“First you touched me of your own volition.” His smile invited her to join the joke, but she couldn’t quite catch it. “Now you’re staring at a half-naked woman.”
“I’m quite all right. I’ve a very hardy constitution.” She tried to push out of her half-reclining position, but her arms were surprisingly watery. “I’m just—” She burst into tears.
The quickest flash of alarm widened his eyes, then he bundled her into his arms. “Quiet now, hush that up.” The words were soothing, but the slightest hint of panic colored his deep voice. “Everything’s over. Quiet.”
“It was so— They were so…mean.” She sniffled through her tears. “They were so mean.”
“I know. But don’t cry. It’s all over. You’re safe now.”
His shoulders shook under her grip. She pulled back as she swiped the tears away with the back of her hand. “Are you laughing at me?”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he assured. His lips quirked at the corners as if he wished to smile.
Mrs. Farley bustled in carrying a silver platter. “Oh, the commotion. You poor girl, have you been harmed?”
Sera pulled away from Fletcher, though she wanted nothing more than to let him hold her. She shook her head and wiped ineffectually at tears that slipped down her cheeks. Fletcher pressed a handkerchief on her. She mopped at her face. Her entire body seemed as slippery and wiggly as a piece of watercress.
“Still, it’s awful. It’s getting so a body can’t even step outside their front door without being attacked in this city. Well, I suppose you were outside your front door.” Mrs. Farley chattered away as she set the tray on a side table and poured a glass of something from a teapot. She pushed it into Sera’s hands. “Here now. Drink this. It’s my mother’s favorite remedy for what ails you.”
“What is it?” she asked, then sipped before she had an answer. It managed to burn and soothe at the same time, the brisk bite of alcohol mixed with a syrupy spice akin to cider.
“A hot toddy, of course. Cider and brandy with a bit of this and that mixed in.”
Fletcher sat beside her on the settee. His warm hand rubbed circles over her back. She wished she could feel it without layers and layers of fabric between them. Dratted corset. The delightful muddle her head had become let all the tiring rules slip away.
She drank more deeply of the toddy. “It’s delicious.”
Mrs. Farley beamed. “My ma would thank you. You drink that all up, and you’ll be right as rain in no time.” She looked back and forth between Sera and Fletcher. “I’ll leave you two be.”
“Good choice,” Fletcher said.
With a small wave, the other woman all but ran from the room.
Sera blinked and looked up at Fletcher, but she only saw concern. She wondered what about him had made Mrs. Farley flee. “Were you cruel to her?”
“I would never be cruel.”
“I bet you could be mean. You have been. It’s your source of employment in a way.”
His hand paused in stroking her shoulders. She wished she could take it back, but it wasn’t possible. Once tossed away, words became as permanent as marble statues. With effort one might be able to eventually dull the corners, but they would still be there.
“That’s true,” he allowed. “In fact, my father started me in the business breaking knees when men couldn’t make their payments.”
“But you didn’t like it.”
His stroking resumed, but she didn’t miss the thrum of tension that banded his arms. “No, I didn’t. I’d never involve a woman, not in any way.”
Her spine proved wobbly, and she leaned into his side. That would have to be enough, wouldn’t it? A soft sigh worked its way out of her chest. A butterfly-gentle kiss brushed over the top of her head, at the sensitive skin of her hairline. The calming effect of the toddy engaged in battle with the jitters left by the attack. Nothing but a slight haze remained. Certainly not her careful rules.
Tears burned her eyes again, but she pushed them away. She couldn’t give into such ridiculous hysteria. If anything, she ought to be the one tending to him. The biggest thug had attacked him, after all.
She sat up in a bolt. Patting his chest with her free hand, she looked him over. A little dusty but otherwise none the worse for wear. “Are you injured? If that awful man hurt you, I’ll— I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” he said through a chuckle. “You’ll beat him with your reticule?”
“This is not a laughing matter, Fletcher Thomas.”
“No, you’re right.” He clasped both her hands then kissed her fingers. “I’m going to have to meet with the magistrate, whenever they decide to show up. In this part of town, it might not be for a while.”
She wove her fingers through his. “Please don’t leave me.”
“I wouldn’t think it.” His gaze branded her. His lush mouth became a flat line. “If you’d been hurt, I’d have ripped them apart with my hands.”
She shouldn’t thrill to that, but she did. An excited little bubble wound from between her legs, where she heated and slicked, and worked its way up to her heart, making it wiggle in her chest. “I know,” she breathed.
His head bent near. The sweet wash of his breath flowed over her lips and made them part in anticipation.
His kiss was everything she could have wished for. Silent promises and quiet vows. She opened under him, welcomed his tongue behind her teeth. A careful stroke of her tongue against his earned his arms banding around her back.
She cast away her troubles. The kiss spun wild and reckless. She couldn’t pull back, nor did she want to. The glass slipped from her tingling fingers and bounced on the thick carpet. She melted into the padded rest of the divan.
She squeezed her arms around his midsection, compressing until her limbs shook with the force. He slid his mouth off hers but didn’t go far. She wouldn’t let him. Probably couldn’t let him at that moment, if she were honest. She’d never been so badly frightened in her life.
When that thug’s hands had wrenched down on her shoulder…
She shook free of the memory. Focused on the soft glide of Fletcher’s mouth over her neck. He treated her as if she was made of glass. A fragile thing he was thankful to touch.
He stroked up her arm, then across the bare skin of her shoulders. Trembling broke out in his wake. Her hands squeezed his sides, but it wasn’t enough. She buried beneath his jacket, then under his waistcoat until she found his shirt. His skin warmed the thin linen. She wrapped her fingers through it so she could be as close to him as possible.
“Shh,” he whispered. “It’s all right. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here.”
She shuddered. Behind closed eyes, tears prickled again. She never used to be a watering pot, but it seemed like she couldn’t help it.
She pulled him close. Near enough that he settled into the vee of her thighs. Her dratted piles of skirts got in the way, keeping him from her. She whimpered in the back of her throat and yanked him closer. Her breasts brushed against his chest, and it still wasn’t enough. She wanted to be weighted down by him. Held so tight that her fears ran away.
“Quiet, angel,” he soothed. He took her breast in his hand through her bodice. Kissed her again until her head swam. Little nips of her bottom lip replaced the blood in her system with sluggish fire.
“Don’t go,” she said, inexplicably. Nonsensically. She wasn’t even sure what she meant.
Fletcher seemed to know. He whispered more reassurances, unending ones that promised he’d take care of her until the stars fell from the heavens. Until the ground crumbled away under their feet. He scooped her up in his arms, her heavy skirts draping around them.
Burying her face in his clean shirtfront meant she didn’t have to think about how first the stairs, then the hallway, inexorably disappeared underneath his steps. When he laid her on a chaise in his dressing room, she couldn’t pretend she didn’t see the heavy furniture and dark blue curtains that marked out his domain. She hadn’t been the
re since the evening her room had been ransacked.
Her brain skittered away from remembering more awfulness. Focused instead on the heavy, sculpted curves of muscle she’d seen on him that night. On the drugging kisses he’d resumed bestowing.
He pulled up her skirts in tiny increments, an inch at a time. Cool air rushed over her calves, her knees. The tops of her thighs, where only her bloomers protected her. He traced over the slit in the cambric with wicked touches that left her hips jerking up in their wake.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please. Stay.”
“Of course. Of course.” He licked fire down her neck. Teased her with the scrape of his teeth.
His sides felt drawn taut as piano wires. He was holding himself in check for her, and she was more thankful than she’d thought possible. If Sera were such a wild mess, he couldn’t be as well. They’d spin off the edge of the earth, locked together even past where the monsters lived.
She was borne of wickedness and had found her home in more. Her gratitude was unmatched.
If anyone could keep her safe, it would be the most wicked man of all.
“Will you let me taste you?” he asked.
She didn’t know what he meant, but it sounded like another promise of forever. “Yes,” she whispered.
He gripped her ankles, then ran his hands up her legs. They twitched under his touch.
No one had ever touched her there, not ever. Only herself and only in the dark of night. She strained up toward the magic in his hands. When he tugged the ribbon securing her drawers, he left flaming licks of sensation in his wake. She lifted her hips to let him pull the linen down.
An embarrassing flush of damp swept over her. She felt open, begging for his touch. She forced the side of her hand against her mouth until her teeth stung. Anything to hold back the wanton words that floated behind her lips.
She tried to pull her knees together, but he was already there, holding her open. Exposed.
“So beautiful,” he growled. His chest rumbled against her knees.
His breath wafted over her wetness. Need pulsed through her. The expensive material of her skirts became little more than a pile at her waist. His hand burrowed underneath them, then kneaded into her side.
He cupped her. Bowing her shoulders was no escape from the sudden shock of touch. She laced her fingers through the rough silk of his hair.
The quiet endearments that fell from his mouth were no less sweet for their rough, awkward cadence, as if every word were being jerked from deep inside him. He told her how pretty she was and how happy he was that she was wet for him. The soft timbre of his voice was in direct opposition to the harsh planes of his face and the emotion carried there. Hollows etched his cheeks.
He gentled her, venturing slowly. A pet at the crease where her thigh met her body. A soft comb through her hair. She twitched and strained. She wanted more than this gentle tease, but she wasn’t quite sure what she could handle.
He traced her seam with one blunt fingertip. A full shudder went through her. She clenched her eyes so tightly that white starbursts swept across the darkness. Somewhere along the line she’d forgotten to breathe.
Not that she needed to be concerned with such silly little requirements. Not when Fletcher delved into her, spreading her wetness and sending quick dips of sensation coursing down her legs. Her head jerked up and her eyes popped open.
With two fingers, he circled the bud of nerves that had become the center of her world.
He looked up at her over the stretch of her body. She’d never felt more languid or more firmly bound—the two combined. His eyes were bright beneath the hooded lids.
If the devil had come to lead her into temptation, he would have to look like Fletcher at this moment to gain her acquiescence. For such devotion, she’d follow him anywhere.
His every touch was worship. He wrenched from her a delectation she hadn’t known she could feel.
When he lifted his fingers from their dance and licked them, her mind shattered to bits. Awful and scandalous and an utter dereliction of decorum.
And she loved it.
Her fingers coiled in his hair, though she had no idea if she was pulling him near or pushing him away.
He bent his mouth to her. Took a long, slow lick over her seam. Explosive trills shook to her breasts. He spread her open to his hungry gaze, then matched action to looks, opening his mouth over her wet ache.
Sweat beaded at her temples and behind her crooked knees. She was nothing but what he made of her. Pure feeling. The swipe of his tongue over her. He circled her entrance with one finger as he licked over the pearl that beaded all her feelings up.
He sucked softly. She could hardly hold back the keening that welled up from her throat. The tickle of trembles that started in her toes became a waterfall that absorbed her.
He stroked, licked and suckled. His hand spread wide over the top of her mound, pushing everything into a close knot of sensation. His other hand dipped low, and he made slow forays into her body.
When he sucked firmly over her button, he released the devil’s furies upon her.
Her toes curled down. Her legs wrenched over his wide shoulders. Sensation became more, feelings became bigger, and everything within her cracked open in a tight-caught maelstrom.
With a lung-burning, long-held breath, she fell open to his every whim.
He petted her through the shakes and the trembles. She thought she might have felt him smile against her.
Sera picked up the pieces of herself one by one. Even once she felt whole again, she wasn’t sure who that person was. Her legs were as loose as un-starched ribbons, and between her legs she was still slick with passion. None of this had anything to do with the respectable lady she’d always aspired to be.
He reared up from his kneeling penitent’s position at her side to sit beside her. Wetness gleamed in the gaslight, but when he saw her looking, there was not a hint of chagrin. He only scrubbed his mouth with the back of his hand and licked her taste off his fingers. Even in her languid state, such lasciviousness made her suck in a wavering breath.
With one flick, he dropped her skirts over her legs. Her bloomers went into his pocket with one shove. He looked so quietly triumphant that she could only imagine he was gathering trophies from her, like the spoils of war. The bloomers would presumably go wherever her pink hair ribbon had disappeared to.
He gathered her in his arms. She buried her face in the crook of his shoulder.
Doubts assailed her like mice after a round of cheese. Determined and sneaky, they slid in under the cracks of her mind. Most of them could be dissuaded with the reminder that they were to be married. Surely a few such liberties were allowed at such a time. Should the worst happen and he toss her over like her mother’s suitor had tossed her, there was no irreparable harm done.
She’d made sure to learn all she could about human reproduction. Lottie had obtained the books from her numerous illicit sources, and Sera had pored over them like a scholar at Cambridge studying for exams. What she and Fletcher had indulged in would result in no babe. For that she was thankful.
But nothing washed away the fact that after such ministrations she was still hungry. Still wanting.
Nothing had been eased. She might feel safer than she had an hour ago, but she was a wreck. Because she wanted him. If anything, she wanted more. More of his kisses, more of his attentions.
She wanted to strip him naked and have him lay on a huge bed while she crawled over him in exploration. To taste the skin at the base of his spine to discover if it tasted as faintly salty as the skin of his neck. Spread her hands wide over his bare chest to see if she could come close to covering him.
Dear heavens, what if it never got better?
What if, after they were married, she only came to want him more and more? Even safe within the bounds of marriage she might shift into her worst fears of herself. She’d expose herself as baseborn and lusty.
Worse than that was the knowled
ge that despite such fears…she could never give him up. Would never give him up. The very idea seemed offensive. She’d cling to his heels should he try to shed her.
God save her soul.
Chapter Sixteen
Fletcher didn’t particularly like the side of himself that marched onward cold and cruel, without much mercy. Since his father’s death, he’d mostly been able to ignore it. Push it away and find another way to do business.
If Sera’s safety was at risk, he’d dismantle Whitechapel—all of London—to its very foundations. All to keep her protected. He’d cosseted and harbored her all her life from a distance. That such safety would fall apart when he’d finally decided to bring her fully into his fold was unacceptable.
The room was small. Stripped of anything but the very necessities, it all but warned of the risks in trading with him.
The man sitting in the single chair in the middle of the bare floor seemed to understand as much.
He hunched in on himself. His hands were clasped at his knees and his spine bowed. The rough-spun pants of a sailor clung damply to his legs, and the faint red remains of a flogging peeked above the wide neckline of his simple shirt. He hadn’t been on land long enough to get his sense back and he’d already run afoul of Fletcher’s organization.
He owed a hundred pounds in gambling debts. The faint sheen of sweat on his tanned brow said he knew exactly how deeply he was in over his head.
His eyes were rheumy and red-rimmed with the remains of last night’s drink, but that didn’t keep them from darting as he tracked Fletcher.
Fletcher roamed around the room, intent on throwing the man off his game. It didn’t seem to take much. He stopped by the single window that had never been graced with panes. Greasy, blackened paper covered the opening. No hope of anyone seeing the sailor—or rescuing him.
Mick and Barnaby, two of his best punishers, flanked the single door. With their arms crossed over their chests they looked like matching palace guards. Only they were much bigger and rougher than anyone Queen Victoria would ever allow near her. Not to mention they wore nothing resembling a uniform.
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