He glanced at his boots, caked with mud from his ride, and then to her pristine satin slippers. It would be much better to ignore emotion, the pretence preferable to the actuality, but too many cautions existed.
‘Then I will leave you to your visit. Good day, ladies.’ He had no idea if he appeared abrupt. He’d long ago lost track of the conversation. With a fistful of mane, he mounted Charlatan and, after a curt nod, rode away.
Chapter Eleven
Gemma wrapped an arm around her middle. She was the one who possessed an unsettled stomach now. Things had seemed serendipitous, an unexpected opportunity to speak to Cole, more than she wished from the day, yet something had changed, something that didn’t bode well.
When he’d first approached she didn’t trust her eyes, tall and dashing atop a fine chestnut stallion, his muscular legs outlined in exquisite detail by mere position of him being astride. His shirt with collar open, cuffs turned, made him appear younger, a bit reckless and temptingly virile. No, potent was a better descriptor. He’d smiled, his glittering golden eyes matched to hers, that same defiant lock of hair across his brow. Then he’d tossed it back in a habitual gesture she’d memorised and, as she anticipated, the heavy lock fell forward once again.
But what happened right after?
No sooner had he dismounted than the mood shifted. She needed to see him again, needed to understand. Too many of the people she cared most about remained in silent obscurity, out of reach.
Beside her Sophie and Vivienne continued to chatter and she forced herself to mask emotion and remark on the fuchsia delphiniums along the Ladies’ Mile though her mind spun and her heart ached for what she couldn’t have.
The Chutterly musicale proved true to Sophie’s description. Gemma had convinced Rosalind to join her. Performance audiences were quiet generally and, if Gemma made excuses of a hoarse throat, her sister would not be expected to converse. Sadly, at the last minute, Rosalind changed her mind. Gemma was determined to mend her sister’s heart and hear her sweet voice again.
Now sandwiched between Sophie and Vivienne in the third row of the outdoor assembly, Gemma wished to escape, stretch her legs, all or any. She was in need of a reliable excuse.
‘I must find the retiring room. I’ll return shortly.’ She didn’t offer her friends the chance to comment, popping from her chair and slipping from the aisle to enter the terrace doors at the rear of the property. She exhaled well and thoroughly just as an oboe tortured a lively tune outside.
A gentleman walked through the room, well dressed, tall with light hair, and for a moment she startled, wanting to believe she could accidentally meet Cole as circumstances allowed at Hyde Park. She wondered how he was spending his day and if he spared her a thought or two. Did he remember their kiss behind the garden? Was it special? For her it shone like the brightest star in the night sky, incomparable to any other experience. Perhaps for him it meant nothing at all, his departure from their conversation in Hyde Park abrupt and uncomfortable.
She wrinkled her nose at her futile imaginings and trailed her fingers along the furniture as she circled the room in no particular hurry to return. Passing a gilt-framed mirror, she noted her hair would benefit from attention, some of the pins loosened. To the retirement room she ventured after all.
Having no idea in which direction to endeavour, she walked to the door and made a right down a long hallway. If she happened upon a servant she would ask the way.
He only meant to see her. Glimpse a smile. Absorb a little of her laughter before he travelled away with Luke, but when he saw Gemma excuse herself and enter the back of Chutterly House, temptation proved too strong and he decided looking wasn’t enough. He needed to speak to her as well.
In all his years of listening to the sounds of fear and suffering alive in the slums, he’d never heard anything as tormented as the plump gel banging on the pianoforte. Someone should step in on behalf of the guests and put the instrument out of its misery. He did keep a pistol in his boot. The thought amused.
Keeping his chin low, he passed through the crowd avoiding eye contact. He’d contemplated dressing as a driver but, aware of the limitations it would present, quickly discarded the idea. Becoming another stuffy prig blended into the crowd provided greater access to the grounds. People saw what they expected to see. Despite his fancy breeches and cravat, were he to lift a serving tray, no one would notice he didn’t wear livery. If spotted, most would categorise him below their regard, anyone who served refreshments not of the same status.
Earlier he’d considered dressing as Mr Goodworth, the black hair and burly moustache an excellent disguise, but his work at Second Chances wasn’t worth the risk. The salvation served there was the one good thing in his life that held meaning. He couldn’t toss it away because an irrational desire to see Gemma haunted his every thought. And, too, he regretted his rude dismissal at Hyde Park. He regretted too many things to tally. But life was all about choices, wasn’t it?
And his choice now was to become one of them. Dressed like a dandy guaranteed he’d fit into the dozens of people testing their endurance today. He’d worn the spectacles just for fun.
Not in need of excuses, he strode through the drawing room and out into the hall as the trailing hem of Gemma’s turquoise day gown turned a far corner. If she entered the retiring room he’d never have a chance to speak to her. How would he explain his presence? He didn’t have time to change course, too late for second thoughts.
A couple advanced down the hallway towards him. He turned his back and admired a portrait of another Chutterly offspring, this one holding a large gong. Deuces, he’d escaped the recital just in time. Darting down the tiles, he traced the route Gemma had taken, only to pull up short a few feet from where she stood in conversation with a servant.
He heard her thank the maid before she spun on her heel and headed straight for him. Without a beat of panic, he slipped into the nearest room, the door cracked open. As she passed he reached out, grabbed her arm and hauled her inside, where he closed the door and locked the latch.
She didn’t have time to react. At least not in the manner one would expect when captured from a harmless hallway and tugged into an empty room. Well, not truly empty. Cole stood in front of her. An altogether different feeling was unfurling in her breast and her pulse began that special sprint reserved for him alone.
‘I didn’t know you wore spectacles.’ She smiled, delighted to discover yet another thing about him. Bother, he was so very handsome.
‘I don’t.’ He didn’t explain more and tucked them away into his breast pocket.
‘Mr Hewitt?’ Her forced whisper sounded ridiculous, most especially against the background noise of a harp… or was it cymbals? ‘What are you doing here?’ She patted her hair, aware she must seem a wilted flower, all of a sudden insecure in her appearance.
‘I wished to see you.’
‘You located me in the crush?’ Why could she ask only questions? Inane questions at that? Why couldn’t she ask something important? Like, may I have another kiss?
‘I did.’ He huffed a breath. ‘Then, once I saw you, I wished to speak to you.’
‘Oh.’ She glanced at the closed door. ‘This is highly improper, but I don’t mind. What is it you needed to say?’
He smiled and she assumed her answer pleased.
‘I am leaving London.’
She frowned and struggled to understand. ‘I see.’ She stepped away. Perhaps if she distanced herself from the conversation it would take a different turn.
‘Wait. That was poorly done of me. I will return in a week, perhaps less. Luke has asked me for a bit of help, that’s all.’ He closed the distance that separated them to one stride. ‘And I didn’t want to leave without seeing you again.’ He threw up his hands, palms out as if to underscore his explanation. ‘And then speak to you one more time.’
She bowed her head, heat infusing her face, and took that final step.
&nbs
p; What was this incredible feeling? What was it about Cole Hewitt that brought it to life within her? She’d had suitors, been courted and complimented. Yet nothing affected her like this man. She felt his words and smile. His voice, rich and lovely, gave her thrilling shivers while his casual glance sent her heartbeat into a wild rhythm. They couldn’t be more different and hardly knew one another, yet she held tightly to the secret feeling she’d only scratched the surface of all she wished to know of him. ‘Will you kiss me goodbye then?’
He appeared taken aback by her bold request.
‘I cannot help but notice we are repeatedly victim to interruption. First outside your hell when the carriage arrived and then when I needed to return to the card game lest Winton would cause a problem.’ She saw his jaw tighten at the mention. ‘I would like a complete kiss from start to finish.’ She didn’t know how she managed the words, her pulse thrumming in her head louder than all the musicale presentations combined.
‘It would be my honour, Gemma.’
He spoke the words as soft as a love song and she held tight to each syllable. Without hesitation, he threaded his fingers with hers and she cursed her gloves, the fabric preventing her from experiencing the rough masculinity of his hands. He leaned closer, his exhale against her cheekbone a sensual aphrodisiac of what was to come, how he would taste, the heated pressure of his mouth layered atop hers. Anticipation fluttered inside her chest, her breathing gone shallow, and he hadn’t yet begun.
He lifted his hands, taking hers with his, to place her palms on his chest over his heart, flat atop hard, smooth muscle. Then he slid one hand behind her neck, the lightest touch, tipping her head to angle back, her neck bared, his eyes locked with hers as he whispered in her ear, low and husky, in a voice hinting at mischief.
‘Is this what you want, Gemma? A kiss to remember me by while I’m gone? Something for you to think about late at night when you’re in bed and I can’t be there to offer you the same pleasure?’
She moaned, her legs weakened by the sensual rub of his jaw against her cheek and the intimate image he’d described. She could feel his heart pounding as quickly as hers. He was not unaffected and she shivered against him, wanting his warmth and strength, and most of all wanting his kiss.
He rested his hands gently on her shoulders, holding her still, though there was no worry she would go anywhere, and lowered his mouth, their breath mingling, his lips so close and full with the smallest smile. The intimacy of that gesture alone enough to grant her pleasurable dreams for the rest of her life.
But only until their kiss. Then any ideas of dreams and wishes were shattered.
He captured her mouth in an open-mouthed embrace that spoke more of raw need and unbridled yearning than romantic fantasy. And she met his need with her own.
Locked in his embrace, she wrapped her arms around his hard torso, her palms sliding over the contoured muscles flexed beneath the fabric with every breath. She could get lost in his kiss, the mouths perfectly matched. The stroke of his tongue against hers caused a swirling sensation of temptation and wickedness with each sensual rub. She didn’t object when his fingers threaded through her hair to ruin the arrangement and sprinkle pins all over the tile floor or when he smoothed his palm below her breast, the pressure of his thumb lighting a heat deep in her belly.
Instead she pressed closer within his embrace, hoping to discover and imprint every sensation. It was as though he’d awakened a desire within her she’d never known existed, and now, as in most every aspect of her life, she wished to experience more.
He pulled her flush against him, hard to soft, and broke their kiss to tuck her head beneath his chin, his breathing much like the thunderous beat of her heart. Everywhere he touched caused havoc with her senses, his spicy warm scent and intense masculine heat.
‘Aah, sweet Gemma, if I don’t stop now I won’t stop ever.’ A note of raw emotion coloured the words.
His tender confession whispered against the top of her head and tears pricked her eyes. ‘I do not wish for you to stop.’ Her voice trembled. Her entire body followed suit.
Nevertheless, after another precious moment, he placed them apart, his head bowed in a self-conscious gesture she didn’t know how to interpret.
‘I only meant to explain my absence and now I’ve ruined your hair.’
Wanting to reassure she answered quickly, ‘It will take little effort to repair, I assure you.’ Unlike her composure, which would never be the same.
‘Then I will leave you to it.’
She watched him leave, the well-tailored suit stretched taut across his broad shoulders, this strong, resilient man who kept his commitments and loyalties to friends.
Not too long after, Gemma returned to the musicale with replaced hairpins, slightly swollen lips and an irrepressible smile. She offered no excuses for her absence and with relief discovered all but one Chutterly performance remained. Then, with a light step and joyous disposition, she continued home, her secret locked tight.
Cole settled into a booth at the Broken Bone Tavern and waited for Luke to arrive. What was he doing kissing Gemma like his life depended on it? Like they were lovers in bed? The immediate image of Gemma beneath him caused a string of expletives to let loose.
She was the sister of the Duke of Kent, an influential and powerful man who would not take lightly to his association.
Cole was hardly worth her notice, a bastard who through no amount of good luck had bettered himself to the level of quality. He’d accomplished Second Chances through sheer determination, fuelled by anger and a driving need to help others find a meaningful life. The result exorcised bitter feelings but it hadn’t proven an easy task. A vast span of years, many of them filled with pain and loathing, separated his humble past and affluent present. If only Gemma knew.
A fair portion of guilt reminded Max had expressed concern over Gemma’s welfare on behalf of his friend Kent’s request. Cole wasn’t one to disregard friendship or be disloyal, especially when Max and Luke were the closest thing to family he had aside from Maggie. They kept business together but their camaraderie was worth more than his share of the Underworld. Yet here he was, at the ready to discard it all for a few moments with Gemma. He’d always flirted with danger, but this was reckless indeed.
Still, the lady seemed to enjoy his kisses. A cocky smile curled his lips. More than a little, he suspected. He’d learned to act on instinct and somewhere deep inside he knew Gemma wished to see him almost, if not as much, as he wished to see her.
‘What has you grinning like a sot with a stolen jug of whiskey?’ Luke dropped into the chair across the table and signalled the serving girl for ale. ‘Or are you just happy to see me?’
Replacing his smile with a scowl, Cole changed the subject before Luke questioned him in earnest. ‘What information have you come by that leads you to believe your brother took Nathaniel to Ipswich?’
‘I greased the palm of his new main driver. The man told me he’s travelled to and from six times this month.’ Luke tossed a few coins on the tray and accepted his drink. ‘My grandfather had a small home there, little more than a house, barn and vegetable garden, but it would provide everything needed to keep a child hidden. Damn me for not recalling the property sooner.’ He took a long swallow of ale. ‘As soon as I discovered Nathaniel missing I rode to each of the family properties but I’d forgotten about that bit of field. No one’s mentioned it in years.’
‘Is your grandfather alive?’ Cole doubted, but he asked anyway.
‘Nay. The old man died over a decade ago. Another reason I’d not remembered the place, and while I’m not privy to the goings-on of my brother or the rest of the family, I see no other reason why he’d frequent the property.’
‘Mayhap he keeps a mistress there.’ Cole’s thoughts ran in one particular direction. It was a bad habit.
‘There’s that possibility.’ Luke chuckled. ‘Can’t say I would blame him. His wife is a shrew.’
‘Serves him right if he’s taken your son.’
‘Agreed.’
The two men sat in companionable silence, the periphery noise of the tavern enough to fill their ears.
‘I’m glad to assist.’ Cole stood, anxious to get home.
‘We can leave at sunrise. Sin knows, so no need to worry there.’
‘Me? Worry?’ Cole forced a smile. He already anticipated the soft bed awaiting him at home, the perfect accompaniment to the heated memory of a pair of hypnotic green eyes. ‘Then I’m off. ’Til tomorrow.’ He made for the door.
Chapter Twelve
Gemma fairly floated up the front steps of Stratton House. She grinned at Dobbs, the butler, though he didn’t return the sentiment, not even when she indulged in a giddy twirl across the marbled tile in the foyer, all the while ensconced in the memory of Cole’s decadent kiss.
She might have missed Rosalind’s slim shadow on the upstairs landing if she hadn’t thrown her head back in sheer joy, but Gemma didn’t miss it and she froze, her splendour evaporated at the troubled expression on her sister’s face, the alarm there a slap of sobering gravity.
‘Is everything all right?’ She tilted her head to the left in an attempt to match Rosalind’s wide-eyed stare, but her sister shook her head in the negative. Rosalind moved silently to the balustrade overlooking the foyer, her eyes flared, but before Gemma could question her further, Dobbs returned.
‘His Grace would like to see you in the study, milady.’
Gemma tipped her attention to Rosalind but her sister had already fled. The child had the poor habit of sneaking around the house on silent feet, often overhearing things that might otherwise be kept private.
With a sense of dread, Gemma found her brother behind his mahogany desk. A look of barely contained outrage held his jaw tight.
‘Come in, Gemma, and sit.’ His command brooked no contradiction and she obeyed. ‘A visitor came to call while you attended the musicale.’
Into the Hall of Vice Page 12
