She shuddered. Heat pooled in her belly. Her body tightened, as if readying itself. He pulled her towards him and untied her chemise, freeing her breasts. He kissed her mouth again, more urgently now. He tangled his fingers in her wildly curling hair, murmuring her name. Then his mouth fastened on her breast, his tongue flicking her nipple.
First one, then the other, he tended to her breasts, cupping their weight in his hands, his tongue flicking over each nipple in turn, his mouth searingly hot on them. Her body was stretched as taut as the rope the tightrope walker had balanced on at Astley’s. She felt the same sense of giddy excitement, of precariousness.
She shivered, hot, then cold, hot, then cold. She arched her back. Her fingers clutched at his skin. His shirt was gone. She nuzzled her face into the rough hair of his chest, her hands roaming feverishly over his contours, the ridged muscles of his back, the line of his ribs, the dip in his abdomen. When he licked, she licked, too, and heard him gasp as she gasped. She pressed herself into him with abandon, relishing the hard length of his arousal, wanting more of him, more from him, more.
He pushed her back on the bed and removed her drawers, then kissed the soft inner flesh of her thighs. What was he doing? She didn’t care, she just wanted him to keep on doing it. He was nudging her thighs apart. She was taut, expectant. ‘Rafe.’ She writhed on the bed. She arched up as he kissed her thigh again. ‘Rafe,’ she said more urgently, a plea. She tugged on his shoulders.
He was so hard it ached. She was so ready, there was no need to wait. He had never seen anyone so aroused. He had never felt so aroused himself. She was perfect, ripe and luscious and waiting for him. His erection throbbed. His stomach clenched. He had never wanted anyone so much. Never. So why in God’s name was he hesitating? Again!
‘Rafe?’
He kissed her mouth, her infinitely kissable mouth, and she wrapped her arms around him and he realised what it was. She trusted him. Completely. Implicitly.
He disentangled himself from her arms, ignoring her soft protest. He kissed her breasts and she stopped protesting. He kissed the soft roundness of her belly and felt her tremble. Then he dipped his fingers into the sweet heaven of her sex and felt her wet, hot, so ready for him that almost his resolution crumbled. He heard her say his name, then he kissed where his fingers had been and he heard her cry out with surprise and pleasure; he forgot all about his own needs and, for the first time in his life, took pleasure in attending only to someone else’s.
Henrietta’s eyes flew open as he kissed her there. And there. Oh God, and there. What was he doing? Should he not—should they not—was this right? Then her eyes fell heavily closed as he kissed her again and she surrendered to the sensations he was arousing.
She’d thought she couldn’t experience any more sensation, but her body proved her wrong. Everything focused. There. Where his mouth kissed and his tongue licked and his fingers stroked. There. Where she was getting tighter and hotter and climbing higher. There. She couldn’t breathe. She heard herself moaning, saying his name, over and over, saying Rafe, Rafe, Rafe, please, please, please, though she didn’t know why; then he licked her again and she knew why, because that was exactly, exactly, exactly what she wanted, so that when he stopped she wanted to scream. Then he did it again and she did scream as finally the tension became too much and she broke, shattered, flew apart and apart and apart, and then flew again as he licked her again, holding her against his mouth as he kissed her so unbelievably intimately, kissing her again until she floated, curling her body into his as she descended from whatever plane of ecstasy she had inhabited, kissing her mouth, stroking her hair, saying her name, kissing her as if he really meant it, as if she truly was irresistible.
She opened her eyes to meet his, deep indigo, filled with undisguised passion. She was pressed so close to him she could feel his heart beating, slower than hers, but still fast. She waited, knowing there was more, wanting more. She could feel him hard and solid through his breeches.
He still had his breeches on!
He laughed, and she realised that once again she’d spoken out loud. ‘I know,’ he said.
‘But…’
‘It’s better this way.’
‘But you…’
‘I am more than satisfied, if you are,’ he said. And he meant it. ‘Sleep, Henrietta.’ He stroked her hair, her shoulders. He cupped her bottom, nestling her closer, and stroked her back. He kissed her eyelids. The tip of her nose. Though his shaft was still throbbing, he felt almost sated, strangely replete.
Her breathing was already slowing. Her hands were loosing their hold on him. He pulled the rough blanket up over both of them. Another night confined in those damned breeches, yet he didn’t care. He wasn’t in the least tired, but he had no intentions of moving.
Henrietta snuggled her cheek into the crook of his shoulder. She was floating again, on a cloud of blissful happiness.
* * *
She awoke next morning to the reassuring thump of his heart. She was still anchored to his side, one of her legs pressed between his thighs. She lay completely still, relishing the feel of him, the solidity of him, the scent of him, the warmth. One of his hands was wrapped around her waist. The other lay on her bottom. She became dimly aware of another sound. An urgent tapping at the door. It was Benjamin and he clearly had some news.
Shyly clutching the sheet around her, Henrietta sat up in bed. Rafe had already pulled on a clean shirt and she was acutely conscious of her own nakedness.
Sitting on the end of the bed, pulling on his boots, Rafe tried very hard to ignore the alluring and delightfully naked bundle only a few inches away. Intimacy was something he was accustomed to eschewing, but this kind of intimacy, this waking up together, and getting dressed, and starting a new day together—he was finding that he liked it. At least, he liked it with Henrietta. Her hair was curlier than ever in the morning light. Her skin was creamy, rather than white. He liked the way her lips were smudged with his kisses. He dropped his boot.
‘Rafe, we— Benjamin is waiting.’
But he kissed her, anyway, and, when her arms went around his neck and the sheet slipped so that her breasts were pressed against his shirt, he kissed her again.
Henrietta disentangled herself with extreme reluctance. Already her body was tingling with anticipation. It was intoxicating, this passion they shared.
She smiled at him, and he felt as if her smile tugged at something inside him. It was the strangest feeling. She had judged him, but she had not found him wanting. She trusted him. And she cared. Perhaps too much. He hadn’t thought of that. He hadn’t thought of that at all. Why the hell had he not?
Guilt made his own smile fade. Because he had not wanted to. He wished—he wished—but wishes were the stuff of fools and he was a fool no more. He turned back to the shaving mirror. ‘I’ll only be a moment more. I’ll go down and order breakfast, you can make your toilette in private.’
The door closed and Henrietta got out of bed. The magic of the night had fled, leaving a grey dawning of reality. These last few days had been a flight of fantasy. If Benjamin’s news was positive, it would precede a return to the real world. So successful had she been in forgetting all about the accusations hanging over her head that she had no idea, in fact, what form, exactly, her return to reality would constitute.
She had no source of income. Even with her name cleared, it was unlikely in the extreme that Lady Ipswich would take her back and, knowing what she knew now about the lady’s past, Henrietta was far from sure that she wanted to return in any case. She could go to Ireland if she borrowed the fare from Rafe, she supposed, but the very thought of facing Mama and Papa and the inevitable chaos that would surround them made her heart sink.
As she tied her garters and laced her shoes, a tear plopped down on to her hand. ‘The thing is,’ she said to her melancholy reflection, as she dried her face on a towel smelling of Rafe’s shaving soap, ‘the thing is that though, of course, I don’t love him, I don’t want to
leave him just yet. Though I know I must.’ She sniffed and picked up her brush, dragging it through her tangled curls roughly enough to explain the fresh batch of tears that collected in her eyes.
She cast down her brush and began to stick pins randomly into her hair. ‘It is high time you faced facts, Henrietta Markham. Rafe St Alban will very soon—maybe as early as today—be leaving this inn and returning to his privileged life in London. You would do well to turn your mind to what you are going to do next, even if you don’t have to worry about Newgate. Which is not yet a foregone conclusion.’
She pushed a final pin into her hair and surveyed the dismal result. It would have to do. Taking several deep breaths, reminding herself yet again that there were thousands of people worse off than she was, Henrietta left the bedchamber.
* * *
Rafe was waiting for her in the coffee room with a substantial breakfast spread before him. ‘Ben won’t be a moment,’ he said, helping her into a chair and pouring her some coffee.
Henrietta buttered a slice of bread, glancing at Rafe as she did so. His expression was impassive. ‘You’ll be able to go home, if the news is positive,’ she said brightly.
‘Home?’
‘You must have a dozen things to attend to, lots of parties and such. You’ll be pleased to finally have the comfort of your own bed, too.’
He had been about to take a bite of beef, but his fork remained suspended halfway to his mouth. ‘You are eager to be rid of me?’
‘No, of course not, only I am vastly conscious of the amount of time you have already wasted… .’
Rafe put his fork back down on his plate, the beef uneaten. ‘I don’t consider it wasted time.’ He took a sip of coffee. He hadn’t thought about returning to his solitary life. He wasn’t ready. ‘Anyway, things are not that simple. Even if Ben has tracked down the housebreaker, he’s hardly likely to readily admit to the theft, especially with the threat of the hangman’s noose looming over him if he does.’
‘Oh.’ Henrietta bit into her bread and butter. ‘I hadn’t taken that into account.’
‘Let us wait until we hear what Ben has to say,’ Rafe said, as their host entered the room.
What Benjamin had to say was that he had, through a variety of mysterious contacts, tracked down a man who strongly resembled Henrietta’s description of the housebreaker. ‘Goes by the name of Scouse Larry. Looks like your man, all right, but he’s a sneaking budge—a small-time thief, that is. Clothes, the odd piece of silver, is what Scouse Larry deals in, not gew-gaws and he’s certainly not tried to fence anything like those emeralds you described, miss. If they’d been on the market, I’d have heard.’ Benjamin tugged at his battle-scarred earlobe. ‘I dunno, it’s a rum ’un; something about all of this don’t add up.’
‘Well, there’s only one way to find out, and that’s to confront him. Will you bring him here, Ben?’ Rafe asked.
But Benjamin shook his head adamantly. ‘Wouldn’t come. He’d think it was a trap and run, then we’d be back to square one. You’ll have to go to him.’
Rafe pushed aside his empty plate and got to his feet. ‘Where do I find him?’
Henrietta, too, pushed back her chair. ‘Where do we find him, you mean. Let me just get my cloak.’
‘Lord, miss, you can’t go. Best leave it to his lordship,’ Benjamin said, looking at her aghast. ‘Scouse Larry’s abode is in the stews of Petticoat Lane. It’s a terrible place, full of cut-throats and cutpurses, to say nothing of the doxies and molls. Begging your pardon, miss, but you see, a rookery’s no place for a lady.’
‘Ben is quite right, Henrietta, you’ll have to leave this to me.’
‘No.’
‘Henrietta…’
‘Miss…’
‘No. I’m coming with you,’ Henrietta said determinedly. ‘I’m the only one who’s actually seen this Scouse Larry. Without me how will you know it’s definitely the same man? And besides,’ she continued before Rafe could comment, ‘it’s my neck that’s in the noose, not yours. I want to hear for myself what this man has to say.’
‘He is unlikely to say anything unless well recompensed. Something beyond your current means,’ Rafe said.
Henrietta’s face fell. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
Rafe sighed heavily. ‘Have it your way, Henrietta, but if we manage to get out of Petticoat Lane the lighter for a few sovereigns alone, we should consider ourselves fortunate. I shall leave my fob and snuffbox here; you would be well advised to leave anything of value here, too. The cutpurses there will steal the clothes from your back if they are not fastened on tightly.’
Henrietta gave a little squeal. ‘You mean you will take me, after all?’
Rafe sighed, but his mouth quivered on the brink of a smile. ‘If I don’t, you’ll only follow me, anyway, and I’d rather have you by my side where I can at least keep an eye on you. Go and get your cloak. Just don’t blame me if what you see gives you nightmares.’
* * *
The stews of Petticoat Lane were sordid beyond belief, a warren of narrow alleyways and blind cul-de-sacs, where the ramshackle tenements leaned precariously towards one another as if attempting a drunken kiss. What little light penetrated between the steeply shelving roofs was blocked by the lines of ragged washing strung out of windows on poles, and further filtered by the acrid smoke of sea coal belching from the chimney pots. Behind the buildings, a labyrinth of wooden stairs, precarious platforms and rotten ladders allowed the rookery’s residents to flit unnoticed between the maze of lodging houses, gin houses and hovels where no Charley would dare give chase. In the lanes, the gutters were awash with the foul-smelling waste cast carelessly from the broken windows patched with brown paper. Flea-bitten dogs scratched themselves vigorously, skeletal cats scrounged waste heaps fruitlessly, for they had already been scavenged several times over by the hordes of barefoot urchins too young to be harnessed into a more formal life of crime.
Clutching her cloak tightly around her, Henrietta picked her way carefully through the detritus, trying hard not to breathe too deeply, for the stench was overpowering. Profoundly glad of Rafe’s protective presence, she stayed as close to him as it was possible to be without tripping him up. She was utterly appalled at the destitution and vice on blatant display, horrified by the poverty and filth so close to the affluence of the London Rafe had shown her. Nothing, not even the beggars at St Paul’s, had prepared her for this. She had had no idea that such a miserable life—if life it could be called—was being scraped out by so many people in their own capital. It made her feel very small, when she thought back to her own too-easily vaunted opinions. She knew nothing. She resolved to find out more, once this was over. It would give her a purpose, finding a way to really make a difference. And when she did, she told herself stoutly, she would feel a lot better.
Ahead of them, Benjamin strode confidently, looking neither to the right nor left, a stout cane held purposefully in his sabre hand. ‘By the way, Meg told me this morning what you did for Mr Forbes,’ Henrietta said.
‘Meg should keep her mouth shut. It was nothing.’
‘Meg doesn’t think it nothing, and nor does Mr Forbes. If it hadn’t been for you, she said, Mr Forbes would likely have starved.’
‘She exaggerates. In any case, if Benjamin hadn’t come to my rescue, I would likely have been killed.’
‘Five of them, Meg said. Footpads. And in the middle of Piccadilly, too.’
‘Yes, but it was nigh on two in the morning.’
‘What were you doing out and about at that time?’
‘Walking. I was just walking.’ It was the night Julia had told him her news. Unable to believe it, completely taken aback by the conflicting emotions that swamped him, he’d gone walking to give his head time to clear. His first, most overpowering, feeling had been shock. He hadn’t really believed it would happen. He hadn’t actually thought about it becoming real. It was quickly followed by despair, for even so short a time after their grand reunion
, he knew it had been a mistake to take Julia back. An even bigger mistake, an earth-shattering mistake, was the one he was going to have to deal with as a result.
A tug on his sleeve made Rafe realise he’d come to a stop in the middle of Petticoat Lane. ‘You were miles away,’ Henrietta said.
‘And if we don’t hurry up, so too will Benjamin be,’ Rafe replied, drawing a curtain in front of his memories. ‘Let us make haste and catch him up, this is not the kind of area to get lost in.’
Though Henrietta was desperate to ask what had brought that haunted look of his back, there were more pressing concerns. Like the straggle of urchins grabbing on to Rafe’s coat-tails and her cloak, their saucer-eyed faces full of unspoken pleas. She knew that giving them money would be a huge mistake, they would be besieged, but still, her heart was smitten at the sight. ‘There must be something to be done for those poor souls,’ she said to Rafe. ‘They are so dirty and so hungry.’
‘And there are too many of them. I told you.’
‘Yes,’ she said sadly. ‘But—’
‘Here we are,’ Benjamin said from up ahead, pointing to a dark alley. ‘Up that set of stairs there—hold on tight, mind, they’re coming away from the wall.’
The three of them made their precarious way to the first floor of the tenement. A sharp rap on the door with Benjamin’s stick resulted in a shuffling noise on the other side, but the door remained resolutely closed.
‘Larry, Scouse Larry!’
Chapter Eight
The door opened a fraction, sufficient for a face to peer out into the gloom of the stairwell. ‘Who are you? What do you want? What’s that mort doing here?’
Before anyone could stop her, Henrietta stepped forwards. ‘I am the—the mort you hit over the head and left for dead in a ditch,’ she said, ‘and you are the oaf who did it.’ She gave the door a violent push, which took the housebreaker sufficiently by surprise to send him staggering back into the room, allowing Henrietta, quickly followed by Rafe, to enter. Benjamin remained outside and on guard.
Rake with a Frozen Heart Page 14
