Breathless (Scarlet Suffragette, Book 2): A Victorian Historical Romantic Suspense Series

by Nicola Claire

  “Euston Station!" he said to the driver. “North Eastern Line. Make haste!"

  He lifted my hand to his thigh, his fingers still laced with mine, then sat back on the seat as if it was the most natural thing to do; hold me. I tried to not show my reaction. I tried to hide my elation.

  But it was too late for that, and every person here knew it.

  I was in love with Andrew Kelly, and God willing, he was in love with me enough to fight.

  Fight my father's dying wishes.

  Fight society's exacting rules.

  Fight his murderess wife.

  Anna

  Inspector Kelly

  “It’s not as bad as all that,” I murmured, pressing a wet cloth to the gash on Anna’s head. My heart clenched when she winced with renewed pain, the cloth coming away stained red.

  The gentle rock and rhythmic clack of the train’s wheels as they rolled over the tracks soothed me. The thought of our destination conversely agitated me. The fact that Anna, who had already sustained an injury at the hand of my wife, was accompanying us on this dangerous expedition only compounded the sense of desperation I felt.

  I turned my focus toward the task at hand and, for now, pushed all other thoughts away.

  We’d transferred ourselves to the North Eastern Railway at Euston. The cost of which Reid had generously offered to cover. The Metropolitan Police Force had officially laid claim to this operation.

  I was not certain how to credit this development. Inspector Reid’s continued presence left a foul taste in my mouth. The value of his contribution, however, was undeniable. Teesside, the seat of Londonderry power, was some three-hundred miles north of London itself. The closest railway station was Darlington. We would reach it by morning. By midday, we’d be in Wynyard Park, at the Londonderry Estate in North Durham.

  Upon boarding, Blackie had immediately taken himself off to the third class coaches, in search of a game of loo, no doubt. Reid had mumbled something about food and not having eaten for the better part of the day, leaving me alone in a compartment with Anna.

  I could not complain, seeing as I sought her company out at every turn. Only that which required my continued regard now could dash the sense of companionship I felt in her presence.

  “It is nothing,” Anna murmured, allowing me to tend her wound.

  “Does your head ache?”

  “Only a little.”

  I scoffed. “You were unaware, Doctor. For an extended period. Please do me the honour of not reducing the significance of your injury.”

  She shifted on the bench seat beside me, making the act of cleaning her wound increasingly difficult.

  “Sit still,” I ordered.

  “I will sit still when you stop fussing like an old maid.”

  I withdrew and then placed the cloth on the side of the bowl of water I’d been using with exaggerated care.

  “It is clean,” I advised, standing to remove the items and tidy the side table in our compartment.

  “Andrew,” Anna said from behind me.

  “You are right, I fuss,” I offered before she could voice an apology.

  “It is because you care.”

  I turned to face her. It could not be denied. Nor had it ever been. But the type of care she spoke of, we both knew, was more than just my designated role as her guardian.

  For a moment I cursed my old friend Thomas Cassidy. For placing me in such a predicament. Had he intended for me to fall in love with his daughter? I would not have put it past the man. He was far more adept than most at assessing a situation and coming to a conclusion that suited his family’s needs.

  But I would be lying to myself if I believed he had not also been looking out for my own needs.

  “Even now, I ruin you,” I whispered. “Alone in a first class compartment. No chaperone. The door fully shut.”

  “If I am to be perceived as being ruined, I should like to actually feel as such.”

  I closed my eyes and tried not to smile. So fearless. Even when it came to her station; her place in life.

  “I would that circumstances were different,” I murmured, lowering myself to the seat across the room from her.

  “I thought we had established they are as they are and we will not be bound or constricted by others.”

  “You did, perhaps.”

  “Was that not you, sir, that brought me such sensual pleasure?”

  “Anna,” I chastised.

  “No.” She shook her head, her lips pressing in a thin line as her injury made itself known. “I will not regress, Andrew. She has taken so much; I will not allow her to take this.”

  “But this is the one thing she has the right to take.”

  “She lost that right,” she said in stringent tones, “when she attempted your murder.”

  “The law does not see it as such.”

  “’If the law supposes that; the law is an ass.’”

  “You quote Dickens at me?” I asked, amused despite myself.

  “Has my literary knowledge succeeded in persuading you?”

  I shook my head, still smiling. Anna’s smile slipped from her face, and she peered out the window.

  “Professor Moriarty,” she said.

  “I have no knowledge of why she should style herself so.”

  “She was not a Doyle fan?”

  “My wife’s devotions took her to many places in life, but literature was not one of them.”

  “And yet she studied biology.”

  “Self-taught.”

  “Even lacking formal instruction, you cannot deny her expertise.”

  “I would deny her everything.”

  My heart felt inordinately heavy. My chest tight. I rubbed at it, feeling the letter’s outline inside my breast pocket. I withdrew the note and assessed it now. The curved penmanship. The cutting words that sliced like knives.

  Anna opened her reticule and withdrew her own letter. Her gloved hands spread the paper out across her thighs, trying to remove the creases. I could smell the jasmine from here.

  “The writing is dissimilar,” she remarked.

  “From my own letter, yes.”

  “No. I mean to say, the writing between this latest missive and the one prior appears altered in some way.”

  I crossed the compartment and sat beside her, studying the penmanship of both letters.

  “You are right, but one could surmise that the words of the second missive were written in haste.”

  “Perhaps.” She held her hand out to me. “May I?” she enquired, looking at the note I held squeezed in my fist.

  Reluctantly I released it into her care, hating every second she was in contact with it.

  “Hmm,” she said, but no more.

  “What think you, Doctor?”

  She flicked pale grey eyes to my face and bit her bottom lip. I was reaching to release the flesh before I thought better of it.

  She sighed, her cheek pressing into my hand. My heart tugged at my insides. My body stirred, lit by a fire within.

  “Anna,” I whispered, my eyes stuck fast on her sweet lips.

  And then the notes tumbled to the floor of the compartment, forgotten, as she reached up, gripped my nape, and pulled my lips down to hers for a kiss.

  I did not fight her.

  Right In The Thick Of It

  Anna

  I’d grown accustomed to kissing Andrew. But then, I’d never become accustomed to his body pressed against mine. To the strength, I could feel beneath my fingers. To the heat that breached any gap. To the sounds, he made when we came together. To the sensation of his soft lips, eager tongue, entwined with mine.

  Yes, I’d grown accustomed to kissing my inspector, but I would never become accustomed to how he brought my body to life.

  One hand, so large it engulfed me, wrapped up gently in the loose tendrils of hair at the side of my head. The other curved around my waist, practically reaching the other side. Holding me steady, pulling me closer, making all manner of sensations
branch out from that single touch.

  Andrew always made me feel so petite and precious. And conversely so full and on fire.

  He kissed me eagerly, enthusiastically, no thought of ruination now. I met him touch for touch, kiss for kiss, moan for moan. His whiskers scratched my cheek; I sought their roughness out. His breath washed over my jaw and chin; I tipped my head back seeking its caress further upon my body.

  His lips laid a trail of heat down my neck, over my collarbone, towards my breasts. The hand in my hair moved with unerring accuracy, wrapping itself around my bosom, fingers pinching tight through the material. I groaned, his voice was added to mine. And then my pelisse was gone, and my sleeves were bared, and his face was buried in my cleavage.

  “You’re wearing too much,” he rasped, his fingers skating over fabric, outlining the boning in my corset, coming to rest on the buttons that swept down the centre of my back.

  “Undo them,” I begged.

  His fingers nimbly obliged; his lips ever busy, keeping me wanting, making time slip by.

  The collar of my dress dipped, flushed skin meeting cool air and then hot breath as Andrew followed its path. I pulled my gloves off in a manner of which I was certain would make him laugh, but when I looked into his eyes, I saw only intense desire; focus and attention; a desperation that mirrored mine.

  He paused on the metal busk of my corset, his eyes meeting mine, a question there. I reached down and released the first hook, watching as his body shuddered. The second came undone and then the third, the garment hanging open, revealing my chemise. My breasts felt heavier than usual; full and aching for something I was sure Andrew could give me. The cool air of the compartment seeped through the thin cotton, making my nipples peak and throb.

  Slowly, Andrew lowered his eyes to my breasts, made a sound in the back of his throat, and then reached up with a shaking hand to cup the underside of one bosom, lifting the areola towards the heavens.

  Then with one last hungry look in my eyes, he lowered his mouth to the nipple and sucked it through the material of my underwear.

  Such delight to be had with a man’s lips wrapped around so intimate a part of one’s body. My back arched. My head resting against the rear of the seat, my breaths uneven, chest heaving. And then I was lying along the length of the seat and Andrew was above me, kissing one breast and then the other, and then touching me through the thin material of my chemise.

  He traced a pattern across my stomach, twirled his finger up under a breast, flicked a nail across a nipple, then followed it up with the lick of his tongue. I writhed beneath him, an ache taking up residence between my thighs. My chemise was wet where he’d kissed me, sucked me into his mouth. It clung to my frame, outlining every dip and curve. Andrew sat back and stared down at my wanton position; his pupils dilated, his lips parted as if breathing escaped him right then.

  “Dear God, you are beautiful,” he whispered, one hand resting on the seat back to keep himself upright, the other moulding itself to my breast.

  “I am still clothed,” I pointed out.

  “And shall remain so.”

  Disappointment, sharp and real, coursed through me. I struggled to cover myself. My dress lay in folds at my waist, creasing. My corset had fallen from the seat and lay on the floor at our sides. I felt naked, even though Andrew had only just pointed out I wasn’t. Nor would I ever be. At least, not right now.

  “Don’t move,” he murmured, wrapping a hand around my hip and holding me still. “I have not finished taking my fill.”

  “You look but go no further,” I accused.

  His eyes met mine; so bright, so luminous. So pained.

  “I am already ru…” I started, and his finger met my lips, sealing them.

  “There is not much I can give you but this,” he said. “My honour.”

  “I do not want your honour,” I snapped.

  “Anna,” he said softly. “What is it you see when you look at me?”

  What a question. I struggled to understand his meaning. To make sense of his words when laid so bare before him. When left so unfilled by my desires and his attentions.

  “I see,” I said, licking my lips, swallowing tightly. “A good man. An honest man.” I closed my eyes and whispered, “I see a noble man.”

  He sighed, his fingers flexing at my waist, but their presence not ceasing.

  “Am I noble to touch you so?” I didn't reply. “Am I noble to want to see you lost to passion? Slick with wanting. Skin flushed. Teats turgid. Back bowed. Am I noble then?”

  “Andrew.”

  He spoke over me, his voice clipped. “I have struggled with my longing for you. With the temptation, you have presented. With my duty and your father’s wishes. With my unwanted marriage. I have struggled, and I am near the end. I cannot deny you much longer, but while I still can, by God, I will.”

  “Why?” I begged, my heart aching.

  “Because I love you. Because you deserve better.”

  “I want you,” I whispered. “All of you. Nothing else matters.”

  “It matters to me, and should you think more clearly on it, it would matter to you, also. Society…”

  “To hell with society,” I growled, sitting upright, pushing his hand away. I reached for my corset and repositioned it, fumbling with the busk, my body numb, my breaths too rapid.

  Andrew pushed my hands aside and connected each hook with gentle fingers. Covering me up. Returning me to respectability. Hiding me from his so sad eyes.

  “This is not fair,” I said, close to tears.

  “No, it is not,” he agreed, helping me into the sleeves of my dress, methodically redoing the buttons down my spine.

  “Am I to mean nothing to you?” I asked, voice numb. Body numb. Everything so very numb.

  “How can you say that? How can you even think it? Anna!”

  I looked him in the eye; my dress returned to rights again. My composure shattered.

  “If you loved me,” I began and stopped. I would not hold his love for me against him. I would not be that woman. I smiled. It was brittle. Fragile. Like the state of my heart.

  “Divorce her,” I said, my voice cracking.

  “You would take a man once bound in holy matrimony to another?”

  “I would take you any way I could get you, Andrew Kelly.”

  He searched my eyes, my face, the entire compartment. Then lowered his gaze to the floor of the carriage.

  “Do you love me?” I asked.

  His gaze flicked up to mine.

  “Desperately.”

  “Is this not the nineteenth century? Almost the twentieth?”

  “The church…”

  “It is the duty of barristers, not the Church of England to dissolve a marriage.”

  “But your faith…”

  “Will not be altered.”

  “I am uncertain, Anna. Society has not changed as much as you wish to believe it.”

  “You think I am not aware of a woman’s place in society?” I demanded. “You think I do not know how my profession is still governed by men? Superintendent Chalmers would have me barred from the station in Auckland should he believe I am an immoral influence on his officers. Andrew,” I said. “I would fight it. I would fight for us. Can you say as much?”

  He reached forward and gripped my gloveless fingers and lifted the backs of my hands to his lips for a barely there touch.

  “You humble me,” he murmured. “I am awed by your courage. By your faithful devotion. By the sacrifice you offer. For make no mistake, darling, it would involve a sacrifice. A young woman seeking a position of standing and a divorced man. Even in 1892 that would be commented upon.”

  “Let them gossip. We live in Auckland, not Mayfair.”

  “And Chalmers?”

  “I have to discredit Chief Surgeon Drummond first. Let us not get ahead of ourselves.”

  His smile was small, but it was there.

  “You would do it, too, I am certain,” he said, his thumbs m
oving over the backs of my hands in soft circles.

  He looked to the window; darkness looked back. He sobered. Not that Andrew had really given himself over to joviality.

  “Divorce,” he said. “I had not thought of it. My vows…”

  I was asking him to do something his moral code did not accept. I was asking him to be someone he was not. I was asking a lot of him.

  I said nothing. I waited. And waited some more. The night grew long, my eyes weary. At some stage, I curled up on the bench seat, as Andrew stared out of the window at nothing. The rock of the carriage set me off to sleep. His presence a balm in the middle of such calamity.

  It was Sergeant Blackmore’s return which woke me. Reid was already sitting silently across the compartment, his eyes closed, his hat tipped low over his forehead.

  “Success?” Andrew enquired quietly of his subordinate.

  “Much, sir. The cards were in my favour, and so was the company.”

  “The company?”

  “A boy returnin’ to his family. His father a gillie.”

  “From North Durham or further afield?”

  I could practically hear the grin in Blackmore’s reply.

  “Wynyard Park, sir. And guess you what he told me?” He didn't wait for a reply. “Trouble at the Mines, there is. The Lord ‘imself has been in attendance, bringin’ in new blood to work the seams. But not only that. Oh, no! His nephew’s been seen with ‘im, repeatedly.”

  “Henry Tempest,” Andrew said harshly.

  “The one and the same, sir. Right in the thick of it.”

  I Would Do It

  Inspector Kelly

  “Aye, I seen the Tempest coach come through ‘ere,” the horseman said. “Right thunderin’ it was. Fair did scare the barmaid at the King’s ‘otel, ‘n all, it did.”

  “Did you see who was within?” I asked as Blackie kept his position beside Dr Cassidy, and Reid surveyed the carriage we were to hire.

  “Can’t say I did, guv. Four-in-hand, it was. Big brute of a thing. Dark colours, darker horses. Like the devil itself was chasin’ ‘em.”