Soon to be Gemma Hewitt?
‘I owe you these words.’ He matched her eyes with sincere entreaty. ‘I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?’
She’d never seen him like this, with abundant concern in his expression.
‘Forgive you?’ To her own ears she sounded incredulous, the tremble in her voice undeniable. ‘My brother attempted to end your life’s work. He lied and manipulated shamelessly to hide his private indiscretions, perpetuated deceit and fathered a child abandoned to the rookeries, which in turn caused my father’s death.’ Listing it all out in the open caused her stomach to lurch. Kent had much for which to atone.
‘You lost your father.’ He frowned and it tore at her heart. ‘You almost lost your life.’
‘You risked everything of importance.’
He moved to stand in front of her, his fingertip at her chin where he raised her face so they could study each other’s eyes, and his gaze simmered over her.
‘Everything of importance is right in front of me.’
How she wanted to believe him. He made it sound so easy. She blinked past the teary onslaught of emotion.
‘You aren’t to blame for your brother’s choices any more than I am for the circumstance of my birth.’ His voice gentled, his eyes pleaded she understand. He dropped his hand and she could still feel the heat of his touch.
‘I am the daughter of a duke.’ She would never have believed regret could colour the words bitter, but how she wished now she was an ordinary miss.
‘I am a bastard abandoned to the streets.’
He exhaled and his eyes darkened, but from resolve or defeat she did not know. ‘You see. It could never work between us.’ She was a coward to pursue this path.
He stared at her a long minute and when she finally thought he would speak he stepped away.
‘If that is what you want, then I believe you are correct.’ His eyes searched her face and he turned to leave the room. ‘I’m confident you can find your way to the door. If you’ll excuse me.’
Each soft-spoken word pierced her heart. Still, she stood there and watched him leave through a door to a room at the back of the house. Shocked and overwrought, unable to convince her feet to move and yet paralysed by the wretched emotion which threatened to embarrass her. Foolishly, she’d believed he would work to convince her words were nonsense; that they would find a way to be together because she was worth any cost. But no. He had seen the same futility in their love. Love? Did he love her? He’d never said the words. Perhaps she assumed too much. Logic and emotion seemed intertwined in a complicated knot of impossibility.
She gasped when he stormed back into the room, her head whipping up with barely enough time to catch the kiss as his mouth found hers. This was no gentle bid for affection. This kiss demanded she pay heed. He grasped the sides of her face, threaded his fingers through her hair to knock pins loose and destroy the arrangement, his mouth opened against hers, hungry, bold and urgent. The collision sent her back to the wall. He swallowed her gasp, her instinctive surprise transformed to wondrous appreciation in a heartbeat. They could never be together, but they could be together like this. Perfectly matched, driven by passion. He was strong and hot against her, powerful, acutely male and unwilling to sacrifice even one moment. She gathered her bearings and traced her palms over his arms, shoulders, down his lean waist. He made a noise, a guttural groan against her mouth, and she smoothed one palm to the front of his trousers where she found his hard heat through the fabric.
He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged. ‘You are mine, Gemma.’ He nuzzled a string of kisses across her cheek, down her neck, and she didn’t object when he yanked the sleeve of her gown to bare her shoulder.
‘We are from different worlds. There are dozens of reasons this will never work.’ She wriggled her shoulder free to expose more skin, anxious for his touch. She wanted his mouth on her everywhere at once, the insistent demand an unanswered yearning that pulsed between her legs.
‘Your brother…’ He snagged her bodice between his teeth and lowered the fabric to bury kisses between her breasts.
‘My sister…’ Her voice gained a faraway sound. ‘I’m quality.’
‘I’m not.’ He shifted his stance, parting her legs with his thigh. ‘I run the Underworld.’
She shuddered as he lifted her gown and underskirts, gathering the fabric in fistfuls, baring her skin to the cool air in the room. ‘Where would we ever live?’ Her weak question panted out on broken gasps as he slid his palm across the skin of her upper thigh, so close to the slit in her pantalets.
‘In bed.’ He wasted not another moment and lifted her into his arms, slanting a sly smile as he aimed for the stairs.
‘Stop.’ She was out of breath from his kisses and the thrilling anticipation of being bustled up to his bedroom, but something needed to be said and it couldn’t wait.
‘Yes, Gemma.’ He captured her mouth and nipped her chin. ‘What is it, my sweet?’
‘I love you. I need you to know.’
She loved him. His heart near exploded in his chest with the words. She loved him. He rushed to the stairs, pounding the treads as he brought them above. Then he placed her on the mattress, much the same way he’d done all those weeks ago when he already knew love bloomed in his heart but had held on to the fragile words, afraid to let them go for fear they would disappear.
She looked in complete dishevel. Her lips swollen from his forceful kisses, her sleeve draped over one shoulder at a crooked angle and her hair… the glorious lengths mussed as if she’d just awakened, or better, they’d made love for hours.
His revised plan for the day.
He hated having to waste time with undressing, frustrated his fingers became clumsy as he removed each article, thrown to the floor in haphazard discard, and all the while she waited on the bed, a vision of lovely temptation. At last, when he wore nothing more than smalls, he knelt on the mattress and made quick work of her garments, a spare curse and quick kiss all he could afford as he worked with diligence to bare her skin.
‘You’re beautiful.’ His breathing was harsh now. ‘I shall never tire of undressing you.’
She laughed, a sultry sound that pleased him, and moved closer on the mattress. ‘The first time we were intimate I believed I was saying my goodbye. I savoured each lingering touch knowing it would be the last. Not today. Not this time.’ She placed her palm on his bare chest, right above his heart and grasped his hand, pulling him down to cover her body with heat. ‘I dream about being with you. I think about it every night.’
He kissed her after each admission, the hollow of her throat, soft swells of her breasts, rosy tips of her nipples. They’d almost lost their lives, almost lost each other. He needed to bury himself inside her and glory in their victory.
‘I want you to be mine always, Gemma. And I will be yours.’ The declaration was proud and strong within but came out on too much emotion, his voice gone husky.
‘You have my heart now, Cole. Keep it well. Keep it always.’
The mood changed in the length of an exhale. Neither participant wished for words. He covered her sweet softness with his hardness, finding her wet and ready. His body screamed for release and, when he slid inside her sex, he closed his eyes, crushed his mouth to hers as he took possession, so much pleasure to be found in their natural joining. His world tilted on its axis and he tangled his hand in her hair, luxurious silk through his fingers, as they fell into a rhythm, each stroke longer, each thrust deeper.
He lost himself in honeysuckle, the taste of her skin, demands of her tongue, and all the while he fell, hard and fast and willingly, into love, his heart open and full. He viewed her as she lay beneath him, her lashes crushed to creamy skin, her lips in a blissful curve, and his heart ached from her precious loveliness. Lacing his fingers with hers, he welcomed the onslaught of shared climax, that tantalising longing for something out of reach and simultaneous despair at never wanting sensation
to end. And then he surrendered completely, the rush of release so intense he collapsed against her, burying his face in the curve of her neck and calling her name with the last vestiges of control.
They came back to coherency with languid indulgence, arms and legs intertwined. Gemma was in no hurry to rise. This, this, was the missing piece, this intimacy and the honest adoration she saw reflected in Cole’s eyes. She nestled closer to his side, teasing his chest with her fingertips, playfully tempting him to begin again.
‘I am but a man, love. You’ll need to give me more than a few minutes.’ His drowsy voice confirmed his proclaimed exhaustion and she pressed a kiss to his bicep, never having felt as cherished.
‘So every time you visited Second Chances, you went through this routine of dual identity?’ She couldn’t imagine the reason he undertook such inconvenience.
‘Yes. It remained imperative Cole Hewitt and Mr Goodworth remained individual in purpose and goal. I could never allow an irate gambler or bleeding cully to take out his distemper on the people at the lodging house. All it would take is one bilk with a poor idea to backbite and not only would Second Chances be harmed, but the gaming hell too. Luke and Sin rely on the Underworld as much as I do.
‘Of course, once I met you the waters were muddied beyond clarity. I found myself wanting to tell you everything when I hardly knew you, didn’t have a plan for the future, and worse, worried each encounter, whether by one man or the other, claimed another piece of my soul.’ He exhaled a sleepy sigh. ‘Then I kissed you outside the Underworld and you became a fever in my blood whether I was ready to acknowledge it or not. What a relief to at last discover the cure.’
She giggled despite his vulnerable confession. ‘So now what will become of us? Of Mr Goodworth?’
‘I need to visit Second Chances and bring you with me. You must meet Maggie Devonshire the proper way. She will love you as I do.’
Her breath caught. Perhaps it always would whenever he uttered the words. ‘I was introduced when I assisted Vivienne with a delivery of donations.’
‘But Maggie doesn’t know about us.’ His growly chuckle warmed her to the core. ‘Besides, there are others there who I’d like you to meet.’
They reclined in silence a good bit longer, and just when she assumed Cole had fallen asleep, he rolled to his side, sliding her beneath him with cunning stealth on a mission to kiss her senseless, and oh, how he succeeded.
Later that afternoon they made good his intention and pulled to the curb outside Second Chances. Gemma had returned home to change her clothes, spend time with Rosalind and assure her maid all was well. She also gathered the baskets she’d requested Cook prepare and returned to Wigmore Street by hired carriage. It chafed to know she would be condemned for visiting the man who held her heart. Society’s rules were meant to protect but often caused more harm than benefit. All this concern over identifiable equipage and rented hackney was enough to cause her a severe megrim.
She asked the driver to wait, thinking to save time, but turned with a start when Cole approached and addressed the driver from behind.
‘I was expecting Mr Goodworth.’ She tried to keep the humour from her words. In truth, she was relieved. Aware the disguise served a much-needed purpose, she’d still rather have her dashing beau at her side. Otherwise, how would she steal kisses with that terrible moustache in the way? No, she preferred him freshly shaved and smelling wonderful, his golden hair restored.
‘Not today.’ He handed her into the cabin. ‘Besides, I wish no concealment when I speak to Maggie this time.’
Unsure what his words implied, she settled on the flat seat and slid across to allow him room. The man absorbed what little space remained but she didn’t mind being pressed against his firm thigh. As they approached the rookeries, the hack rattled over the cobbles in a violent shake that mimicked her agitation. Time spent considering Cole’s last statement brought with it a finer awareness. He was taking her to meet the one person he valued from his past, allowing her into his secretive, dark history. The significance of this occasion humbled her into silence.
They arrived and without conversation took the steps to enter the lodging house. A shudder wracked her nerves, the remembrance of the violent confrontation between Winton and her brother still fresh. With an odd combination of regret and affection, she missed Kent, his ill choices excepted. She hoped the time away would provide healing for his composure and eventually mend their relationship.
She glanced at Cole beside her and smiled, stronger by knowing him, this magnificent man who refused to allow his wretched beginnings to foretell his future and, instead, chose to give of his heart, earnings and dedication.
‘There you are, Charlie.’ Cole went down on one knee to address the child in the hall. ‘Is the lift in your boot helping? Have you beat Freddie in a footrace yet?’
The lad nodded vigorously, his attention drawn to her presence.
‘I’d like you to meet Lady Amberson.’ Cole paused for a reason she could not name. ‘Is Miss Maggie in the kitchen then?’
Charlie skittered off without a by-your-leave, proving his boots fit well indeed. Gemma smiled after him, her nerves more settled.
‘Come along, love. Maggie is bound to be in the kitchen or schoolroom. It’s one or the other.’ He flashed a quick smile and folded her hand in his.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘It’s good to see you again, Lady Amberson. Under much better circumstances, I reckon.’ Maggie bustled about the kitchen readying a tea tray full of refreshments and shooting an occasional glare of frustration in Cole’s direction. It appeared his failure to notify her of his visit beforehand caused her to fuss now. She’d patted her hair and smoothed her serviceable gown more than once since they’d entered the kitchen with the driver trailing behind, his arms laden with donation baskets.
‘We won’t take much of your time.’ Cole glanced to Gemma, his expression softened with blatant adoration. ‘Things to do…’ He returned his attention to Maggie. ‘But I wanted you to know I may not be accessible in the next few weeks. Second Chances is more your accomplishment than mine. I’ve brought a draft in case any business warrants your consideration.’ He slid a folding slip of paper from his breast pocket and offered it across the table.
‘I understand.’ Maggie collected the funds, a smile breaking loose. ‘I’ve worried for years, maybe longer, that you’d never allow someone to discover how prime you are, how worthy you are of happiness.’ She faced Gemma, her eyes all of a sudden watery. ‘You are a special woman to recognise what Cole works so hard to disguise.’ She gave an inelegant sniffle and reached across the table to grasp both their hands. ‘I wish you a lifetime of happiness. Now get out of here and begin. Don’t waste another minute.’
After a series of embraces, Cole threw a handful of coppers to the lads on the stoop and they boarded the carriage promptly.
‘Next we shall plan a trip to see your brother.’ He adjusted the window curtain so the rookeries disappeared from view, shutting out his past in one sweep of dark fabric.
‘What?’ The assertion caught her by surprise. She swallowed past the fast emotion clogging her throat. Was she ready to face her brother? Not even a fortnight had passed. Would he welcome them or send them away in a rage they’d intruded on his solitude? Kent had not retracted his words, whether he meant them or not. He’d turned her out and cut her off before he’d travelled to the country seat. He hadn’t sent a message since.
‘I never said I wished to see my brother.’ In truth, she didn’t know how to behave. She refused to take time and examine the complicated feelings. She grasped the folds of her skirt for lack of a steady perch while her insides tumbled and squirmed. ‘What is your intention?’
‘To have you to wife.’ He stared at her as if she was mad, as if she should have read his mind and by failing disappointed him. Or worse, should have known the answer all along.
She swallowed against an onslaught of
rivalling questions fighting for voice. ‘Are you proposing?’
‘Would you accept if I did?’ His voice rang with sincerity though his eyes twinkled with bedevilment. ‘This isn’t proper protocol, thus the reason to visit your brother.’
‘So much has happened. I can’t catch my breath when I consider it all.’ She anxiously smoothed her skirt, avoiding his eyes.
‘Will you not answer the question?’ Damn him, but he sounded amused.
‘Which one?’ Nerves caused a waspish answer and she kept her gaze where her fingers laced in her lap.
He leaned across the interior, clasped her chin in a warm hold and raised her eyes to meet his. ‘The only one.’ This time she saw only adoration.
‘Yes.’ She breathed, her nerves frayed. ‘Yes. But what if Kent refuses? He has already cut ties. I don’t know what will happen if we travel to Owlpen Manor.’
‘Then there is only one way to find out.’ He released her and exhaled a long breath as he reclined. ‘Your brother’s anger is a storm in a teacup.’
‘You shouldn’t make light of it. This is all too much,’ she whispered, hating the words as she said them. ‘I’m not ready.’
‘Putting it off won’t make it go away.’ His doughty reply came out in anxious clips. In his world, in the background he’d experienced, her little war with emotions and propriety likely seemed foolish. They rode in silence another block or two.
Perhaps he spoke correctly, a view from his perspective more sensible, if only to gather her courage and embrace the future with or without her brother’s blessing. It was what she wanted above all else. She closed her eyes tight in an effort to regain composure, the velleity to remember her mother’s calm reassurances and melodic words of loving comfort always there at the periphery of memory.
A sulking quiet consumed the interior while she muddled through the swift change of sentiment. She needed to make amends. ‘Are we having our first argument?’
‘I hope so. Then we can make up as soon as we reach my rooms.’ He hauled her across the bench and onto his lap in an act of unceremonious possession.
Into the Hall of Vice Page 23
