There was little space between our bodies, but I managed to firm up my grip on the handle and twist the blade inside the stranger. His body shook. Blood bubbled from between his lips and splattered my face. His grip weakened around my throat enough so I could catch my breath and push him off me.
I stood, staggered backward on weakened legs, and leaned against the wall for support. My body shook with fear, exhaustion, and the fact that I had just killed a man in cold-blood. I bent forward and held my knees and took several deep breaths to steady my nerves and to keep myself from vomiting. Rain, sweat, and mud dripped from my hair and face. I looked out across the street and saw two more men coming toward me. I immediately sensed the danger and knew they were coming to finish the job.
There was no more fight in me. I stood, resting my sore and aching back against the wall of the building, and watched as the men began to cross the street. I saw the sharp edge of the swords they each carried, sparkle against the flames of the lanterns. There was no way out of this. My only option was to flee in hopes of outrunning them, but they had the advantage, two against one, and the one with little left in him.
“I wouldn’t if I were you.” Someone called from out of the darkness. The two men stopped. All three of us looked in the direction of the voice. Mr. Borgstrom came out of the darkness, pointing his pistol at the two men.
“This does not concern you,” one of the men shouted.
“I am afraid it does.” The two men turned their attention away from me and took a step toward Mr. Borgstrom.
“Another step…” Mr. Borgstrom with precise aim fired his pistol. One of the men dropped immediately. The second man paused as if reconsidering his options. Mr. Borgstrom did not give him a chance to rethink his plan before pulling out another single shot pistol and firing. As with the first shot, Mr. Borgstrom’s aim was exact. I watched as Mr. Borgstrom holstered the pistols and came toward me.
“Mr. Newton,” Mr. Borgstrom said. He stood close enough for me to smell the gin on his breath. He repositioned the strap of Fielding’s pouch over his shoulder. I thought I heard the little creature chattering inside its makeshift home.
“I do not know why you did what you did just now, but thank you.” I leaned against the wall and took another deep breath to ease the aches that strained my body.
“It was not your time to die, Mr. Newton.” He smiled.
“You seem to be the only one who believes that about me.”
“It does not matter what anyone thinks. Truth and knowledge confide in me.” He took a step closer to me. “You want something from me.”
“I…” Our closeness caused my tongue to lay still. My heart pounded, but the remnants of the fight were not the only source of my quickening pulse. It was the mysterious man who stood before me.
“Shh.” He pressed a finger to my lips. “Do not speak. There is no need.” He ran his finger down the side of my face. His touch was soft and gentle. “You want me to trance you in hopes that the dead will lay blame on the one who framed Mr. Baptiste for murdering my beloved Cassia.” He removed his finger and placed his lips upon mine. The kiss was light, and yet it stole my breath. “First, there is something more pressing which I need to resolve.” He gazed into my eyes. I felt him reaching inside of me, stirring emotions and desires long since gone. He gripped the edge of my shirt and tore it open.
I gasped from the sudden action. Rain fell into my mouth. I spat it out and looked at him. There was a lust I had not seen in a long time looking back at me. His stare tantalized me and drew me in. I did not resist. I had lost all control of my thoughts and my body. He held my head in the palms of his hands and kissed me with force. I opened my mouth and let his tongue enter. Rain and spit dripped from our entangled lips and tongues. He bit my lower lip before breaking the kiss.
We panted in unison. His eyes darted around and devoured what he saw of my exposed body. He kissed and nibbled my chin then my neck, lowering himself after each taste until he was nuzzling his face against the rain-soaked hair of my chest.
My heart was pounding so hard I could not catch my breath. Mr. Borgstrom flicked his tongue over my erect tit then bit into the tender flesh. I arched my back and groaned as he tore the shirt from my body and began to bathe me with his tongue.
I was an animal in heat with no control over my emotions. My fingers, weak from the fight, tried to unbutton his shirt. I gave up and tore into his shirt. I ran my hands over the soft, hairless skin of his chest. I pinched and pulled on his nipples, making him groan against my body. He pulled away from me, panting with the most intense eyes I had ever seen on a man. I no longer recognized him. He laughed and licked my taste from his lips then pulled me off the wall, flung me around and shoved me back against the wall. He fell against me, biting and nibbling my neck and shoulders as his hands reached around my body and untied my breeches.
He stripped me there in the dark, wet alley. My arms and legs spread against the wall. I felt him unlacing his breeches then felt the hardness of his prick nestle between my buttocks. He spat then lowered his hips and thrust himself into me.
“Oh, God.” I gasped and spat rain from my mouth as the stinging pleasure of his prick filled me with its first thrust. I pounded one of my fists against the wall, feeling the brittle, shoddy surface crumble from my assault. There was no longer any gentleness in either of us. I reached behind us and clawed at his back. Scraping my nails into his skin with each of his thrusts. He grunted and groaned, letting me know he enjoyed the roughness of our play.
I wanted to touch his prick as it entered me, to know his hairy sack and the weight of it in the palm of my hand. I reached between my legs and felt him gliding in and out of me. His prick was lean, long, and slick with spit, shit, and rain. His large, furry sack filled my palm with its heft, and warmed my cold hand. I traced my fingers farther back until I felt his arse tighten against my fingertips.
He wrapped his arms around my body and pulled me against his without missing a single thrust. He turned my head and kissed me. Our bodies rocked and slapped against each other. “Lord, have mercy.” I groaned into his mouth, broke our kiss, and looked down as several thick spurts of my seed shot from my prick. I grabbed myself and stroked another shot out. As my body shook, I felt his prick swell inside me. His moans and heavy breaths reached a feverish pitch. With one final thrust, he held me tight against his body. His prick bobbed and trembled as he released his seed into me, two, three, then four times.
He ran his hand down my chest and belly. His hand came away wet with rain and perspiration. He pulled out of me. We both groaned from the release. My legs were weak. My knees began to buckle, forcing me to reach out to the wall for support.
Without speaking, I pulled my breeches up my legs, tucking my still hard prick back inside. My shirt laid on the ground torn and muddy. I picked up the ragged remains and realizing it was of no use to me, tossed it farther into the alley. Mr. Borgstrom placed his hands on my shoulder and turned me around.
“My apologies for the loss of your fine silk.”
“There is no need. It was of little importance.”
“Well, you cannot parade around London shirtless and looking as if someone has just fucked you in the filth of the street.” He smiled. “Allow me to take you back to my home, find you some clean clothes then we can discuss the other thing you desire.” He took off his coat and placed it over my shoulders.
“Thank you. What other thing is that?”
“You want to be tranced. It is the reason for your ploy in getting me out here this evening, is it not? Ah.” He held up his hand. “There is no need to dignify the question with a lie. We both know this is what you wanted. Now, please, my carriage is waiting for me down the street. Our time together has been quite invigorating so far. I cannot wait to see what we uncover next. Oh, I believe this is yours.” He handed me my pistol, then placed my muddied overcoat around my shoulders and led me out of the alley and into the street where his carriage waited.
Chapte
r 16
“Please, warm yourself by the fire, while I find a shirt for you to put on.” Mr. Borgstrom took my coat from around my shoulders, shook the rain from it, then hung it on one of the pegs in the foyer. He bowed and extended his arm toward the parlor. “We look to be near enough the same size.” He stood back and studied me. “I should be able to find you something from my wardrobe.”
“Thank you.” I nodded and followed the warmth of the fire. I held my hands close to the flames, then rubbed my hands over my arms to chase away the goosebumps. My body shivered as the heat tried to penetrate the saturated materials of my breeches and stockings. I pulled off my boots, then unrolled my stockings and hung them from the mantel. I wiggled my toes to bring back their feeling from hours trapped in the tight-fitting boots, then proceeded to remove my breeches, completely ignorant to the fact I was standing arse naked in a strange home. I shook the breeches then hung them to dry on the hook next to my stockings. The heat from the flames licked my chilled skin and blanketed me in its warmth. I shivered as the cold retreated.
“I do not believe I have ever witnessed a more beautiful sight than what I see standing before me,” Mr. Borgstrom said. His tone was light and jovial.
“My apologies.” I turned around and immediately placed both hands over my privates to conceal my nakedness. “I…my breeches…they…were wet and I hoped to dry them a bit.” Despite my former profession, I felt a blush rise across my chest and move into my neck and face.
“There is no need for modesty, especially after our beautiful union in the alley.”
“I suppose not.” Despite my words, I turned my back on Mr. Borgstrom, grabbed my breeches from the mantel and put them on. They were still wet, but the heat had at least taken the cold from the fabric. After lacing my front flap, I turned around. Mr. Borgstrom handed me one of his shirts. I pulled it over my head, enjoying something dry next to my skin.
In those few moments of silence, I realized I no longer wanted to be anywhere near this man. Determined to uncover the murderer and clear Pierre’s name, I had let him fuck me like a common whore to get close to him, to manipulate his emotions, and to let him believe he was the one manipulating me. Somehow these actions felt dirtier to me than any of the prior sexual acts I’d performed as a catamite.
“Now that you have dressed, shall we begin?
“Yes.” I nodded and let him lead me down a short hallway, which ended at the entrance to a small rectangular room. The furnishings and décor were simple, a strange contrast to the rich tapestries and furniture I saw the night of his show. A single chair sat in the middle of the room. Black and burgundy cloth covered all four walls. In the center of each wall the fabrics were pulled back and carefully draped around a candle. The lighting would be minimal for most rooms, but with the small space the candles gave off sufficient light.
“Please be seated,” Mr. Borgstrom said. One by one he extinguished three of the four candles, throwing us into near darkness. I faced the one remaining candle. The flame flickered and billowed in a non-descript breeze and drew my vision toward it. I blinked the spots from my eyes. “The candle,” he nodded toward the wall, “helps one concentrate.” He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled his sleeves up then squatted before me.
“Are the restraints necessary?” I asked, worried I was getting in way over my head. Despite my somewhat twisted affection for this man, I knew he was not to be trusted. Then a terrifying thought came to me. Pierre had sat in this exact spot, hoping to uncover the truth. I began to panic. What was I thinking? As the leather tightened around my wrists, I knew it was too late to back out. I could only hope our recent sex in the alley would be enough to spare my life.
“They are for your protection, Mr. Newton.” He wrapped the straps around my ankles. “Sometimes people lash out while they are between worlds. It is not intentional, and most do not realize they are doing it. But one can injure themselves and me. There is no need to worry.” He placed his hand on the upper part of my leg and gave a gentle squeeze. “I am feeling some resistance from you. That is not good, Mr. Newton. You need to set yourself free of all doubt.”
I nodded in agreement but said nothing else. His ability to know how I was feeling unsettled me. I worried I wouldn’t be able to pull off the charade. I took a deep breath and rolled my shoulders, trying to release the tension and apprehension, but it continued to hold me in its grip.
“I need you to concentrate on the candle flame, Mr. Newton.” Mr. Borgstrom rolled the friction machine next to my chair. “Let it burn away all the worries and fears. Feel the warmth of the flame spread through your mind, clearing away all thoughts, all memories, and all doubts. Allow yourself to be absorbed by the light.”
I heard the familiar hum of the machine. It vibrated and echoed around my body, making my nerves tense and more sensitive to my surroundings. I bit my tongue to try to keep myself from slipping into Mr. Borgstrom’s void. It did not work. I bit down harder until the metallic taste of blood entered my mouth. The sudden intense pain jolted me awake as the rod from the friction apparatus encircled my head, causing the air around me to snap and crackle. I fought back against the dizziness his machine forced upon me, then remembering how Mrs. Reid reacted to the machine, I let my head fall forward, then back, then forward once again.
“Where are you, Mr. Newton?”
“I do not know.” I lowered my normal speaking voice, hoping to give the illusion I was elsewhere in my mind. I felt utterly ridiculous engaging in such a masquerade, and only hoped Mr. Borgstrom, distracted from our sexual activity, would not notice. “The dark is all around me…there are shadows, but I cannot see them with any clarity.”
“Are you alone?”
I waited for a moment before speaking again. “Yes…no, wait…no, there are others.” I tried to reason each of his questions with an answer that would direct the next question. If Pierre and I were correct in our thoughts, Mr. Borgstrom was the informant. I needed him to confess his participation to me.
“Who is with you, Mr. Newton? Is it Mother Clap?”
I winced as a slice of anger pierced my heart, knowing he was using my love for her against me. Before I could reply, a thought came to me. Mother would want to be a part of this, she would insist upon it. I rocked my head back and forth as if trying to see more clearly, then spoke. “Yes, yes, it is Mother. She is calling to me.”
“Go to her, Mr. Newton. We…you can learn from the dead.”
“Moth…” I let my voice trail away then sat silent and waited to see how Mr. Borgstrom would react.
“What is it, Mr. Newton? What is she telling you?” His voice grew with anticipation and excitement. I knew my plan was working.
“No, Mother, you must be mistaken.”
“Mr. Newton, please I need to know what she is telling you, or I cannot help you.”
“She…she says I can no longer trust Pierre. What? No, I cannot…”
“What is it you cannot do, Mr. Newton?”
“Lord Burnham,” I replied.
“What about him?”
“He is staying at Clapton’s. I am trying to keep him safe.”
“Who else is at Clapton’s, Mr. Newton?”
“Bess Dutton stays there, and Pierre.”
“With Pierre in Newgate, it is just you and Bess. Is that correct?”
“Yes.” I dipped my head lower and paused in hopes of playing an adequate role. “No, no one would ever find the money, Mother.” I laughed. “Yes, I still keep it there.”
“Where is the money, Mr. Newton?”
“Behind the fire grate in the kitchen. There is a loose stone in the hearth.” I laughed. “No one knows but me.”
“Ask Mother Clap about Pierre. Does she know who framed him for the murder of Cassia?”
“Mother, about Pierre. You must be mistaken. He wouldn’t have murdered anyone. Please, you cannot leave yet. There are things I need to know.” I let the tension in my body release and faked a shiver for good measure.
>
“Thomas, is anyone else in the room with you?”
“No.”
“Do you want to come back?”
“Yes. I do not like it in here.”
“Thomas, follow my voice. It will lead you back to me. One…two…three.”
I shook my head and blinked, raising my head and twisting it to work the kinks out of it. I looked at Mr. Borgstrom. Well, did you find out anything?”
“You do not remember?”
“Remember? No, what happened? Did we find out who framed Pierre?”
“Thomas, you were speaking to Mother Clap. She told you never to doubt Pierre’s innocence. He did not do it, but she was not able to say more.” He squatted in front of me and placed his hand on my shoulder as if consoling me. I had the bastard.
“Did she say anything else?”
“Yes, but I did not understand what she was telling you. Mother Clap told you the answer was in the nails. Do you know what she was referring to?”
“I have no idea.” I wondered why he was feeding me false information, and what nails had to do with any of it.
“I am sorry there was not more.” He unbuckled the restraints around my wrists and ankles. “The otherworld is a mysterious place. The dead make their own rules. Each time I place someone in a trance it is unpredictable.”
“It is not your fault. You tried.” I stood and rubbed my wrists where the leather straps had pressed into my skin. “Does anyone ever remember their experience?”
“No.”
“I find it odd, do you not?”
“Not at all. You, like the others, are in a different plane of existence during the trance. While you can pass knowledge between the realms, a person cannot exist in both places simultaneously.”
Den of Thieves Page 23
