by Shana Galen
Derring backed away. “No. You wouldn’t, would you?”
The darkness closed around Derring, and Gideon leaned against the tree until his vision returned and the hammer in his brain ceased slamming against his skull. Finally, he made his way back to the stable.
Susanna lay with one arm curled under her cheek, her eyes closed, and her breathing regular. He stood above her and watched her sleep until the first rays of light turned the darkness beyond a slate gray. He’d risked everything for her—his future, his life. He wanted to believe it was for the necklace, but it had always been her. The first moment he saw her, he’d lost the battle.
Come what may, he didn’t regret it.
A few more hours and he’d return her—back to the life she’d been born to, the life where she belonged. Back to the bosom of her family and all those who loved her.
And he’d go back too—back to life as a rook in Seven Dials, a thief, a faceless cove no one cared about.
* * *
She woke wrapped in Gideon’s arms. He was so warm, and she felt incredibly protected pressed against his chest. He smelled of hay and horse, the scents reminding her of Northbridge Abbey, her family’s country estate. She’d always loved it there. Returning to London for the Season always felt like stepping into a gutter. She smelled the city long before she ever saw it.
She wrapped her arms around Gideon, buried her face in his coarse shirt. With her ear pressed to his chest, she could hear his heart thumping slowly and steadily. She parted the collar of his shirt and pressed her lips to the warm skin of his throat. His heart thumped faster, and his hands closed on her sides, pulling her closer and firmly against his hard member.
Heat rushed to her belly and pooled lower, making her very aware of the ache between her thighs. She rubbed against him, molding her body to his. He moaned and buried his lips in her hair, brushing against her ear. She shivered and slid her body against his.
“Are you attempting to seduce me, Lady Susanna?”
“Yes.” She angled her hips. “I think I have succeeded.”
His hand cupped her breast, his palm circling the nipple until it grew hard and ached for his touch.
“We’re not alone. A groom might come in at any time.”
“Then we should be quiet.”
He chuckled. “Wanton girl.”
He bent his head and took her breast with his mouth. She arched up, biting her lip to keep from crying out. His warm tongue on her skin sent shivers of pleasure through her. She wrapped her legs around him, making no secret of what she wanted from him, where she wanted him to touch her.
His mouth still on her breast, his hand cupped her ankle then slid up to tickle her calf. When his fingers brushed lightly against the back of her knee, she caught her breath and suppressed a moan. Finally, his hand moved deliberately over the sensitive skin of her thigh, skimming over the place where she ached for his touch. She bowed into him, parting her legs when his fingers delved into her slick flesh.
When his fingers entered her, she hissed in a breath of pain.
“I’m sorry.” He pulled back, his hands off her in an instant. “I hurt you.”
“Shh.” She put a finger over his lips and kissed him gently. “I wasn’t expecting the soreness. Touch me again.”
The wary look in his eyes, the meaning behind it, slayed her. He did care about her. He didn’t want to hurt her. Did that concern extend only to her body, or did it also encompass her heart?
“I don’t want to cause you pain.”
“If you do, I’ll tell you. You’ll stop.”
His eyes darkened into that dangerous look that made her forget to breathe. “You think it so easy for me to stop? When I touch you, I don’t ever want to stop.”
“Then don’t.” She kissed his cheek, his lips, the scar slicing through his eyebrow, his temple. “Don’t ever stop.”
His hands were everywhere, his fingers gentle as they teased her body into a feverish state of arousal. When his finger entered her again, she barely noted the soreness, only that the extra sensitivity made her more eager for that hard length of him to slide between her legs.
“You’re ready?” he said, sounding surprised. “Let me…” He bent, presumably to take her with his mouth, but she stopped him with a hand on his cheek.
“I want you,” she whispered. “I want to join with you, feel you move inside me.”
His eyes were the dark green of an ancient forest. “You say it so sweetly, so properly. Somehow you make it more erotic than vulgar speech ever could.”
“I don’t know the vulgar terms,” she said, feeling her cheeks heat, as they always did when he pointed out her näiveté.
“I don’t want you ever to learn them.” He pushed the hair back from her temple, cradled her face in his hand. “If I hurt you—”
“You won’t.”
“—I’ll try to stop. God help me, I’ll find a way.”
He slid into her, slowly and with exquisite tenderness. She felt a slight discomfort but no real pain. Her body accommodated him, closed around him, welcomed each careful stroke. He moved deliberately and with great skill. She hadn’t known there was skill in this act, but the way Gideon knew exactly when to press forward, when to draw back, when to rock into her was definitely skilled.
His gaze never left hers, and he seemed to read her needs in her eyes. If she felt a flicker of pain, he slowed, and when a frisson of pleasure raced through her, he quickened. The pleasure built and built, coalescing into exquisite torment. She angled her hips up, taking more of him.
“Let go,” he murmured. The intensity in his eyes undid her. She flew over the edge, the pleasure knocking her over like the fierce wind of a storm. It lifted her up, spun her around, drained her of all resistance until she couldn’t imagine ever feeling anything so wonderful again.
And then Gideon was gone, his withdrawal almost painful. He spilled his seed in the straw beside her, heaving in great gasps. The arm supporting him trembled, and his head hung down, his dark hair a damp tangle on his brow.
“Why do you do that?” she asked quietly when he’d righted his clothing.
He gave her a bewildered look then blew out a breath. “I forget what an innocent you are.” He pushed his hair off his forehead. “I don’t want to get you with child.”
She touched her belly lightly. A child. She had not thought of that. “You’re protecting me.”
“No.” He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Don’t look at it that way. This doesn’t always work. If I really wanted to protect you, I wouldn’t touch you.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re not that cruel.”
“Your view will likely change.”
She drew back, pressing her arms stiffly to her sides. “It won’t.” She looked away, her gaze fastening on the matted straw where they’d slept twined in each other’s arms. She’d known the morning would come, and it would herald a farewell.
“Shall we pay our visit to Mr. Southey? I know you are anxious to claim your payment, but—”
“I’ll take you to Vauxhall.” He moved quickly away from her, bending to brush straw from his trousers. “I’d like to enter through the Proprietor’s House once instead of under the fence. Never had an invitation anywhere before.” His words were light and teasing, but his voice held a hint of bitterness.
She’d insulted him, and she’d done it to goad him. She wanted him to tell her he didn’t care about the necklace anymore. It was her he wanted, and the necklace be damned.
Unfair, she knew.
Of course the necklace mattered. It was worth more money than he’d probably ever imagined. She hadn’t asked his intentions, and she didn’t plan to, but she suspected he would sell it and use the money to leave Town. He’d want to start a new life.
She wanted that for him. She wanted him to
have a future where he’d be safe.
She had wanted to be part of that future.
It took the better part of the morning to walk back to Vauxhall. The night before, Gideon had concocted a story about his pocket being picked and having no money to take the ferry back across the Thames. They’d secured a ride as far as the lodging house with an older couple whose eyes Susanna could not quite meet. She was certain they didn’t believe she was Mrs. Harrow and could somehow see she was no longer a virgin as clearly as if it were written on her face.
When they finally reached the gardens again, Susanna was desperate for a sip of water. Beauty had run through several marshes and was once again a dirty brown. Beauty’d drunk plenty of the water, but Susanna’s nose protested the stink. Her throat felt as dry as parchment.
Her hair clung damply to her neck, and her petticoat felt heavy with the last of the morning dew. Gideon rapped loudly on the Proprietor’s House, showing Southey’s card when the door finally opened. They were admitted, and Susanna studied the paintings they had seen the night before. Hogarth, she decided now that she saw them in the morning light. She breathed deeply of the fresh air in the Grove when they finally stepped outside.
A man carrying a heavy bag of what looked to be potatoes jerked his chin in the direction of the Chinese Pavilions, and Susanna and Gideon found Southey pruning a rose bush. Bullfinches and wrens sang cheerily in the trees, and Susanna lifted her face to the filtered sunlight streaming through the leaves.
Southey removed his hat and bowed. “Mr. and Mrs. Harrow. I hoped you’d come.”
Beauty yipped.
“You too, dog,” Southey said and tipped his hat.
“You couldn’t keep us away,” Susanna said with a smile.
Southey gestured to a nearby arbor furnished with a bench and a table. “Some lemon water to refresh you?”
“Thank you.” Susanna took the opportunity to rest on the bench for a few moments and drink while Gideon chatted amiably with Southey. “How long have you tended Vauxhall Gardens?”
“Oh, more than twenty years or so,” Southey said, leaning back on his heels. “I’m fortunate to be the second son of a viscount. I might have had to join the clergy or the navy, but when I was about twelve, I discovered a new method for farming that more than tripled the yield on my father’s land. A few years later, I wrote a paper about it, and now I travel the world showing gentleman farmers, and those who aren’t so much the gentleman, how to better work their land.”
“You must love it,” Susanna said. “You’re obviously very talented. It’s even more beautiful in the daylight.”
“Tending the land is in my blood.” He bent and plucked a weed, turning it between his fingers. “I must say, Mrs. Harrow, you do remind me of a woman I once knew many years ago.”
“You said as much last night. You seem to remember her fondly.”
He dropped the weed and rubbed his palms on his trousers. “That I do. Come, I’ll show you around.”
They walked, and he pointed out the Handel Piazza and the Rotunda, listing when each was added and the part he played in the landscaping. As they made their way back to the arbor, Susanna asked again about the lady he’d said she resembled.
“Whatever happened to the lady you mentioned? Was she promised to another?”
Southey’s long face lengthened. “She was the daughter of a duke, and I merely the second son of a viscount. Her family didn’t approve of the match.”
Susanna stilled.
“And this was your secret rendezvous?”
“Dorrie and I would meet here every chance we could. She came every night she could get away. We would talk until the sun rose.” He rubbed his hands on his trousers and led them on the path back to the arbor. “The days were interminable.”
“But the nights passed all too quickly.”
Southey smiled at Gideon. “I see the fellow knows just what I mean. You’re lucky to have found a lasting love,” he said. “Don’t let it go. If I could go back, I would do anything and everything to keep my Dorrie. I’d never let her go.”
Susanna wanted desperately to look at Gideon, to see his expression. Instead, she kept her gaze on the gravel path before her. Dorrie, a duke’s daughter, Vauxhall Gardens…
Susanna’s head was down and her gaze on her worn, ill-fitting boots, so she didn’t see Southey abruptly halt in front of her. She was almost on top of him when Gideon grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, looking around at the trees and the path dappled with sunlight.
“Dorrie?” Southey said, his voice hoarse with emotion and disbelief.
Susanna jerked her attention to the arbor they’d occupied earlier. She hadn’t realized they were so close, and for a moment she was cheered at the prospect of more lemon water. And then she felt as though she’d been struck in the chest by a low-hanging tree limb.
Her mother stood in the arbor, eyes wide with shock.
Eighteen
Dorothea stared at her daughter as she moved past the trees shading the arbor and into view. She could hardly believe the girl coming toward her, a dirty mongrel trailing behind her, was her own daughter. Susanna’s hair fell in long, tousled curls down her back and framed her face, softening the angular cheeks and chin. Heavy as it was, her hair shifted as she walked, making her hips seem to sway provocatively. Had her daughter always walked thus? Or was it an illusion of the unbound hair and the ghastly dress she wore?
Her lovely daughter—the child she’d always kept neat and clean—had dirt smudged on one arm and straw in her hair. The skirts of the gown were covered in mud and grass, and her boots!
Dorothea could not bear to look.
She made the mistake of looking past her daughter, to the man at her side. He was a ruffian if she’d ever seen one. He had two days’ worth growth of beard and a lean, hungry look. The scar slashing across his temple proved his propensity for mischief.
She opened her mouth—she knew not what she would say—when a voice broke the twitter of bird song.
“Dorrie!”
Dorothea stilled, wondering if her mind played tricks on her. She’d come to the arbor because it was the place they’d always met. She’d wanted to see it again, see if it had changed, if her memories of it were accurate. Brook had wanted to go to The Dark Walk, and she’d assured him she could find her own way. Now she heard the voice she answered to in her dreams.
Her gaze fastened on the older man preceding Susanna. His once-bright red hair had faded and the temples were streaked with white. His beard was still a vibrant red and his eyes bright blue. His skin had been darkened to a rich gold by the sun, and his broad shoulders spoke of long hours of hard labor.
“Don’t you know me, Dorrie?” he asked. “I’d know you anywhere.”
“Robert.” She breathed the name like a prayer. Perhaps it was a prayer. God knew he’d been her salvation all those years ago. And now he stood before her, in the flesh. She would have known that slightly drooped mouth and those bright blue eyes anywhere.
Before she knew what she was about, before she could countermand her baser impulses, her feet moved toward him. She ran, feeling twenty again instead of her five decades, and fell into his arms, laughing with abandon. She buried her face in his coat, inhaling deeply the scents of grass, leaves, and soil. She knew his scent, even after all these years. His smell had not changed. Neither had the feel of his arms around her, the softness of his lips when he brushed them across her forehead, her cheek. His beard tickled her lips, the rough hair brushing across her sensitive skin.
She met his kisses with her own. Part of her mind was appalled. She knew she should stop. She knew she must not behave so.
But propriety and rules be damned!
That was what she should have said all those years ago. Why had she wasted her life outside the circle of Robert
’s arms?
“Mother?”
The shocked voice of her daughter barely penetrated her haze of emotion. She would not have ceased covering Robert with kisses except that he pulled back and glanced at Susanna.
“What did you say?” Robert asked Susanna.
“Unhand her.” Ever stealthy, Brook entered the arbor, looking directly at Robert.
Dorothea pressed closer to Robert.
“What is this?” her son asked.
Dorothea couldn’t think how to respond. It was as though two very different worlds collided, and the impact had rendered her speechless.
“Mama is kissing Mr. Southey,” Susanna said to Brook matter-of-factly.
“This is your mother?” Robert asked, his voice incredulous. His gaze met Dorothea’s, and she nodded.
It would all come out now. There was no hope of concealing the truth.
“And this is your Dorrie,” the ruffian added, glancing at her in Robert’s arms.
“That can’t be,” Susanna whispered, her gaze wide and confused. “I thought… I knew… But he’s…”
The ruffian cleared his throat. “If I’m not mistaken, Lady Susanna, he’s your father.”
* * *
Susanna’s hand reached for an object of support. She felt nothing and faltered slightly before Gideon caught her in his arms. Immediately, she was wrenched away to Brook’s side.
Beauty jumped and barked, dancing between Gideon and Brook.
“And you, hands off my sister. How dare you insult her so?”
Susanna looked from Brook to Gideon and then back to her mother, who was still clutching Mr. Southey tightly.
Gideon gave his best cocky grin. She had almost forgotten it, forgotten how much she wanted to poke him when he flashed it. “I’m only commenting on what I see.” He gestured between Susanna and Southey. “The likeness is uncanny.”
Brook stiffened, looking from their mother to Susanna and back again.
“I’m sorry,” her mother said, her eyes pleading for understanding. Susanna stared at her, at this woman who had rarely shown any emotion other than pride. Suddenly, she seemed so vulnerable and frightened.
