She nearly giggled as his now congested nose caused him to open his mouth and snore even more loudly than was his wont. It was quite endearing, made the cool and rigidly controlled man seem almost human.
Still, she wondered how he was ever going to cope. She felt as though she too had lost friends with the news of these tragic deaths. She could only guess at how deeply the sensitive man felt their loss.
He was all too human, she thought with a flood of pity as she stroked his tousled silvery hair back from his brow. If she hadn’t followed him to Newgate, if she hadn’t smelt smoke in his house, hadn’t gone to the bank...
She knew now that even though her brother Sebastian was still alive, he was in dire trouble. She had no real hope of seeing him again. Yet somehow she feared less for him than for Alistair. After all, Sebastian was nothing if not a survivor.
Alistair on the other hand had always lived within the law. He had based his entire existence upon the assumption that justice would prevail in the end. That virtue would be rewarded, if not in this life, then the next. And that the guilty would be punished. She only wished it were so simple.
Viola raised herself partly off the bed, seeking to extinguish her candles for the sake of frugality, but he let out a plaintive cry and clutched her hard.
"It’s all. I’m right here. I’m not leaving you, just making us more comfortable," she soothed, caressing his lightly bristled cheek.
She undid her gown so it would not get hopelessly crumpled, then removed all of his clothes one by one until he was clad in nothing more than his practical cotton drawers.
She tugged the covers from under him and drew them over his frame, then lay down beside him once more.
Even through several layers of sheets and blankets he was scorchingly hot, but the room had grown chill. And there really wasn’t any point in being coy or trying to lie to herself. Alistair was easily the finest man she had ever met, and she longed for him.
She slipped between the sheets and nestled against him, her soft breasts through their chemise pressing against the light sprinkling of chest hairs which covered the huge expanse of muscle, bone, and sinew. She felt so connected to him on every level, that as she snuggled next to him, she couldn't help but think of Adam and Eve, how she had been born from his rib.
His arms came up around her with a contented sigh, locking them together even more intimately. Shocked at her own boldness, the fiery passion she felt coursing through her veins at his merest touch, Viola was sure she would never be able to sleep….
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The morning sounds of carriages clopping down the street, shouts, curses and coals being brought, breakfast being made, brought Viola slowly awake.
All these noises heralded what would soon be the end of a long night for the girls, and the start of their chance to sleep. And the beginning of Viola's work day.
She moved her head slightly and found Alistair gazing at her, his expression inscrutable. His face further softened by sleep, he looked like a young man of eighteen.
Without thinking she placed a light kiss on his cheek. He closed his eyes and moved his head to meet her second kiss full on. He parted his lips, his own tongue coming out to caress hers before circling her lips in a lazy swirl, catlike and erotic. The kind of movement a panther would make when about to devour its prey.
She felt a momentary seizure of panic and nerves. It was on her lips to blurt out this was perhaps too soon. It wasn’t soon enough.
His mouth and hands moved upon her delicately. She felt so swept away by the sensual contact and the delightful limbo of sleep, that Viola did not have the heart to speak and break the spell. Her chemise glided down over her shoulders, his drawers down over his hips. The flood of moisture deep within her became a torrent as he slowly laved each nipple as if he had all the time in the world to cherish her.
Alistair explored her with leisured slowness, his entire body on fire. He schooled himself to be patient, not rush even though the desire clamored within for him to hurry. He was careful to ensure her readiness, spreading her delicate petals wide with feathery touches over and over. He covered her mouth with long devouring kisses.
At last, as her hips thrusted upwards relentlessly, begging for completion with a silent plea, he glided into her. His huge hot maleness penetrated both body and mind, sending her senses reeling. After the first initial pang, a burgoning heat and pressure such as she had never known filled her almost to bursting.
She gripped his buttocks hard, feeling them rippling with raw power as he drew back, thrust, drew back again to fill her fully, thrill her ever more deeply.
As a hot flood of color few to her face, Alistair completed himself inside her with a choked cry, stunned by the fierce pulsings he felt inside the moist tightness.
He began to apologise at once. "I’m sorry. It’s been so long. But I’m here for you."
"It's fine. I understand."
"Are you all right?"
"Never better," she said truthfully, for already the rasping feeling was easing as the lovers molded together ever more intimately.
"Then I won’t stop until you tell me to, until you've had your fill."
"Yes, please, more," she panted.
But it was easier said than done, for even as he gave the whispered promise, Alistair could feel another climax roaring through him.
He moved his hand down to stroke her pearl of pleasure, and at last she knew what he meant, what nirvana he had just reached. And was about to reach again if his stertorius breathing was any indication.
The smooth glide in and out was addictive, yet Viola also wanted to feel him deeply inside her. She moved her lithe hips in time with his own and suddenly heard a high-pitched cry. Only a minute later as she wafted back down to earth like a dandelion seed did she realise the sound had emanated from her.
"Oh, Alistair, that was heaven on earth."
"I’m glad, for you’re my angel. And it can just keep getting better."
"What could be better than that?" she asked with sincere wonder.
He laughed then, and felt such a surge of pleasure and pride that he had to blink back his tears. "Once we explore each other intimately, get to know each other in the physical and spiritual sense, it will be even more miraculous."
"Spiritual?" she asked in surprise.
He nodded somberly. "I would never do this with a woman I couldn’t care about. Feel connected to in an intimate way."
"Have you ever married?" she asked softly, trying to quell the stab of jealousy which suddenly knifed through her at the very thought.
"I was married, a long time ago," he admitted quietly, gathering her close. "We were young. It was a mistake. We were terrible together on every level. I should never have let our friends and relations talk us into it because of worldly considerations. If I ever married again, I told myself, it would be for love. The safe widows I’ve consoled myself with since she died all became like limpets."
"Have there been many, then," she forced herself to ask.
"No, not many, and none of them like you in any way. They all seemed worldly wise, but all ended up clingy in the end. You, on the other hand are a revelation, in every sense. You’re young, principled, resilient. You have your own desires and character, your own mind even when I’m pouring myself into you.
"And yet we’re one flesh, one heart and mind." He moved his head to kiss her brow, then the space between her breasts. "I knew it as soon as I saw you in the dream, saw the miniature your brother gave me, though for the life of me I don’t know how. It’s as though I’ve been waiting for you all my life. As if we’re connected on some visceral level."
She nodded. "I felt it too."
"That’s not the only thing I felt, darling. You are so incredibly tight. Did I hurt you terribly for your first time?" he asked softly.
She blushed but replied promptly and sincerely, "Not at all. You were so gentle. It was beautiful."
"Am I too heavy for you?"
"No, not at all. I adore the weight of your hips." She wriggled under him to illustrate her words, and made him gasp.
"Oh Lord, do that again!" he panted.
She obeyed quickly, and he began to moving inside her once more.
"Is it too much?" he rumbled.
"Not enough. Deeper, please. I can feel myself lighting up inside, like the blaze of a fire."
"Like this?"
"Mmm, bliss."
"Bliss," he agreed, just before he tumbled over the brink once more.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The rest of the morning was spent in a leisurely exploration of the other which brought them to peak after peak of incredible passion.
Finally he slept, and Viola lay awake, glad she had given Alistair some oblivion from his grief over his friends’ death. He had cried in her arms on a couple of occasions, though he had said they were tears of joy.
"It’s all right, Alistair. You don’t need to be brave for me. Let it all out," she had urged.
He had eventually cried himself to sleep again, muttering the names of his assistant and his hapless family before sleep finally claimed him.
As she lay wakeful in his arms, she contemplated all that had happened, and what the future held. She began to formulate a plan given her financial and material resources, and the danger involved.
The first thing was to disguise him. Cut his distinctive silver hair, definitely dye it, give him a beard. The fairly heavy growth on his chin from his lack of shaving the past couple of days was already a good start.
She put her hand to her face ruefully. She’d get used to it. Slightly abraided skin was a small price to pay for the hours of heaven he had conferred upon her.
She stretched luxuriously against him, feeling a twinge deep within. He had certainly set his stamp upon her. But she needed to be careful.
She would ask Emma for help with the preventive measures she had talked about. She adored Alistair, but there was no sense in throwing all caution to the winds.
Viola thought with delight of using the bathhouse with him downstairs. It was of course just another one of the services the brothel offered. There was a perfect tub for two she was eager to try.
But however much in love she might be, she and Alistair also needed to be practical. They both needed to eat, to live. And he needed to seek justice. Not just for his dead friends and servants, but for himself, his client, and her brother, if he were dead.
George had said that Sebastian was still alive, but would he stay that way? Moreover, could she trust George's word completely?
Viola shoved that thought to one side. She had to trust someone. And she was sure if Sebastian had gone from this world she would have had some inkling.
They had always been close, even if the past few years had been swathed in secrecy. She was not naive. She knew what he was, what he did for a living. But there had always been more to it than that.
She remebered her conversation with Emma, and then tried to remember the exact words Alistair told her had been Sebastian’s last before he had left to seek her.
They made little sense to him, but now she was starting to realise that Sebastian was either in far deeper than he had ever let on, or there were things even he and George didn't know. Things they had stumbled upon that were so important they were worth killing for...
So what were they to do now? They had more questions than answers, and Alistair was a wanted man. They could run forever, or they could hide in plain sight.
It was a bold plan, but the more she considered it the more she felt sure it might work. They were looking for tall, silver-haired, dour, straight-laced, single Alistair Grant. But what about, say, a married and flamboyant Alan Grantham? Too similar a last name perhaps, but with a bit more thought, they could no doubt come up with something better.
They would need money, clothes, and assistance. All she knew was that Alistair was undoubtedly being searched for in connection with the murder of Gribbens.
But he was a powerful barrister, knew a lot of people. He had to know someone who would be willing to help and not turn him in to the authorities. For that they needed time.
It could work. But he would need to be trained. And the more loutish and debauched he acted, the more likely it was that he could find those who really were guilty of murder.
Then there was the role she would play in her search for the truth. Obviously she should pose as his wife, since Alistair was not married, and by his own admission had always been careful where the gentle sex was concerned. The last person they would be looking for was a flamboyant black-haired gent with a voluptuous woman in tow.
She would need to dye her hair as well. She rather fancied a fine Titian, but it might be too obvious. A bit of henna would render her a more natural strawberry blonde without having to worry too much about roots. And though she was out of practice ever since her father had ended up in debtor’s prison, she knew enough about the finer tastes and etiquette within English society to pass muster.
The next problem would be how to explain who they were and how they had come back to England. Alistair had given her a clue there as well. He had spoken highly of his friend Lawrence. He had many ships as a tea trader. They would get the name of one of them, pretend that they had just returned from the East. Some walnut-based dye would darken their complexions, and a bit of thorough coaching on life in India would help them discuss their supposed past life convincingly.
Satisfied that her scheme was the best they could come up with at short notice, Viola smiled in grim satisfaction. By the time she was finished, she and Alistair would be ready for any role.
A short time later a subdued Alistair reached out for her, fondling her breasts affectionately but undemandingly.
"Don’t take this amiss, but I feel as though I’m both in heaven and hell," he whispered against her hair. "But I suppose I’m really just ascertaining if this is real or a dream."
She tried to give him an encouraging smile. "I’m real. But I’m afraid the facts about Philip are too. I’m so sorry about your friends. I only wish there were something I could do," she said, kissing him on the brow.
"You already have," he said, resting his head on her shoulder and breast. "Just listening to your heart beat, feeling your incredible vitality. It’s more than I’ve ever had." He shook his head. "It’s remarkable. To have fallen in love with you at the lowest point in my life must surely be one of God’s little ironies."
"In love?" she whispered, shocked.
He nodded. "Yes, from the moment we met."
She sat up abruptly. "Oh, now you must take me for a simpleton. You thought I was a trollop when we first met."
He shook his head, "Only for a short time, because of where you lived. Once I understood a bit more about you and your brother, I knew you were here in hiding because it was the safest place for you. I mean, nothing about you being a whore rang true. Even if you had been I wouldn’t have cared."
"Hah, so most men say, but when it comes right down to it—"
He shook his head. "I can hardly reproach you for the manner in which you earn your living. No one has that right. And I’d be despising you for doing the very thing I wanted to do with you, now wouldn’t I? And want to do with you the rest of our lives, if you’ll marry me."
She looked at him, her green eyes glinting. "You don’t have to say that—"
"I want to. Want to say it, and to marry you, Viola, as soon as we can manage. I’ve waited a lifetime for someone to love. I don’t want to lose you, not when I've found literally the woman of my dreams at last."
She grimaced. "Nightmares, more like."
"No, the woman who completes me in every way. I would be dead ten times over if it weren't for you, my love. And no, I'm not asking out of gratifude. I'm asking because I'm the most selfish man in the world and I don't dare risk losing you, not now, not ever."
She smiled at him tenderly, but a frown still creased her brow. "But wouldn’t it be better to wait until you�
��re sure—"
"I don’t want you to think I’m going to change my mind as soon as I get my old life back."
"It’s just so sudden," she said shyly. "I mean, I'm honored, and would love to say yes, but with so much up in the air—"
He sighed. "You’re right, of course. I would be willing to wait. I can see you’re not sure of me—"
"Not sure of myself, how good a wife I would make to any man, let alone someone like you."
"Like me?"
"Well, posh, and up and coming."
"Self-made, for the most part, so while I may associate with titled friends, I'm pretty ordinary. But I do also take your point. This is a dangerous business, and our emotions have been running high." His hands began to rove over her body intimately once more.
The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 5 Page 81
