The Miss Mirren Mission (Regency Reformers Book 1)

by Jenny Holiday

  She pulled her covers up to her chin. “Don’t you ever knock?”

  “I’m sorry to frighten you. There was no other way to get to you.”

  “The front door is generally how it’s done.” She could not resist teasing, even as her traitorous body signaled the seriousness of the situation with its intense yearning.

  “I did use the front door. He grinned—he was so free with his smiles now, she could hardly believe he was the same man who had snarled at her just weeks ago. “It’s better than the tree, is it not?”

  “What do you mean? You just walked right in?”

  He ignored her question. “Logically speaking, I think your quibble isn’t with my mode of access, it’s with the particular timing of my visit.”

  “Logically speaking…” She opened her mouth to protest but realized she had no argument. “I think you’re right.”

  The grin grew even wider. “There’s a reason for the unconventional timing. The only time we can go where we need to go is the middle of the night.”

  “Are you on another mission? Because I’m not as bold as Catharine. I can’t just—”

  “I have everything we need. All you have to do is get dressed.” He moved to the corner of the room. “I’ll close my eyes.” Then he opened one, a reverse wink. “Unless you’d rather I didn’t.”

  She hated that he could make her blush. Instead of responding, she threw back the covers and took herself off behind the privacy screen. In truth, she loved the idea of one last adventure. She would reconcile herself to seeing him only at the occasional social event—she would have to. But she wasn’t ready to say good-bye yet.

  The atmosphere in the carriage couldn’t have been more different than on the journey from Bristol. Gone was the formality, the rigorous observation of propriety. After knocking on the ceiling to signal the driver, Eric startled her by sitting on the bench next to her instead of the seat opposite. She could just barely make out his features in the dark, but she could feel the heat radiating off him. His leg lay mere inches from her own, and she could not look away from the muscular buckskin-clad thigh that presented such a contrast to her own muslin-clad lap.

  “Has Mrs. Smith let Mr. Smith out of her sight?” he asked. He’d seen the reunion of mother and son when he dropped them at Emily’s house.

  “Barely,” she said, glad for a topic of conversation to distract her from her nerves. “I think Sally would prefer to keep him by her side at all times, but he’s anxious to get outside, to walk the streets as a free man.”

  “The papers should arrive within days. I’m sorry he has to wait.”

  Emily shook her head. Eric had assured them that Whitehall would see to Billy’s emancipation, in recognition of his service to the Crown. He’d waved off any expressions of thanks, but her heart swelled with gratitude all the same. Though it was probably too dark for him to see, she turned her head to look at the passing scenery to hide the tears gathering in her eyes. When she’d composed herself, she said, “Where are we going?”

  He leaned forward to look out her window, too. “You’re about to see.”

  Blackstone didn’t think he’d ever been this nervous. The carriage rolled to a halt and he jumped down, surreptitiously wiping his sweaty palm on his breeches. Waving off the approaching footman, he helped Emily down.

  “St. Luke’s Hospital?”

  He adored the way her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of the darkened street scene. It was, thankfully, deserted. He’d paid well to make sure they wouldn’t be disturbed once they were inside, but he couldn’t control incidental street traffic.

  “Not the hospital.” He took her hand. “We walk the rest of the way.”

  One of his servants approached from down the street. “Everything is ready, my lord.”

  “Ready for what?” Her voice rose. “What does he mean by everything?”

  “Patience,” he murmured, hastening their pace.

  As they grew closer, he kept his eyes on her, not wanting to miss her reaction once realization dawned. It wasn’t a minute before he was rewarded. She stopped in her tracks, and her hand clamped down on his forearm. “Are we going to the Peerless Pool?”

  He shrugged, loving the tease.

  “Is that even possible?” When he only shrugged again, she unleashed an excited monologue. “What am I saying? Of course it’s possible. If anyone can get a lady into the Peerless Pool, it’s you!” He laughed as she ran ahead, seeming to forget about him. Then she stopped and threw her hands into the air. “What am I going to wear?” she practically wailed. “Why didn’t you tell me? This isn’t your lake. I can’t just—”

  “Patience,” he said again, nodding to indicate that they should keep going. When they arrived at the marble vestibule used for changing, he held the door open for her. “You’ll find everything you need in here. I’ll meet you on the other side.”

  Blackstone stripped off his coat and surveyed the scene. He’d never been to the pool, but understood that in the daytime the place was overrun with men enjoying the novelty of London’s first outdoor swimming pool. Seeing it like this, empty and with the moonlight sparkling, he knew she would love it. It wasn’t a natural-looking body of water but, fashioned from an ancient pond, the pool was a triumph of human ingenuity. She was going to love it.

  Hearing her emerge from the vestibule, he turned. As always, she looked like she’d come from another world. He wanted to say, You are beautiful. He settled for, “I see you’ve chosen the more sensible of the two options.” He’d left her a simple muslin shift and a more traditional—and modest—bathing costume to choose from.

  She didn’t answer at first. He wasn’t even sure if she’d heard him, so entranced was she by the pool. But then she turned shining eyes to him and said, “How have you managed this?”

  “I am rather well connected,” he teased.

  “What if someone sees us?” She scanned the arcade that surrounded the space.

  He held out his arm. “Our privacy is assured.”

  Grinning, she raised her skirts a few inches and dipped a toe into the water. “I suppose I oughtn’t to dive in like I usually do.”

  “Wise. I have no idea how deep it is.” He shucked off his boots.

  “You’ve never been here? If I were a man, I think I should come every day!”

  “I am not known as someone who enjoys leisure,” he said. “At least historically.” He removed his shirt but left his breeches on in deference to the fact that she was wearing a full bathing costume. “Shall we?”

  He intended that they would descend the steps together, with a certain amount of decorum. But she squealed and ran ahead, submerging her head immediately when she reached the bottom of the stairs.

  When she resurfaced with her hair slicked against her face, she took his breath away. He’d swung back and forth these recent weeks between thinking of her as a temptation sent from the devil and as an angel with the power to dispense divine forgiveness. He hadn’t fully resolved the question, but now it seemed possible that she was everything. A temptation and an agent of forgiveness, one who had, miraculously, not only forgiven him for her father’s death, but showed him how to forgive himself. She’d given him his brother back and taught him how to let his mother—and Le Cafard—go.

  He inhaled shakily. More than anything, she made him want. And wanting, truly wanting something for himself, for the first time in more than a decade, reminded him that he was alive. He could feel the evidence—blood pounding, heart skittering, cock stiffening. He was alive.

  The question wouldn’t be confined anymore. He’d been planning to lay out a picnic after their swim, to state his case honestly and straightforwardly. But now, with the shimmering moonlight drenching this beautiful woman as surely as the water had, he was no longer master of the situation. The question was in control, and it would be asked.

  “Will you marry me?” he blurted. Then he walked down the steps, keeping his gaze fixed on her widening eyes. He said it agai
n, softly this time. “Will you marry me?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Say yes. Just say yes.

  Emily was appalled, as Eric made his way down the steps, to hear her lips form the word, “Why?” But, despite the screaming protestations of her heart, she had to know. His answer would make all the difference.

  He stopped a few feet from her, submerged to his waist, gooseflesh rising on his chest. “Because I love you.”

  “You love me because I’m my father’s daughter?”

  “No.” He spoke sharply, and she wondered if she’d offended him. “I love you because you are a maddening, wise, beautiful abolitionist who reads too much.”

  She gasped and took a step toward him, but he waved her away. Her gaze was riveted to the palm he held aloft as he spoke. “I thought my family and the wars had cauterized me, burning off any ability to feel anything. I wasn’t upset by it. I merely accepted it as the way of things. It made me the perfect spy.” He lowered the hand, and she lifted her eyes. It almost hurt to look at him, standing in the water like a sea god.

  “You changed that,” he went on. “You’re right—I did feel responsible for you. That’s why I asked the first time.” He tilted his head to the sky and smiled. “And the second and third time. Well, that and the fact that you were about to ruin my mission—that’s how it all started.” He continued to stare at the stars for a moment before lowering his gaze to meet hers. “I was afraid of you, you know.”

  A bubble of disbelieving laughter escaped her throat.

  “It’s true. Had been all these years. As long as you were closeted away in Somerset, I didn’t have to face you. Didn’t have to face the orphan I’d created.”

  “And then I showed up at your house!”

  “Indeed.”

  “And you started following me!”

  “Of course I did! You were on your way to taking down my one link to Le Cafard. You were the enemy! My God, I thought, why can’t this woman content herself with embroidery and walks in the park? Why can’t she be more ordinary?”

  When she moved to protest, and risked another step in his direction, he held up a censuring finger. “I’ll answer that. Because if she were ordinary, she wouldn’t have brought all manner of other things with her it turned out I desperately needed—absolution, compassion, understanding. And, I hope, love.”

  She nodded vigorously. Oh, how she wanted him to stop talking.

  “That is why, I should be the luckiest man alive if you would do me the honor of being my wife.”

  Finally, he touched her, reaching for her hand and kissing it. Though the gesture was restrained, the heat of his mouth was a brand on her wet skin. When he lifted his head, his eyes danced. “And I’m warning you, this is my final offer. I make it a policy never to propose marriage to a lady more than four times.”

  Blackstone’s relief at what he was interpreting as a “yes” was quickly superseded by a wild spike of lust as Emily threw herself into his arms. When her lips met his, he shuddered, his body recognizing that the struggle was finally over. He drank her in, luxuriating in the amazing softness of her tongue. Would he ever get used to this?

  Emily’s wet hands slid over his still-dry chest, and the cold water made him shiver. But his shivering was soon replaced by delighted shock as she brazenly began undoing the buttons that ran down the front of her bathing costume. He moved reflexively to help her, lifting the sodden skirt out of the water and gathering the wet fabric together before lifting the whole mass over her head.

  God above, she was beautiful.

  “I see one problem here.”

  “What?” He searched for something amiss as he told himself not to panic.

  “I am completely naked, while you, my lord, are still wearing breeches.”

  He hopped to remedy the situation while saying, “If you don’t stop my lording me, you shall be very sorry.”

  “Is that so?”

  He flung his breeches aside and grabbed her. “Very, very sorry.” Oh, but she was breathtaking. Small white breasts with perfect rosebud tips. He reached out to cup one gently with his palm, then flicked one finger over her nipple. She rewarded him with a sharp gasp. Would she make the same noise if he did the same thing on the other side? Ah, yes! “Sorrier than you can imagine,” he whispered, nipping hungrily at her lips and then trailing kisses over her chin and down her smooth, pale neck.

  When she stepped forward and pressed herself against the entire length of his body, he groaned and abandoned the teasing approach in favor of letting his mouth crash down on hers. He allowed himself only a minute to savor the pleasure exploding through his body. It was too soon to become unhinged. Pulling away, he took primal pride in her indignant mew of protest. “All in good time,” he whispered as he began gently pushing her toward the edge of the pool. When her back hit the side, he lifted her so she was sitting on the edge with her legs still in the water. “Put your hands on the ground behind you and lean back a little,” he said gruffly. She obeyed without protest. He nudged her legs open and began lavishing kisses on silken inner thighs made silver by moonlight, relishing the shaky breaths she was heaving in response.

  He took his time, slowly working his way up to the curls between her legs. Bracing her leg open with his injured arm, he used the fingers of his left hand to comb through them, before dropping a kiss right on the center of her mons.

  She sat up ramrod straight. “Are you sure you should be—”

  “Do. Not. Argue. With. Me,” he said, dropping kisses between words as he spread her folds. When he arrived at his destination, she squeaked.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You haven’t read about this,” he answered, purposefully blowing a little as he spoke. “Not everything,” he darted his tongue out, “is best learned from books, my love.”

  “Oh my heavens,” Emily said as she stared at the sky. She wished she could think of something cleverer to say, as that particular phrase had passed her lips an embarrassing number of times as Eric had brought her to ever higher heights, until his exquisite torture finally tipped her over the edge.

  He lay beside her next to the pool, his arm resting heavily over her belly. She was dimly aware that his member was still stiff, but not only was she immobilized, she seemed to be unable to summon coherent language.

  “Oh my heavens,” she said, once more for good measure.

  He chuckled, a low, throaty laugh that rumbled through the chest her head rested on. “So you forfeit?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “You admit that this was not best learned through books?”

  “Yes!” When speech returned, movement did, too. Boldly, she snaked her hand down and ran her fingers lightly over his cock.

  Hissing as if she’d hurt him, he rolled his lower body out of her reach.

  “I’m sure this is better learned through experience, too,” she said, parrying the unspoken refusal.

  “There is no hurry. We will be married in less than a month. Now that we’re betrothed, I think we should wait.” He pulled himself up, graceful and lithe as a cat, and made his way over to his discarded breeches.

  “Wait a month?” She couldn’t keep the dismay out of her voice. Why was he suddenly being such a stickler? “Can’t you get a special license?”

  “I can.” He rummaged through a pocket. “But I thought we would call the banns in Essex. There is a little church on the estate. And think how lovely it will be to have the lake always at our disposal. This”—he gestured vaguely around them with his head—“is all fine and good, but it pales in comparison to the real thing, don’t you think?”

  “Are you saying you want to live at Clareford Manor?” she asked, a little stunned. She realized they had much to discuss.

  “I want to live where you want to live,” he said quickly, making his way back over and lowering himself to sit cross-legged next to her. His earnestness wrenched her heart. “There’s the London house, and I also have an estate in Scotland. And a hunti
ng box in the Lake District. The Lake District! You’ll love it there.”

  Laughing, she shook her head. “So many houses for one man!”

  “They’re not mine, of course. They belong to the title.”

  The smile died on her lips. “I’m going to be a countess.”

  “You sound like you’ve just proclaimed your own death sentence.” He held out his closed fist. “Here, I should have got you a ring, but I thought you’d like this better.”

  He opened his palm. She sucked in a breath. It was the pink rock she’d plucked off the bottom of the lake at Clareford Manor. Choking back tears, she let him place it on her palm.

  “Certainly not a gem suitable for a countess,” he smiled. “But then, I don’t expect you’ll be the average countess.”

  “I won’t give up Edward Markham’s columns,” she said quickly. There was so much she hadn’t thought of in the rush of happiness after he’d proposed. “Just because we saved Billy doesn’t mean I’m going to stop.”

  He smiled and dropped a kiss on her nose. “I would expect no less. Perhaps I’ll even take up my seat in Lords.”

  “Are you a Tory or a Whig?” She clutched his arm, suddenly seeing the possibilities.

  “I don’t know!” He laughed. “But I promise to vote however you tell me to.” He deposited another kiss on her nose, following it with one on her left eyebrow. “Parliament aside, I will have to spend some time in London.”

  “You’re going to keep spying.” The prospect frightened her. “Are all your missions as dangerous as this last one?”

  “In fact, I spent most of this evening negotiating a new situation with Whitehall. I’ll be taking on a leadership role. Less time in the field. Safer.”