Wayward One

by Lorelie Brown

  He stroked over her back, then up to her hair, petting her like a kitten. “It’s understandable. Only cowards strike through anonymity and yet they can be the most dangerous of all.” His voice rumbled from his chest to hers.

  How familiar it was, and yet different. She’d hung on to the memory of his comfort for a very long time. She had it again, but there was a different element. Her body thrilled to his. They fit against each other perfectly, her softness to his hardness.

  Her tears dried, but still he didn’t let go. He leaned against the hallway wall where anyone could see them, and yet she couldn’t seem to make herself pull away.

  She risked a look up at him, half afraid of what she’d find. Boredom, perhaps, at being forced to give comfort to one so needy.

  His mix of expression defied explanation. His pale eyes were filled with compassion, yet a small frown lurked between his brows and on his mouth. Completely at odds with the gentle strokes over her back, a muscle in front of his ear clenched.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not sure what came over me.”

  “It’s nothing.” The arm around her waist didn’t loosen in the slightest. She tried vainly to hold back a shiver. The way she let him affect her was depraved. She wanted more. “Are you all right?”

  If she lied, she could keep his arms wrapped around her. She couldn’t keep him by artifice. It simply wasn’t in her. She’d reduce his comfort to another sort of philanthropy. “I’m fine now.”

  “Good,” he growled and swooped her into a kiss that spun her head.

  This kiss resembled the one they’d shared earlier only to the smallest extent. That had been a gentle benediction.

  This was a taking.

  She adored it.

  She bent under the pressure of his mouth and the dart of his tongue. Her hands clutched at his jacket, but not from any sense of fear. When Fletcher was near, the fear she felt was never the chilling sort she often lived with. Instead it was heat. She wanted and wanted. And wanted more. She kissed him back, mouths clashing and teeth nipping.

  She pushed her hands up over his broad shoulders, locked them deep in his blond hair. It was like silk over her fingers, and she fretted over pulling too tight. He only groaned into her mouth.

  He pushed her back into her room and kicked the door shut behind them. She wrapped her forearms around his thick neck, knowing he’d support her. He gripped her hips and lifted until the juncture of her thighs met his hips in a shocking, searing contact. Her toes dangled in the air, inches above the ground, but she didn’t feel unmoored.

  She felt found.

  How strange to finally be seen for once, and by a man who himself floated at the edges of society, never quite a part of it all. Two outsiders, connected by dynamic lust that threatened to consume them.

  He pushed her up against the post of the bed. When his mouth left her, she was bereft. He traced the edge of her jaw with wet nibbles, then down over her neck. His teeth scored her flesh, and she shivered and wrenched her arms around him.

  She could so easily give herself over to him. Close her eyes and allow the bodily sensations warming her to take everything she was. Between her legs she was slick and needy, and her breasts throbbed with the desire to be touched. Held. Sucked.

  As if reading her mind, he cupped her breast. Even through layers of fabric and corsetry, the touch was everything she’d dreamed of. She gasped and pushed into his hand.

  When he started to lower her to the bed, her eyes flew open. His face was as hard and cruel-edged as she’d ever seen it. He was a man bent on conquest, and as much as her body wished it, she couldn’t wave the white flag.

  She planted a hand in the center of his chest. “No,” she whispered. Gulping, she gathered her courage to abate the keening denials of her body. She spoke with more authority. “No. Not now.”

  Instead of the anger she’d expected, his gaze turned speculative. His head hovered over her breasts, and it took everything within her not to rise to meet it. His wide mouth glistened. “Not now implies later.”

  She shook her head and scrambled back on the bed, the better to sit up. “No. No, I shouldn’t.”

  His smile turned feral. A sharp thrill of fear only added to the pressure between her legs. He wasn’t a handsome man, but he was so wonderfully intense. Heady dizziness fluttered her at having that power focused on her. He still had one knee up on the edge of the mattress, and his weight rested on a fist, making him look impossibly virile. “What is it?”

  “I don’t think you have the slightest idea what you’re giving away with your pretty protests.”

  She smoothed her hand over her hair, expecting to find it a wanton mess. Hardly a strand was out of place due to the ruthlessness with which she’d pinned it up earlier. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You say can’t and shouldn’t.” He traced a single finger over the top of her sleeve, barely grazing her flesh. Inexplicably, her knees loosened and she sighed out a soft breath. “That’s entirely different than ‘don’t want to.’”

  She scrambled off the far end of the bed, landing near the window. She couldn’t afford to be near him. The temptation was too great. Even the easy shrug of his shoulders was enough to make her want to sink her fingers in his muscles. Feel the weight of them. He laughed at her as she tumbled to her feet, then sat on the bed as easy as you please. As if it were perfectly natural to sit on a woman’s bed.

  Of course, he probably had plenty of experience with that. A surprising thread of jealousy burned her. She lifted her chin against it. “It’s exactly the same thing when it comes to deeds. And deeds are what matters.”

  “You can’t deny there’s something between us.”

  She coiled her arms more tightly around her middle, the better to keep from reaching for him. “I won’t try. But within the bounds of propriety, there’s no room for acting on such impulses. We must be better than our base selves.”

  He looked back at her with impassivity. The harsh hunger seemed to have faded from him. If only it would fade from her. Her body still strained toward his and the acceptance she’d felt in his arms. She pressed backwards, away from her own desires.

  “Seems an awful sort of life to live, constantly fighting against one’s instincts.”

  She lowered her chin nearly to her chest. A dreadful weight pushed down on her. If she expected him to understand, she would have to explain. She hadn’t been that willingly vulnerable in a very long time. Longer than she could remember.

  “I won’t be my mother.”

  He cocked his head. A shock of bright hair fell across his brow. “Is that what you worry about?”

  “I didn’t before. But you…you tempt me.” Her voice had become a slender thread, but he still caught it deftly.

  “I tempt you, do I?” He came off the bed, walked around it to stalk her down. She backed up another step but found nothing but more wall. “Is that such a terrible thing?”

  “It’s frightening.”

  He flattened a hand against the wall above her head. “How do you suggest we solve this?”

  She gulped. Her tongue wet her bottom lip, tasting the tang of cognac and something elemental and salty. Fletcher. He was on her mouth, a part of her now, for however fleeting a time.

  “We ignore it. Rise above our urges.” She swallowed against the knot in her throat. “It might be best if I left after all. I was possibly a bit impetuous in moving in.”

  She’d liked it here, though. Liked feeling that she was in charge. Each time she gave direction or made a change in the house, she felt a little bit more like it was hers.

  But it wasn’t. This was Fletcher’s home. The building and what a home stood for wouldn’t be hers, just like she couldn’t belong to him.

  Gears were clicking in his head, but she had no hope of knowing what he thought. His gaze flicked over her eyes, down to her mouth. Her lips parted involuntarily.

  “If you left, I think I might hunt you down to the end of the earth.” His voice rumb
led through her, warming her as much as the sentiment.

  She ought to find such intensity frightening. It was too vulgar by half. She’d never had anyone want her so much. Never felt as if she were the key to someone’s desires. Her breath ran shallow.

  The air thinned in the room as the moment dragged, until Sera thought she might go lightheaded. They were poised on the precipice of something unnamed. Unknown. She flattened her palms against the wall, and the cool wallpaper did nothing to ease the tingling.

  “Marry me,” he growled.

  “What?”

  He cupped her face in one hand. His thumb dragged roughly over her bottom lip. “I said marry me. I’d try to couch it in flowery words and pretty sentiments, but I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  She ducked away from his grip to stand in the middle of the room. “No. Certainly not.”

  “Why not?” He advanced on her then thankfully stopped with an arm curled around the bottom post of the bed. “Seems the perfect solution to me.”

  “Marriage is not simply a solution. It’s a commitment that will last the rest of our lives.” She wasn’t sure, but she thought this might be an even worse temptation than the sin his lips promised.

  “I’ve no problem with that.”

  “Do you always make such important decisions in an impetuous manner?”

  A hint of a smile curved his mouth. She could slap it off. “Never. It seems you’ve turned my head.”

  “But—but, why?” she asked, unable to keep at bay her plaintive tone.

  “If you were my wife, I’d have the right to rip limb from limb anyone who tried to harm or frighten you.” His show of teeth was animal, a claiming. “For my other reasons…well, I’m surprised you feel it necessary to ask.”

  She shook her head, bewildered. She knew he referred to the lust that flared so easily between them, but where it came from she had no idea. He seemed to take it as a denial, though, because he advanced on her again. She forced herself to hold her ground. In deliberations such as this, it wouldn’t do to show weakness.

  His hand stroked across the bare top of her shoulder, softer than a butterfly wing. Her eyes drifted shut and her head tipped ever so slightly over to allow him access to her skin.

  “Do you see?” he purred. The devil’s promises wouldn’t be even half as sweet. “This is what we have. When desire burns as hot as this, there’s no fighting it.”

  “If you’ve marriage on your mind, you should choose someone who’d help you. Improve your position.”

  “You’re the only one I’ve ever thought of with regard to marriage.” He lowered his head so slowly she thought her breath might choke in her chest with anticipation. His mouth slid along her collarbone, a brush of wicked silk. “And isn’t the whole goal of your stay here to improve me?”

  That wasn’t what she’d meant and he knew it. He was playing word games with her, dangling the possibility before her like a sweetmeat. He opened his mouth over the bare curve of her shoulder, and her knees went weak.

  She didn’t know what to do. She’d never been so foolish as to think she’d marry for love, but she’d hoped to find a man with whom she could build a quiet, solid family. Not someone so largely full of life. Marrying for permission to satisfy lust violated the sanctity of the institution.

  She didn’t think she cared.

  The protection he offered was more than she could bear to pass up. Her entire existence, even the years spent under her mama’s benign neglect, had been fraught with an exhausting measure of doubt. Who she was, where she belonged, what would keep her safe.

  In Fletcher’s home, as Fletcher’s wife, all those questions would be answered.

  Besides, she could ensure that their lust was only a secondary feature. She could make him happy through the creation of a proper home. For someone who saw into her so clearly, Fletcher didn’t seem to see himself. She believed he wanted a real home like she did.

  Fletcher kept up his sensuous assault as she thought. Tiny nibbles all the way up her neck. One hand tugged inexorably at her waist, pulling her near. He took her earlobe between his lips. A sharp sting heralded his bite, but he soothed it with a lick.

  If their future—together—was entirely larger and more grand than she’d ever imagined, she would learn to cope.

  “Yes,” she breathed on a soft sigh.

  His growl was intense masculine satisfaction. “Good.”

  Quiet, simple words, and yet they seemed to carry the import of scripture.

  She would be married soon. To Digger, of all people. No, he was now Fletcher Thomas, man of the world. A fully developed man who could protect and shelter her. Forever.

  Her fright went to war with her excitement.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You cannot possibly be serious,” Lottie exclaimed, tossing one hand in a wide arc. “You’re teasing us.”

  Sera lifted her teacup, hiding her smile.

  They sat in the comfortable parlor at the factory girl’s school, an hour before the women would arrive for their classes. They were all welcome at any time should they wish to study or practice with each other, but most of them worked long, hard hours at factories. They were seldom free to come visiting before six o’clock.

  As a result, Sera and her friends had fallen into the habit of meeting at the townhouse whenever possible. It provided a level of privacy not always possible anywhere else. Here, they pretended they ruled, though they would be in vats of trouble should anyone ever find out.

  “I’m perfectly serious. I’m marrying Mr. Thomas.”

  Lottie and Victoria goggled at her with identical open-mouthed expressions.

  “Marrying? Mr. Thomas?” Victoria’s blue eyes went soft with a romantic haze. Raised well and pampered, she had the time and space to dream.

  “You’re beginning to sound a bit like a parrot, my dear.”

  In the firelight, the dark red tumbles of Lottie’s haphazardly pinned hair gleamed. She set down her teacup with a quiet click that somehow managed to sound judgmental. “You’ll pardon our surprise, of course. We wish you all the happiness in the world. This does seem to be particularly sudden, at least from our end.”

  “There’s a month yet,” she answered, purposely misunderstanding. “The banns haven’t even been called.”

  Legs stretched indecorously, Lottie puffed out a quick huff of annoyance. “You know what I mean. The last Victoria and I heard, your relationship with Mr. Thomas was a business arrangement of which you were in total control.”

  Sera set down her tea and folded her hands in her lap. She wasn’t sure how to explain this to her best friends in the world, not when she hardly knew how to explain it to herself. They’d never felt unsafe in their entire lives, so they wouldn’t understand how freeing it was to be the subject of Fletcher’s intense scrutiny.

  “One could say it still is, and that this is simply a continuation of our bargain. Many of the best marriages are little more than contractual obligations.”

  The bones of Victoria’s hands were bird-delicate as she laid them over Sera’s. Years of careful marriages had crafted those fine bones. “What of love?”

  “Love is not for me.” Her mother had made a foolish choice all for the enigma that was love, and look where she had ended up. Dying in a fire. Before that she had endured hard years of privation and suffering as penance.

  The softhearted romantic that she was, Victoria seemed saddened by Sera’s blunt declaration. The twinkle in her blue eyes had nothing to do with happiness and everything to do with pending tears. “And for you? This is a contractual obligation and nothing else?”

  She blushed at the visceral memory of her mouth under Fletcher’s. “No. It’s more.”

  Her friends’ eyes welled with compassion. Sera blinked and looked away.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Lottie said. “I know you’ve a measure of pride far and above what your tiny body should be able to handle.” It was an old joke between them, based on Lottie being
five inches taller than Sera.

  Sera stuck her tongue out, thankful that even in such dramatic times she could have a moment of levity with her friends.

  “Did Mr. Thomas lay this obligation upon his offer of the trust?” Victoria asked.

  “He would never do that.”

  Expensive silk skirts fluffed to the side as Lottie threw herself backwards in her chair. “Then why?”

  Sera shook her head again. Words were beyond her. Risk had never been in her vocabulary.

  Lottie’s normally gregarious features pinched into worry. “Did he take advantage of you?” Considering her avowal that she’d never have a family, she was quite the fierce motherly protector.

  “Never.” Sera nibbled on the inside of her lip, worrying over how to frame the admittance. She’d never wish her friends to think any less of her. If she were to concede to such base instincts, she would be marked out as different than them. Lesser, though they’d never admit it. “If anything, we’ve agreed to marry to avoid any…improprieties.”

  “What does that mean?” Lottie asked.

  The pale pink sweep of Victoria’s mouth seemed to quirk on a grin. “I think I know what it means. Our perfect princess has turned out to be a naughty vixen.”

  “What?” Lottie looked back and forth between them, eyes large. “Why, I never. If anyone was going to be the first, I would have laid money on you, Victoria. Not our paragon of virtue.”

  “Me?” Victoria assembled her rounded features into a pretty mask of surprise. “Why in the world would you think that?”

  “Why, to avoid marrying your dried-up, stick-in-the-mud of a fiancé, of course.” Lottie turned an avid look to Sera. She hitched an ankle over her knee and leaned forward with her sharp chin on her hands in usual disregard of proper grace. “Now. Spill. Every single detail. Leave out nothing.”

  Sera shook her head again, but this time she was laughing. “I couldn’t.”