“You’re most welcome. I’m certain everything will work out for the best.”
His mouth tipped into a grim smile. “From your lovely lips to God’s ears.”
Boot heels clicked on stone, then Stephen joined them in the aisle. He pinned the other man with a glare. “It’s time to go.”
Hammond’s smile faded. “What’s the hurry, Lieutenant?” He pulled a watch fob from a pocket and held it up to the candlelight. “It’s only quarter past ten.”
Stephen went taut as a bowstring. “Quarter past ten.” All color drained from his face. “It’s over then. I’m sunk.”
****
The wide staircase loomed ahead like the maw of a hungry beast. Stephen fisted his sword hilt and forced reluctant and quite cold feet forward. He was chilled from having to ride outside with the driver while Victoria and Hammond enjoyed the relative warmth inside the cab. And reluctant because of what waited at the top of those stairs.
Only the napping desk clerk occupied the lobby of The Willard. No one would see them scuttling Hammond back to his room. That was one thing in their favor. Though it wouldn’t matter. Once Denton reported the British envoy’s escape, Stephen could kiss his future good-bye.
Ahead of him, slender hips swayed seductively with each step. Embers he’d banked earlier flared to life. He doused the craving. The last time he’d indulged his wants, everything went to hell. No sense in making things worse.
They reached the second floor landing and started down the hall. Hammond weaved slightly but was able to walk without assistance. Good thing. The dolt might find his neck being wrung instead of a helping hand.
A uniformed figure stepped into the hallway ahead. Stephen steeled his spine, shoring himself for the tirade to come.
“There you are, Mr. Hammond. I was wondering where you’d gotten yourself off to,” came a familiar, and very un-Denton-like Irish lilt.
What the hell? Stephen stepped around the slower-moving Englishman. “Lieutenant Warinner. What are you doing here?”
Ian shoved open the door to Hammond’s room. “Denton came down with a stomach ailment, so the General sent word for me to cover his shift.”
Luck be a leprechaun. In the form of an Irish officer who was more brother than friend. Ian and he had been roommates at West Point and upon graduation had been assigned to the same regiment in Washington. They’d been through many a ticklish situation together, including a bar brawl that pitted them against four seamen with tree-trunks for arms. Just as in the taproom, Ian would have his back, no matter what the circumstance.
Hammond paused in the doorway, his glassy gaze finding Victoria. “Good night, Miss Manning. Thank you again for your kind words.”
Victoria dipped a curtsey. “You’re welcome, sir. Sleep well. Dawn will bring a new and most joyous day.”
Hammond gave her a slight bow, and then disappeared inside the hotel room. Stephen released a slow breath. Finally the Englishman was back where he belonged. Hopefully, he’d stay there.
As the door clicked shut, Victoria turned her sweet smile on Ian. “Lieutenant Warinner. You don’t know how wonderful it is to see you.”
“You, Miss Manning, are the wondrous sight.”
“Tsk-tsk. Such a charmer.” She shifted her weary gaze in his direction. “I’m sure you have things to discuss with the lieutenant. I’ll just go gather my things from the maid’s closet.”
She was giving them privacy, just like a perfect officer’s wife should. Thank God their wedding was back on track, and those precious wifely skills wouldn’t go to waste. He gave her elbow a gentle squeeze. “I’ll join you shortly, sweetheart.”
He watched as she walked down the hall, her step less lively than earlier in the evening. His heart bucked. She should be asleep in her own bed, dreaming of wedding cakes and flowers. But the cabbie had declined further fares. Said his horse was done for the night. Much as it rankled, Stephen understood the man’s refusal. The animal’s well-being came first. Yet it sure did put a damper on his plans to get Victoria home.
“The maid’s closet?” Ian asked, his tone ringing with mischief.
“Don’t ask.”
“No. I probably shouldn’t. So, what bog did our illustrious Englishman land himself in this time?”
Stephen shook his head. Ian was well aware of Hammond’s sordid streak. He gave a brief report of the night’s events.
Ian rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph. The man’s an idiot. Leaving the hotel to slog about the city on the night before his wedding. He ought to be strung up by his ballocks.”
“Believe me, the thought crossed my mind—several times. The bastard could’ve cost me everything.”
“Lucky for you Sergeant Denton has a weak constitution.”
“Luck. Fate. Whatever the hell it was, I’m just glad everything turned out for the best. Now all I have to do is find a room for Victoria for the night.”
Ian shook his head. “’Twould be a waste of time. The desk clerk gave me their last vacancy.”
Damnation. Of all the bad luck, he had the worst.
“Why don’t you take my room?” Ian shoved a hand in a pocket. “I shan’t need it until morning.”
“I can’t do that.”
“No arguments, boyo. I insist.” Ian pressed a key into his palm. “Next floor up. Room three twelve.”
Stephen clapped a hand to the lieutenant’s shoulder. “I owe you one. Probably more than one.”
“Probably. But who’s counting. Go. Get that enchanting fiancée of yours settled for the night.” Ian gave his arm a fake punch. “Just make sure you’re back in the morning to relieve me.”
“I’ll be here, no worries.” Stephen supplied Ian with a smart salute and then headed down the hall, the load weighing on his shoulders much lighter than before. Men like Ian Warinner were few and far between. He was lucky to count him as friend.
Victoria emerged from the maid’s closet and met him in the hall. “Where to now?”
He held up the key. “Ian insisted we use his hotel room for the night. He won’t need it until morn’ when I relieve him from duty.”
“How sweet of him.” She angled around to wave to the lieutenant and mouth the words “thank you.”
Ian gave a deep bow and blew her a kiss. Stephen snorted. What a cad. Any other man would be feeling the sting of his fist.
Victoria laughed and fell into step beside him, the retrieved picnic basket swinging on her arm. Some picnic. An army of ants couldn’t have wreaked more havoc on their evening. He’d make it up to her. After all this Grover wedding business was over, he’d treat her to an outing worthy of a queen.
Once inside the hotel room, Victoria peeled off her cloak and sank onto the edge of the bed. His groin tightened. It would be the perfect nest for love-making. Plump mattress. Soft bedcovers. A lovers’ Eden. But it couldn’t be. Not tonight. Not after they’d been to hell and back.
He crossed to the bureau and busied himself with lighting the gas lamp. Golden light flooded the room. Behind him, bed ropes creaked, and then came a soft, utterly feminine sigh that goaded the serpent coiled in his loins. He couldn’t stop from turning around.
Victoria reclined on a stack of pillows piled against the headboard. “It appears we have our privacy now, Lieutenant Byrne.” She patted the coverlet beside her. “Come join me.”
He fisted hands at his sides, working to corral his surging desire. “I’d love nothing better than to join you.”
She pushed up on an elbow, her brow creased with lacy lines. “What’s wrong, love?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I just think it best if we wait as agreed.”
“Why? What’s changed? You were eager to have me earlier.”
“Yes, I wanted you. Still do.” He drew in a ragged breath. “But I foolishly tempted fate with lust, and it nearly cost us our future. I won’t risk it again. Besides, it’s late, and you need your sleep.”
“I’m not the least bit sleepy.” She floated a hand over h
er waist and down a rounded hip. “Come see for yourself.”
Hells Bells. His whole body clamored to join her. But indulging his need would be akin to poking at Satan’s forked tail. He had no desire to be impaled.
He beat a hasty retreat to the door. “Have no doubt, sweetheart, I want to be with you, in every sense of the word. But I want our joining to be perfect. A night to cherish. I fear we’re both too weary to make this a memorable night.”
Her brazen smile cannon-balled into him. “You’re wrong. Any night with you would be memorable.”
Flames torched his insides. He wanted to vault across the room and show her just how memorable it could be. He grabbed for the doorknob instead. “I’m going down the hall for a quick bath, then I’ll make a pallet outside the door. You can have the bed.”
Her lower lip blossomed into a pout. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”
“Yes. I do.” He yanked open the door to keep from capturing those bewitching lips with his own. “Rest assured, we’ll have many pleasurable nights together. Just not this one.”
Chapter Four
Victoria lobbed a glance down each end of the hall before easing through the doorway and into the bathing chamber. Hopefully it was late enough that no one else wanted a bath. Just to be sure…she closed the door and gently shot home the latch. There. That ought to secure them some privacy.
“Is that you, Charlie?” came the familiar deep voice that always fascinated her lower belly. “I said I didn’t require any further assistance. You’re free to bed down for the night.”
She smiled and turned around. Stephen lay submerged in a large copper bathtub, head thrown back and resting on the tub’s edge. His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful. Gaslight glistened on ebony locks, still damp from a recent washing. One errant curl dangled boyishly on his forehead. Yet she knew her virile lieutenant was anything but boyish.
She padded across the room, the wood floorboards cool against her bare feet. She wore only a dressing robe which she’d found in Lieutenant Warinner’s hotel room. Surely the Irishman wouldn’t mind. Besides, if she played her cards right, she wouldn’t be wearing it for long.
Her vow to remain chaste until her wedding night no longer held sway. Being with Stephen was far more urgent. The uncertainty caused by Hammond’s escape triggered a need to savor every single moment with her beloved. Provided he could be persuaded to participate.
Reaching the tub, she stopped just behind Stephen’s head. His bare chest and the tops of his knees rose above the water. The rest of him disappeared into a cloudy soup. For the first time, she saw him unclothed, and it set her heart to thumping. Planning a seduction wasn’t nearly as daunting as carrying one out.
She sucked in a breath, rallying her courage. No turning back now. She leaned over and stroked his temple with a fingertip. “It’s not Charlie, my love.”
Stephen shot upright and twisted around, his eyes big as millstones. Water sloshed around him. “Victoria. What the devil are you doing in here?”
Devil, indeed. This was going to be divine. She plucked a washcloth and a bar of soap from a small table set near the tub. “I’ve come to help you bathe.”
“Help me…” His anxious gaze darted to the door. “What if someone comes in?”
She dunked the cloth in the warm bath water and began working up suds with the soap. “No one will come in. I locked the door.”
“Victoria…”
“Hush, now.” She gave his shoulder a gentle shove. “Lean forward so I can scrub your back.”
He remained still, a ship adrift in a steamy fog. Finally, he heaved a resigned sigh and leaned forward, tucking his chest against his knees. Victoria smiled. His surrender would be sweet. She’d see to it. She wouldn’t let him deny himself pleasure because of some misbegotten notion that he was to blame for putting their future in jeopardy. He deserved all the enjoyment she could give him. And that would be plenty.
She skimmed the cloth across his shoulder blades and down his backbone, lathering his sinewy muscles with soap. One finger slipped free and grazed his skin. So smooth and solid. And warm. Hot actually. A spring of desire burbled inside her. Oh to have that heated flesh pressed against hers.
Stephen groaned, and she stilled her scrubbing. “Do you want me to stop, love?”
He gave a slight shake of his head. Good. Stopping was the last thing she wanted.
She continued her lathing, moving south to where the water lapped at his lower back. Gaslight splashed his skin with golden strokes. Except for a small scar on his lower left side, he was a perfect specimen of maleness.
She traced the pale blemish with a fingertip. “Where did you get this?”
He tensed but didn’t move away from her touch. “At West Point. During combat training. I didn’t avoid a bayonet thrust quite as efficiently as I should have.”
“Were you distracted?”
“Not nearly as much as I am now.”
She widened her smile. Her strategy was working. As she leaned closer, her dressing robe buckled, the folds gaping open. Exposed to the air, her breasts went firm, the nipples thrusting outward as if seeking physical contact. She squeezed the cloth, dribbling water over glistening skin and rinsing away the soap. Soon, very soon, she’d feel the dribble of Stephen’s hands on her.
She cupped his shoulder and gave a gentle tug. “Now for your front.”
He reclined back, head resting against the tub rim. His dark eyes scoured her, a promise that her challenge to his decree of abstinence would not go unmet. She lifted her chin a notch. She did love a challenge.
Heated blood sang in her veins as she plied cloth to his broad chest, soaping his shoulders, breastbone, and ribs. Taut nipples poked through the bubbly lather. He appeared to be just as affected as she by the pleasant sensations.
She dipped her hand lower, following the dark path of hair leading from his navel to the water’s edge. Just below the surface bobbed a fleshy thickness. The breath caught in her throat. It was her first glimpse of a man’s most intimate part. A frisson of excitement and apprehension ploughed through her. Annabelle had warned that her first joining would be painful. But the pleasure to follow would be worth the fleeting pain.
She drew in a breath and then another, feeding her starving lungs. She itched to touch him, to hold him, to feel the swell of his building desire. She inched her hand lower and lower, until—
Stephen snagged her fingers in a tight grip. “God, Victoria. You play with fire.”
A fire banked with red-hot coals. She glanced at him through lowered lids, taunting him. “But I like playing with fire.”
A moan rumbled in the back of his throat. “If you keep this up, I won’t be able stop, even if I wanted to.”
“Why would you want to stop?”
He relaxed his grip and brushed a finger over the top of her exposed breast. “You could tempt a saint to sin, Victoria Manning.”
“Ah, well then, Saint Stephen.” She dropped the cloth into the water with a resounding plop. “Sin with me.”
“Willful wench.” He slipped the dressing robe off one shoulder and caressed her bared skin. “Take off that robe and join me.”
“In the tub?” Her pulse tripped at the thought. “Is there enough room for the both of us?”
“There’s plenty of room.” He sat straighter, the bath water sloshing around him. “Come. I’ll show you.”
Her lower belly quickened as if knowing what was to come. She undid the sash and wiggled out of the robe until it puddled at her feet. Cool air swirled around her, and gooseflesh pimpled over her bared skin. She shuddered, more from the bonfire that erupted in Stephen’s gaze than from the chilly air.
“God, you’re beautiful. I can hardly wait to feel you against me.”
Her knees trembled. The endgame seemed far less certain than the battle. She gave a nervous little laugh. “What do you want me to do?”
“Step in and put your feet on either side of me.”
&
nbsp; She did as he directed, and then his hands were on her hips, urging her down. He centered her body over him and guided her onto his lap. His staff nudged at her folds, wanting to go in, fully ready to do so.
“There. Plenty of room.”
Warm water lapped at her skin. She licked her lips, eager to experience the splendor of lovemaking, yet fearing it at the same time.
Stephen gave her waist a reassuring squeeze. “Your turn now, sweetheart.”
“My turn?”
“For a bathing.” He fished the cloth and soap from the water and worked up a thick lather. He spread it over her shoulders, taking his time, his sensual movements calculated to exact the fullest retribution. “Did you know...a woman’s body is much like a battlefield.”
The prickle and slide of cotton over her skin wiped her mind clean. All she could think about was the path of his assault.
He swirled a soapy finger across her collar bone and down to a breast where he circled the raised nub. “Peaked mounds perfect for observing the battle.” He brought her nipple to him and kissed it. “You taste soapy, but good.”
Ripples of warmth grabbed and tugged at her. She groaned and tipped back her head, savoring the sensation.
He stroked down to her belly, his fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “Flat planes optimal for the clash of combatants.”
Were they battling? If so, she was already torched and scorched.
His fingers drifted south and tangled in the small curls. “A forest for concealing a soldier cut off behind enemy lines.” He dipped a finger inside her. “And a cave that must be slowly and carefully breached in order to protect the treasure held within.”
Heat swelled between her legs. With a moan, she braced her hands on his stomach and threw back her shoulders. She moved upon him and felt him stir where they were nestled together. Her fear ebbed, leaving only desire in its place.
His ebony eyes turned molten. “Slowly,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, hungry. “Need to go…slow. Wait until you’re ready.”
She was ready, more than ready. So was he. She shifted her grip to the sides of the tub and rose up. Only one way to meet an invasion. She thrust down upon his staff.
Loving Byrne Page 4
