to sort out the swirling mess in his head. His fellow Wolves would just make fun of his serious expression while he mentally wrestled with the situation.
In no time at all, he bounded up the front path to Aunt Maggie's house. The formidable Scottish matron kept a cannon on her roof and a blunderbuss under the chaise to deal with those pesky Sassenachs. She didn't see the irony of holding that view while living in London: Her location was necessary for her campaign to free Scotland from English rule, and she liked to corner unguarded politicians at society events. The front door opened as Quinn approached. He bowled through the entranceway and spun left into the front parlour, the usual gathering place for the extended family.
Inside, Aunt Maggie held court on the chaise, her feet up on the footstool. At over seventy, she still kept an iron rule over her pups. A young woman sat next to her. One might describe her as ordinary, of average height and build, with softly curling brown hair. It was only when you met her gaze that she was elevated to extraordinary. Her eyes were a deep violet, and were the window to an equally stunning intellect. The sister of his heart and mind, although not of his blood.
"Married life appears to agree with you, Aster," he said as he bent down to kiss her cheek and then Aunt Maggie's. The younger woman had a bloom to her cheeks that turned red as she glanced at her husband.
Then he turned his attention to the men in the room, his fellow soldiers in the Highland Wolves and his pack brothers.
"Hamish." Quinn shook hands with his captain. A man of lean muscle with an auburn tint to his hair, the wolves followed his command, whether they fought openly or covertly.
Hamish had approached Quinn about the formation of the Highland Wolves and the possibly fatal consequences of joining. Quinn took the bite because he had nothing to lose and so much to gain. The Unnaturals were faster, stronger, and with better senses than their ordinary soldier counterparts. The change also bound the men into a unit tighter than a regiment or blood brothers; they were now a pack.
The bite affected each man differently. Some like Hamish and Alick embraced the change without any harm and slipped from one form to the other as easily as dipping their hands into water. A few had their minds as well as their bodies fractured and did not survive. Quinn was the only one who struggled with a trapped wolf, unable to transform.
Alick, the large Scotsman with the scarred face, raised his glass to Quinn. "How's the mission? Gone under the covers yet?"
It rankled that they assumed he was sleeping with the courtesan; did they see only her occupation and not the woman? "I thought I might take time to get to know her through conversation first."
Alick barked a loud laugh. "She have no liking for young pups then? Did she shoo you out to the yard in preference for an older hound?"
"I think it is admirable that Quinn is treating her like a person, not a mere object to be used," Aster said, and shot the formidable warrior a hard stare. "Let's remember Ianthe is not suspected of being a traitor. Quinn is merely seeking anything she might know about those who are."
Alick shuffled his feet and muttered something about the young woman spending far too much time with Aunt Maggie. Quinn smiled and dropped to a sofa, relieved that his pretend sister understood his tactic, even if his fellow soldiers did not. Ewan passed him a tumbler of Aunt Maggie's illegal whisky.
"Quinn does have an interesting opportunity," Ewan said. "A week in Ianthe's company is unprecedented access. Let us hope he discovers something about our conspirators that gives us a trail to unravel their plot."
"Lord Bathurst has asked me to report any developments directly to him." Hamish kept his hazel gaze on Quinn, even as his hand caressed the side of his bride's neck. Bathurst was the War Secretary, and had taken a direct interest in pursuing the list of traitors now that their spymaster had been slain by one of the men named on the list. "There is still no word of Forge, and we suspect he has gone to ground until his copy of the list is decoded. That gives us a valuable lead to
gather evidence against the other men."
Aster worked as a cryptographer, and had supplied the turncoat agent Forge with an altered list of traitors. She also complied a register of Unnaturals, another avenue of information that Quinn wanted to talk to her about.
Quinn stared at his drink as his thoughts tumbled through his mind. There was much that did not affect their mission that he planned to keep to himself, like the grip around his heart whenever Ianthe was near him, and the overwhelming urge to protect her. In some ways, he played the double agent. While his original duty was to learn if she knew of Sir Phillip or Viscount Hoth's plans, he had another mission, a deeply personal one: to make the Cyprian his.
He looked up at his captain. "Ianthe is slow to trust and it takes time to build. I have a chance to encourage that. She has asked for my help to find a friend. There is another courtesan called Alice Sheppard, who was set aside by her patron some eight months ago. Ianthe heard she was unwell and is trying to locate her. Those in London think she retired to Somerset, while her family in the country think she still resides at her rooms in London."
"A puzzle," Aster said, her quick mind grabbing at the task. "How can a woman be in two places simultaneously?"
"Exactly." Quinn sighed. He needed to find the woman to show Ianthe she could have faith in him. It would be a step toward gaining her confidence. Although finding a missing woman seemed a far simpler task than wooing the one living under the same roof as him.
"Ah," Aster continued, one finger tapping against the teacup in her hand. "But the answer is that she is not in either location."
All eyes turned to the young woman. Quinn regarded his sister. He should have known she would relish the idea of a mystery to be solved. "What do you mean? How do you deduce that?"
Aster smiled. "Someone is using a ruse to divide attention between her former residence in London and family in Somerset. I suspect she will be in a third place."
"An interesting hypothesis," Ewan said. "Which would also imply there is more to her disappearance than it appears at first glance."
"Then let us find this woman, solve the mystery, and Quinn can earn Ianthe's trust." Hamish delegated tasks: Ewan was to canvass his contacts amongst the demi-monde, while the captain and Alick would ask about the woman in shelters for fallen women. Aster would sort through any information they found, and direct their actions.
"There is another issue concerning Viscount Hoth. After we encountered him in the street, Ianthe asked me if one Unnatural can sense another." Quinn looked to his captain.
"There are those among the demi-monde who call him the Reaper, because he supposedly collects souls," Ewan said.
Hamish raised an eyebrow. "An added complication if he were an unnatural creature. Aster, have you encountered his name?"
She closed her eyes for a moment as she searched her memory. "His name never came across my desk, but our register is incomplete. I only started my work last year and I have centuries of information to collate. I can check the genealogies and see if he is mage-blooded. Is the missing woman a former mistress of Hoth's?"
"Not that Ianthe has said, but I suspect there is a connection between the two." It troubled Quinn. A man rumoured to collect the souls of his mistresses and a missing woman. Finding one might answer questions about the other.
"If he is Unnatural or mage-blooded, we will find out. It may be relevant to whatever the traitors intend to do next. There was a rumour of a magical weapon," Hamish said.
Aster smiled to Hamish and then rose from her seat. She curled her hand around Quinn's upper arm. "With that sorted, now I would take a turn outside with Quinn. I want to speak to my brother in private, without you lot hanging on every word."
Aunt Maggie cackled from her corner, and Hamish sighed. "I see you are schooling Aster in how to handle Scottish wolves, Aunt Maggie."
Laughter and conversation drifted through the door as Quinn waved to his fellow soldiers and left the parlour. He pulled Aster a little closer and whispered in her ear, "Thank you."
He led her through the house and out to the long, narrow garden at the rear. Their feet crunched over the lime chip as they passed the roses. Clipped green hedging contained a riot of colours, and a gentle perfume drifted through the spring air. Once through the little ornamental garden, they crossed the lawn and headed for a stone bench under a horizontal elm. The tree's outstretched limbs made a natural umbrella of bright green, diluting the rising sun.
Quinn sat on the bench next to Aster. His adopted sister waited for him to begin, picking up on his need to talk without the others judging his thoughts. They had not known each other for long, but adversity had thrown them together. An easy friendship flourished between them, as though they had been raised together all their lives. He leaned his arms on his legs, staring at his hands.
"When I first saw Ianthe, I was struck by two things: her beauty and the way she rode. I will admit she infatuated me, but as I spend time with her, it has become something far deeper."
He paused, struggling to find the words to explain how the woman touched every aspect of his life. In his waking moments, it was as though the sun shone a little brighter when she was around. He wanted to bombard her with questions about her life, her dreams, what she was thinking. The need to know every tiny detail about her swept over him like an enormous wave.
At the same time, there was a deep sense of loneliness and fatigue wrapped around Ianthe, and he longed to draw her into his arms and protect her from the world. He wanted to envelop her with gentle peace, to give her time to heal from all that plagued her, and to watch her flourish anew.
At night, his dreams were full of other, far more heated things he longed to do with the courtesan. The only relief he found was that delivered by his hand, but he wasn't discussing that with his sister. He sighed and picked up a fallen leaf, his thumb stroking the veins running along the back.
"I am drawn to her, as if she were true north and I but a compass needle," he said.
Aster laid a hand on his forearm. "That's a beautiful analogy."
He flashed her a smile. The men would crucify him over such a display of softness in his head. Only with Aster could he pull out his feelings and examine them in an attempt to understand what they meant.
Aster's violet gaze met his. "Do you love her?"
A simple question, but he didn't have an answer. Another heavy sigh escaped his chest. "I have only known her for a matter of days. Can one know such a thing in such a short space of time?"
"Is there a required length of time before such feelings emerge? I'm sure every couple is different, but I wholly believe you can know in an instant if a person is meant for you or not. Particularly for the Wolves. Hamish said his wolf knew me to be his mate from the first instance. That, on an instinctive level, the creature knew we were meant to be together. What does your wolf say on the matter?"
"That she is my mate and the only woman I will ever love." The ache in Quinn's chest told him he loved Ianthe. He had known it from the first moment he laid eyes on her, as though a rifleman had delivered a clean shot through his chest. But what if she felt nothing for him in return? Would his heart recover from such a rejection? He crushed the leaf in his hand and dropped it to the ground, where it would rot back into the earth. He would be the crumpled leaf if she spurned him.
"There are those who would say I am too young to be able to fully love a woman. Or how can a lycanthrope who cannot shift know his mate?" That encapsulated his problem; people expected less of him because of his age, as if a man was incapable of knowing himself at just twenty-three years old. He would argue that Alick was less mature than he, and the larger man would reach his thirtieth year soon.
Aster watched her little dog scampering around the garden. The terrier was fiercely protective of his mistress, and he was always about somewhere. He only shirked his duty if he spotted a rabbit. "It has been a millennia since there was a pack of wolves. Over the last several centuries, they have only been few in numb
er and they have lived in secret, without others of their kind. Then the army made so many of you all at once and we are struggling with a lack of information. I have spoken to Aunt Maggie on the subject, to learn what I can to help you all, and it seems knowing the mate at first sight is one of your traits."
Quinn stared at his hands and considered her words. "Do you think there is a mate for all the wolves? Even Alick?"
Aster's fingers stroked the silken ears of the little dog at her side. "That I do not know. But the creature within you knows things on a far deeper level than you realise. It would not name Ianthe as your mate if she were unwilling. But it can be overwhelming for a woman, to see the depth of love that a wolf offers. I marvel every day at how completely Hamish loves me."
Quinn shook his head and reached down for a stick to toss for the energetic dog. "Do you really think there is a chance she will reciprocate my feelings for her? The others would call me a fool if they knew I love her."
Aster laughed, a light, gentle sound that alleviated some of the pressure in his chest. Then she fell silent, as though considering her next words. "Don't be swayed by the opinions of others who carry more years but less wisdom. Listen to yourself, Quinn. Ianthe might not consciously know her feelings, but I'm sure if you look into your interactions you will find the answer."
She squeezed his hand, a simple gesture of support between siblings, and it warmed his insides. Perhaps all he needed was to hear someone voice what simmered in his head. He was capable of knowing his mind, despite the perception others held of him. He and his wolf recognised something true when they found it. He had no intention of letting the beautiful woman slip through his grasp. Without her, his life would be a hollow thing, bereft of love.
"Affairs of the heart are not my area of expertise, but I would dare venture that it is not a matter of years that makes a man capable of love or that allows a wolf to know his mate. It is governed by the condition of a man's heart. Yours is a noble one and Ianthe is a lucky woman that you would bestow it on her." Aster watched as the dog returned from his foray in the shrubbery and dumped the stick at her feet.
Kisses to Steal Page 10
