“I’m sorry.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “I didn’t mean–”
“Not to worry.” Where Doyle would have yelled and blustered and raised his fist, Bran simply shrugged her apology away with a careless lift of his shoulder. “Truth of the matter is that Yeti was a thief. A damned good one, too, until his hands gave out. Thankfully he ‘ad me and Jules to pick up where he left off.” His white teeth flashed in a grin and despite the cool breeze Lilly felt instantly hot and somewhat dizzy, as if she’d been standing too long in the sun.
“I – I don’t know if I will be able to…you know…” Her voice trailed away to a whisper. “Steal things.”
Bran’s loud guffaw of laughter had the horse’s flattening their ears. “The only thing yer in danger of stealing is a poor bloke’s heart, love.” He winked at her and patted his chest. “Lord knows ye have already snatched mine.”
Lilly smiled weakly. The twinkle in Bran’s eyes revealed he was only joking, but the quiet yearning deep in the depths of her soul was painstakingly genuine.
It was the same yearning she’d felt late at night when she’d laid in her tiny cot and stared up at the ceiling willing for sleep to take her. A yearning to love and be loved in return. To have with Bran – or any man, for that matter – what she’d never had with Doyle. A true connection forged not from fear or the desperate desire to please, but from mutual respect and admiration.
With a small, imperceptible shake of her head she banished the thought. One day she’d find a husband. A fine, upstanding fellow from Blooming Glen. A farmer or a blacksmith. Mayhap even a doctor, if her reputation did not proceed her. Perhaps he wouldn’t be the handsomest, or the most dashing, but he would be safe and loyal and kind.
Like a King Charles Spaniel, she thought with a wry twist of her lips. And what would be so wrong with that? She’d sought adventure and excitement with Doyle, and look where that had landed her. She wasn’t about to go looking for the same thing again. Bran may have been the more enticing choice, but on paper he was every wrong decision she’d ever made in her life all wrapped into one large, lean, blue-eyed package.
“Yeti runs a reputable antique business. Well,” Bran amended at Lilly’s dubious expression, “as reputable as a business can be in the East End. He’s been in need of an assistant for a while. Someone to clean, run errands, organize inventory and the like. Does that sound appealing, lass?”
After a job that entailed having her tits pinched and her arse grabbed more times than she could possibly begin to count, it sounded absolutely heavenly.
“When can I start?” she asked, and Bran chuckled again.
“Why don’t ye take a few days to enjoy yourself? Rest up and relax. See all that London has to offer.”
“Oh, I really don’t think–”
“Have ye ever been to the Botanical Gardens?”
“No, but–”
“What about Astley’s Riding House? Ye haven’t lived until ye’ve seen a horse dance on its hind legs. Most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”
“That sounds splendid” – it truly did – “however I really should start work as soon as–”
“Drury Lane, Hatchards, and Bond Street,” Bran continued, ticking off all the places Lilly had always wanted to see. “Let’s not forget the Royal Menagerie at the Tower. Word has it one of their lionesses just had a litter of cubs.”
Lilly’s breath caught. “Baby lions?”
“Aye, four of the little rompers according to the papers. It’s a three week long wait to see them, but I know someone who can get us in tomorrow if ye would like.”
Of course he did. Once again Lilly found herself faced with a decision that should have had an obvious answer. And once again she found herself wavering. After all, when would she have another chance to see a real honest-to-goodness lion and her cubs?
“Tomorrow, you said?” she asked, chewing on her bottom lip.
“Aye.” Bran’s gaze flicked to her mouth, eyes darkening as they lingered just long enough to bring a flush of heat to her cheeks. “First thing in the morning. And I promise not to pay ye a single compliment in the meantime.”
“Could you – could you also not look at me like that?” she asked, squirming on the soft leather seat.
“Like what?” he said huskily. Pulling back on the reins he brought the curricle to a neat halt beneath the shade of a large oak. Dappled shadows played across his hard jaw as he transferred the traces to his left hand and stretched out his right along the back of the seat, fingers absently toying with one of her long golden curls that had come loose from its pins.
“Like – like that!” Lilly’s voice was shrill, her breathing erratic. She cast a frantic glance around, but the only means of escape from the curricle was to climb over Bran’s lap. As she imagined her thighs resting intimately on top of his and her breasts pressed flush against his chest the color in her cheeks deepened to a dull, mottled red. Not because she didn’t like the idea…but because she did.
“Ah.” As if he could somehow glimpse the traitorous thoughts burning inside her mind, Bran’s mouth curved in a slow, sensuous smile. His fingers crept higher, and she bit back a moan when he began to gently massage the coiled muscles at the nape of her neck. “Ye mean like I want to grab a handful of that silky mane of yours, tilt your head back, and ravish yer mouth until ye forget yer own name?”
Oh my.
“Yes,” she said faintly. “Pre-precisely.”
“Sorry, love. I can’t do that.” His voice may have been soft, but his eyes spoke volumes. And all of it was wicked.
Goose pimples broke out on her flesh when he trailed a single fingertip down the delicate bumps of her vertebrae. When he grabbed a handful of her hair and gave a firm tug, drawing her chin up and placing her mouth level with his, she fought the urge to cry out. Not in pain…but in pleasure.
Her lashes fluttered closed. Her hands curled uselessly in her lap. And even before he captured her mouth with his, she knew she was damned.
Chapter Seven
Had he ever tasted anything so sweet?
No, Bran answered silently as his tongue swept boldly between Lilly’s teeth to sample the honeyed nectar of her mouth. The answer was an absolute, irrevocable no.
He’d kissed actresses. Opera singers. Ladies of the ton. Women who could send a man to his knees with a single scorching glance…and keep him there with only their tongue. But not a single one, nor any of the lascivious acts they’d performed on him over the years, could hold a bloody candle to Lilly’s sweet mouth.
The kiss consumed him, drawing him in harder and faster than he’d ever deemed imaginable. Bran wasn’t a difficult man to arouse. Give him a warm, willing woman – preferably a naked one – and his cock sprung to attention like a soldier saluting the general. But it typically took more than a kiss before he was ready to spend his seed, and yet the aching throb in his bollocks warned him he was in danger of doing precisely that…fully clothed in the middle of a damn park, no less.
His hands were filled with her luxurious waterfall of silky blonde hair, his mouth filled with the taste of her. He angled his body so their legs touched, his knee delving between the folds of her dress to press ever-so-lightly between her thighs. She rocked herself against him, and he groaned with throaty approval when he felt her damp desire through the delicate layers of her undergarments. This was no shy, wilting flower in his arms but a tempestuous firebrand intent on making him burn.
What choice did he have but to return the favor?
“I feel ye, love,” he rasped huskily against her ear. “Wet and wanting.”
She murmured something incoherent in reply, her head lolling to the side as he licked his way down her neck to the long, elegant line of her collarbone. Dimly he felt the sharp prick of her nails against her chest as her fingers sank through his waistcoat and shirt to pierce the flesh beneath, drawing a deep growl from the depths of his throat.
Returning to her mouth he suckled her bottom lip, drawing
it between his teeth in a sharp, passionate bite. Her small, breathless mewl of desire sent the flames of his arousal skyrocketing and his cock bulged painfully against the constraining wall of his trousers, desperately seeking what it couldn’t have. At least not here, out in the open, with nary a roof or windows to shield them from prying eyes.
He knew he needed to stop. That they needed to stop. Then Lilly rubbed herself on his knee and they could have had an audience lined up twenty deep for all he bloody well cared; in that moment the only thing that mattered was bringing his woman the pleasure she craved.
His woman.
The words reverberated inside of his head as his hand snaked up between her skirts. Beneath her dress she wore a simple a shift and petticoat, neither of which impeded his path as he sought the center of her womanhood.
She gasped when he slid a single fingertip through her soft downy curls. Moaned when he began to circle her swollen little bud. Her arms wound around his neck and her chin burrowed in the cleft of his shoulder, helplessly clinging to him as he circled and patted. She was deliciously, gloriously wet, and so close to the edge that he knew it would only take one deliberate stroke of his finger to send her spiraling into oblivion.
Perversely, he took his time, enjoying the way her entire body was quivering and the tiny, desperate sounds she was panting against his salt-slicked skin.
“I could do this all day, love.” He pressed his mouth to her ear and she shuddered when he traced the delicate shell with the tip of his tongue. “Do ye want me to stop?”
“Yes,” she cried. “No. I don’t…Bran…please.”
The single plea was his undoing. With a low, possessive growl he gave her what she wanted – what they both wanted – and watched in heavy-lidded pleasure as she came.
When the last shuddering after-shocks had left her she suddenly sat up bolt upright and pushed back against his chest, violet eyes frightened and frantic as she tugged hastily at her skirts and smoothed a hand through her hopelessly tangled curls.
“I…you…we shouldn’t have done that.” She bit down on her swollen bottom lip, causing Bran to grit his teeth and adjust himself through his trousers.
Hell and damnation. Being this aroused couldn’t have been good for a man’s health, but it had been worth the pain and discomfort just to see the sweet flutter of elation on Lilly’s face as he drove her to orgasm.
“It’s all right, love.” He spoke to her in the same low, soothing tone he’d used in the Mermaid when they’d first met. “No one saw us.”
“But they could have,” she said, shoulders hunching in miserable embarrassment. “The park is filled with people! Any one of whom could have glanced over and seen…seen…oh.” Cheeks burning bright as an apple, she leaned forward and buried her face in her hands.
“And how do ye think all of these people came to be? I’ll tell ye one thing. Contrary to what your mum might have told ye, it wasn’t the stork who brought them.”
“But they didn’t do anything in the middle of Hyde Park while in broad daylight!” she hissed, tilting her head to glare at him between her fingers. Bran bit back a grin.
Five seconds ago she’d been writhing shamelessly against his fingers and now the poor lass was contrite as a church mouse that had missed Sunday service. She was a fascinating mix of contradictions. Shy one moment, emboldened the next. Reluctant to accept his help, but all too willing to accept his hand. As beautiful a woman as he’d ever seen, but loathe to acknowledge her own beauty. Was it any wonder he was rapidly falling in–
Oh no ye don’t, he cautioned as he yanked himself back from the brink just in time. That’s not a word to use lightly, and ye promised yerself long ago it would a chilly day in hell that ye ever used it at all.
Love had no place in St. Giles, nor in the life of a thief. It was a luxury best reserved for those who could afford it and his pockets had always come up empty where that particular emotion was concerned.
Not that he wasn’t fond of his mistresses. He was. Quite fond, truth be told. But fondness was fleeting, a lesson he’d learned at his mother’s knee. Lady Elizabeth had been abundantly fond of her husband...until she suddenly decided she wasn’t.
Bran did not blame his mother for her change of heart. Not when he knew firsthand the seductive allure of wealth and comfort. If she’d truly been in love with his father she would have stayed, for love was the one thing that money couldn’t buy. Unfortunately, she’d only been fond of the handsome Irish blacksmith, which had made it all too easy to leave… ruining the lives of both her son and husband in the process.
What might have been if Lady Elizabeth had chosen love? What might have become of him, had he been allowed to stay in Ireland, the product of two poor, but loving parents? A useless question, as there was no changing the past. But one he couldn’t help but wonder about from time to time.
“Could we go back now?” Lilly sat up. Her hair was still in a tangle, her lips swollen from his kisses, her color high. She looked so adorably disheveled that he was tempted to kiss her all over again, but he suspected he’d already pushed his luck to its limit in that regard.
Like a tranquil lake, Lilly’s passions ran dark and deep. Demand too much, too fast, and she would slip back beneath the surface with nary a ripple. He needed to take his time with her. To earn her trust before he tasted all the delectable parts of her body he’d dreamt about last night.
“Aye, that we can.” Picking up the reins, Bran gave a cluck and the team sprang into a high-stepping trot. Lost to their own thoughts, he and Lilly rode the rest of the way home in silence. When they disembarked from the carriage she formally thanked him for ‘a very fine outing’ before scurrying quickly inside.
As she fled up the stairs, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was running from him...or herself.
Chapter Eight
Not for the first time, Lilly questioned what the devil she was doing.
Playing with fire, she answered silently as she touched her swollen lips and walked to the window to gaze out at the smoky jumble of peaked roofs and narrow chimneys. A slight breeze stirred the air, blowing the smoke out towards the Thames. From her vantage point she could just make out the billowing white sails of a ship coming into port, its tall mast appearing to cut through the middle of buildings as it carried mercantile goods to the docks where they’d be unloaded, sorted, and sold.
Not so long ago - less than a day, really, although it felt like much more - she would have watched the approaching sails and felt a tired sort of dread, for she knew the ships carried more than spices and cotton.
Once the anchors were lowered and the hulls emptied, the men who had just spent two months crossing the Atlantic would go in search of booze, women, and entertainment, often combining the first two in order to produce the third. They’d flock to the Mermaid like gulls to the fishing wares, stinking of salt and covered in grime, their beard-covered faces splitting into leers of hungry anticipation when she carried ale to the tables by the bucketful.
Lilly shuddered as she recalled how their fingers had grabbed and pinched, leaving behind bruises that had been black and blue for days. Their pawing hands had brought her nothing but disgust. Unlike Bran, whose clever fingers and wicked tongue had driven her to the wildest heights of desire.
She pressed her hands to her cheeks as warmth spread across her face and down her neck to pool in her breasts where her nipples still throbbed, the tips aching to be touched...by Bran. Turning away from the window, she wrapped her arms tightly across her chest and walked to the bed, but one glance at the neatly made coverlet had her imagining all sorts of naughty things.
Blast it all! Driving the heel of her shoe into the carpet, she marched to the writing desk. There was nothing remotely arousing about pencil and paper, but even as she sat down to practice her letters her mind - the one thing she could not escape - betrayed her.
In the blink of an eye she was back in the carriage and Bran’s mouth was on her mouth and his hands were on...
oh. Gasping, she threw down the pencil and buried her head in the crook of her elbow. She couldn’t believe he’d touched her all the way...well, all the way down there! Out in the open where anyone could see, no less. She should have been positively mortified, and part of her was. But another part - a considerably larger part - had never felt more aroused.
Bran’s kiss had been like nothing she’d ever experienced and everything she’d ever dreamed about. Not to mention what had come after. She still didn’t know what had happened to her body, only that Bran had been the cause of it and she desperately wanted it to happen again.
But it can’t, she thought firmly as she lifted her head. Absolutely not.
She needed to end whatever it was they had between them before it grew into something she couldn’t control. And she needed to do it now. There would be no more outings. No zoo. And definitely no more kissing.
But when she went downstairs - after waiting for the color to recede from her cheeks and repinning her hair - Bran was nowhere to be found. Instead a plump brunette with twinkling brown eyes and a dimpled smile was waiting for her in the middle foyer.
“There ye are, lovie!” she exclaimed. “I thought ye might’ve slipped out the back. La, look at ye.” Whistling under her breath, she made a wide circle around Lilly, eyes narrowing to thin, thoughtful slits of hazel as her gaze roamed from Lilly’s confused face to her shoes and back again. “‘E didn’t exaggerate this time. Pretty as a yellow daisy, ye are. Even if that dress is a dreadful fit. One of Jules’, I imagine. It’s a good thing that one likes to pretend she’s a boy as she’d make a terrible woman.” Clucking under her tongue, the brunette whipped out a sewing tape from her ample bosom and began to take Lilly’s measurements.
“What are you...who are you...oh!” Lilly gasped when the woman pulled the tape across her breasts. “I beg your pardon!”
“Yes, lovie?” The brunette arched an expectant brow. “Is somethin’ the matter?”
A Dangerous Passion (Bow Street Brides Book 4) Page 6
