by Georgie Lee
She wasn’t one to hop into the bed of a strange man, but Bart was no stranger. At one time, he’d been willing to make her his wife, but what she was thinking about now didn’t involve matrimony. If she decided to cross the bounds of propriety with him, she must be completely aware there might be nothing more than this night, or whatever nights would come until his next case, or her family, or society, or whatever it was inside him that made him think he couldn’t enjoy the contentment of a proper home rose up to separate them. She wasn’t sure she could be so cavalier when it came to affection.
‘I had enough of your mother’s hors d’oeuvres to keep me going for the night. We needn’t go down.’ Her refusal meant they’d remain alone, with no interruptions and only their willpower to keep them apart. She hoped hers was strong enough and at the same time wished either it or his might fail.
‘We’ll stay here then.’
She waited for him to stride across the room and take her in his arms, sweep her half-open lips with his and she wouldn’t reject him, but he didn’t move. She should be glad he didn’t accept the subtle invitation, but she wasn’t. She wanted the heat of his hands upon her, to feel as alive and free with him as she had five years ago. In the slight tightening of his jaw, and the intensity of his eyes, she knew he wanted the same thing, but his self-control proved stronger than his desire or hers.
Disappointed, and eager to fill the uncertain quiet descending on them, she crossed to the sideboard where a small bottle of brandy and a crystal tumbler sat beside his wash bowl and shaving things. She poured out a drink as she had for his father and had done many times for her father, her husband and even Freddy. She offered the brandy to Bart and he took the glass from her, his fingers brushing hers and sending a jolt racing through her. She didn’t pull back, but waited to see what might happen next. It was Bart who turned away, settling himself on the end of the short leather sofa situated before the fireplace.
‘A man could get used to this treatment,’ he joked, but it didn’t lessen the tension growing between them.
She sat down on the other end, but it wasn’t very far from him. ‘A woman could get used to performing these little deeds again, especially for someone truly grateful for them.’
‘I’m grateful, but not worthy.’
‘A man who fights as hard as you do for people who’ve been wronged deserves a little tender treatment now and again. After all, life isn’t always about struggling and fighting. It’s also about love and kindness, even to those who don’t always show it to you.’
He tapped his fingers on the side of the glass. ‘You mean my father?’
‘I mean anyone, except of course hardened criminals.’
‘Definitely not them.’ He smiled, the stern set of his features easing to remind her of the Bart she’d first come to care for and not the experienced magistrate he’d become.
‘Nor can you let those people define you,’ she gently encouraged, ‘to make you hard or lead you to believe all of life is one long struggle.’
‘It’s difficult not to fight when you’ve been doing it for so long. With four older brothers, it starts early. The stakes of the battles only increased when I grew older.’ Bart swirled the brandy in the glass, making the amber liquid catch the light from the fire behind it. ‘As for softness, too much of it leads to loss and I can’t afford to lose. The futures of my clients and my country depend on me winning.’
‘It doesn’t mean there isn’t room in your life for tenderness, and peace, or deeper accomplishments than those claimed in the courtroom.’
* * *
Moira shifted closer to Bart on the sofa, the muslin of her dress covering her legs brushing against his. They shouldn’t be so close, but he couldn’t push her away. There was an understanding and acceptance of him in what she’d said, which he’d never experienced with a woman before, even if this meant he didn’t particularly like the man her perception revealed. It wasn’t a face he wanted to show the world, or a lady like Moira, but she wasn’t disgusted by what she saw. Through her, he might at last gain the more ephemeral things in life, which she almost made him believe were possible to achieve, especially with her.
‘You’re a saint, Moira.’ One he couldn’t ruin with the ugliness of his situation, but still he couldn’t tear himself away from the glitter of the firelight in her golden hair or the emerald green of her eyes. Five years ago he’d been struck by her beauty and the truth was nothing had changed except her willingness to defy a great deal in order to be with him.
‘Hardly,’ she scoffed, before pinning him with a sobering inflammatory look. ‘I’m simply tired of fighting, and I think you are, too.’
‘I can’t give it up especially when my country needs me.’ Circumstances had placed her here under his protection and he couldn’t take advantage of them, or her.
‘But you can refuse to let it consume everything.’ She laid her warm hand on his cheek, the slight pressure of her fingertips against his skin igniting his insides like a cannon shot.
He should stand and pull away and not give in to the temptation in her touch. She wasn’t a widow in search of a quick rendezvous, but a woman in need of a man who could offer her a respectable arrangement. It wasn’t him.
‘This isn’t right, Moira,’ he choked through a desire to hold her as powerful as his need to fight for his country.
‘I don’t care. I don’t want to think about plots and intrigues, regrets or how we should or shouldn’t behave. I want to be with you and nothing else.’ She leaned forward and touched her lips to his, snapping what remained of his self-control.
He wrapped his arms about her waist and pulled her against his body, barely aware of the crystal glass tumbling to the floor. She met his kisses with a passion to rival his, the two of them coming together like lovers parted by years of war and reunited at last. Battles had come between them, but they hadn’t defeated them or their desire for one another. Even after everything her aunt had done to try and turn her against him, and each mistake he’d made while they’d been together, she embraced him with an eagerness to make him groan.
She brushed his short hair with her slender fingers and caressed the back of his neck, her light touch potent with her craving for him. He kept his hands around her waist while slowing the pace of his kisses, cautious of moving too fast. He longed to draw out this time with her before the world outside intruded to spoil it.
She brought her mouth close to his ear, her breath cool against his heated skin as she touched her lips to his temple. She moved her hands from around his neck to caress his shoulders and slid one finger inside the vee of his shirt to trace the muscles beneath with hesitant and curious circles. He reached behind her and began to undo her dress while her fingers worked the buttons of his waistcoat and tugged at the linen of his shirt. In short time, her dress came away and she sat before him in the white of her chemise and stays, her skin pink with the flush of her need, her eyes averted in the faint embarrassment of being so open and vulnerable to him. He wasn’t shy in his admiration of her body as he traced the curve of her waist and pressed light kisses to the tops of her breasts. Sliding his hands around behind her, he worked free the laces of her stays until they came away.
Each subtle revealing of her body as he slid the chemise off her shoulders touched him as deeply as her caresses and told him of the depths of her trust in him. She didn’t recoil from him in her nakedness, but helped him off with his shirt and timidly explored his chest and stomach. Her gentle, flawless hands were a contrast to the scars and bruises marking his flesh, each sweep of them against him increasing his need for her. He continued to hold back, determined to be as open and vulnerable with her as she was with him.
Then she shifted closer, her eyes bright with curiosity as she pressed her bare chest to his and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She touched her lips to his neck and his resolve buckled un
der the gentlesweep of her tongue across his skin. He slid one arm around her waist and the other beneath her slender legs, clutching her around the thighs as he picked her up and carried her to the bed. She didn’t protest, but rested her head against his chest, as confident in him with this as she was with everything else.
He laid her on the plain coverlet and settled down beside her. To hold her close, to be one with her was a victory like none he’d ever captured before. She was the light he’d craved in the darkness of his work and the forgiveness he needed for his past mistakes and sins. In her arms, he could forget his struggles and the evils in life to revel in the beauty of her figure stretched out beside him, drawing him deeper into her than even the coming together of their bodies could achieve. She was beauty and life and the opposite of everything he’d become.
Moira lay languid in Bart’s arms, following the ebb and flow of his movement as he led her deeper into the passion consuming them. She traced the lines of his sturdy body as he did the full curves of hers, marvelling at the firmness of his muscles beneath her palms. He was magnificent, like marble sculpted by a master, but gentle and easy with her, drawing from her surprising new feelings and sensations. The sweep of his tongue and the stroke of his fingertips revealed to her all the pleasures she’d been denied by marriage and widowhood. When her bare skin met his, she shivered, and when he pulled back again to admire her, she didn’t try to cover herself or demand he look away. With him there was no hiding or uncertainty, no sense of duty, but only a passion to consume everything. She rushed into it, conscious of nothing but the weight of him above her as they became one, his embrace driving back the cold loneliness that had dominated her for so long. She clung to him as he guided her towards a bliss to rival the joy of being in his arms. He was finally hers and all the lonely years since they’d parted vanished as they reached their pleasure together, their hearts as close as their bodies.
* * *
Moira lay with her cheek on Bart’s chest and ran her fingers lazily back and forth across his stomach. The fire had died down, but they hadn’t summoned the maid to relight it, unwilling to disturb their solitude.
‘What are you thinking?’ Bart asked.
She shifted up to face him, breasts pressed against his chest. He rested with his hands behind his head against the pillow, more relaxed than at any other time since she’d been with him. She didn’t entirely share his leisure and wondered if she should express the thoughts and concerns tripping through her mind. She wanted to lie with him for ever, never to leave this room, but it wasn’t possible. They’d made no promises to one another, but she wasn’t ready to ask for more and risk breaking the contentment of their lovemaking and this stolen time together. While they were here, she could pretend this wasn’t all there might be between them. It was a fantasy, but it was hers to enjoy for however long it lasted. ‘I was thinking how quickly things can change. The most I was considering two days ago was whether or not to order a new dress. Everything was calm and boring. It isn’t any more.’
He brushed her hair off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. ‘It will be. I assure you, in a few days when this is all behind us, you’ll miss the excitement.’
She would miss him, but she wasn’t prepared to say it aloud. ‘I won’t miss people rushing at me with knives, but the excitement will be hard to leave. I see why it is you do it.’
‘It can be more interesting than legal briefs and, at times, more rewarding.’ He caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers and in his eyes something deeper than the mere pleasure or convenience of their time together flashed in their dark brown depths. It made her wonder if he would walk away from her when this was all over, or if he even could. ‘You should get some sleep. You’ve had a long day.’
‘Yes, I have.’ She brushed his lips with hers, then settled down beside him, relishing the weight of his arm around her shoulders and the warmth of his chest beneath her cheek, while trying not to think about what the sunrise might bring.
Bart’s peace slid into regret as Moira’s breathing grew steady beside him. He adored her and it wasn’t until they’d become close again during these last few days that he’d come to realise how much she’d never really left his heart. He might have privately railed against her after the end of their engagement, but with time he’d come to understand why she’d made the decision she’d made. Sadly, he also understood the world and society a little too well and what it meant for their future together. With the soft curve of her body against his, and when she’d been beneath him, he’d almost forgotten the realities of his situation or hers, but they couldn’t be ignored for ever. In the morning, he would still be a barrister and stipendiary magistrate her family reviled and she a countess expected to marry a man of her own rank. Evil people would continue to stalk them and England would remain at risk. She’d shown great resolve in facing the trials of the last few days, all the while hanging on to her innocence. He shuddered to think of their time together changing her for the worse. He wanted her to remain above it all, a beautiful thing in the midst of the ugliness of London, but already he’d tarnished her by compromising her honour and reputation. How much more might he dull her brightness when years of stinking gaols, vicious traitors and conniving defendants made him a hard man like his father with no tenderness to spare for his wife and children?
It was easy in the quiet of his bedroom to vow he’d never become that kind of man, to live up to her challenge to not be defined by his work, but he’d also promised to protect Lady Fallworth and Moira, and he’d already failed at one and nearly failed at the other.
He stared down at her sleeping peacefully in his arms. He wouldn’t see Moira’s beautiful face marred by the same unfulfilled hope for her husband he’d seen in his mother’s expression tonight, nor would he place her at risk of being attacked again from the shadows. She deserved a husband not mired in intrigue and lowlifes, someone who could provide her with a home filled with children. In the morning he would give her the chance to find such a man. It would be a victory for common sense, but a triumph for the ugliness in his life.
Chapter Eleven
A light knock at the bedroom door, so quiet Bart might have missed it if he hadn’t already been awake, roused him from his thoughts. Moira slept soundly beside him. He’d spent the last two hours admiring her creamy skin in the increasing dawn light, her blonde hair draping her bare breasts and the curve of her hips where they rested beneath the white sheets.
A second, more urgent rap on the door forced him out of bed. Carefully shifting his arm from under Moira to keep from disturbing her, he rose, pulled on his breeches and went to the door. He cracked it open just enough to reveal Mrs Roberts. ‘Yes?’
‘This arrived for you, from Mr Flint. The messenger said it was important.’ She slid a piece of paper though the crack.
‘Thank you.’ He closed the door and opened the note.
Important development. Meet me at my office at once.
Flint
Moira began to stir and Bart glanced over the top of the paper to where she lay. She opened her green eyes and raised her left arm above her head, making her breasts rise temptingly with her stretch. ‘Good morning, Bart.’
‘Good morning.’ He tossed Mr Flint’s note on the dressing table, plucked a clean shirt out of the wardrobe and slid it on. ‘Mr Flint has summoned me, I have to go.’
She lowered her arm, her languidness evaporating as she frowned at him in concern. ‘But that’s not all that’s wrong, is it?’
He draped a fresh cravat around his neck and began to tie it, hating himself for what he was about to say, but he couldn’t allow this to continue. They’d made a mistake last night, the same one they’d made five years ago by being too impulsive and believing too much in the powerful emotions drawing them together instead of heeding the forces pushing them apart. As much as it killed him to give her up he must. �
��We made a mistake last night, Moira.’
The concern in her eyes vanished and he wished he could take back the words, but he couldn’t. He’d always been straight in his dealings with scoundrels, the courts and even women. It was something Moira deserved no matter how much it might wound her. It was better for her to hear this now than to allow her to continue under an illusion of happiness.
‘You didn’t seem to think it was a mistake last night.’ She pushed herself up, her breasts as tempting as the subtle curve of her stomach and hips before she jerked up the sheet to cover them.
‘I shouldn’t have allowed our emotions to run away with us, but—’
‘You saw an opportunity and decided to take it as opposed to walking away.’ She stepped out of bed, grabbed her chemise and tugged it over her head. Then she gathered up her clothes with quick jerks, piling them in the crook of her elbow.
He went to her and gently grasped her by the upper arms, her skin smooth beneath his fingers. Part of him wanted to fall on his knees in apology and return them to the few seconds of peace they’d enjoyed before he’d opened his stupid mouth and ruined it. Instead, he spoke, further driving a wedge between them. ‘I didn’t make love to you last night because you were here.’
‘Then why?’ Tears glistened in her eyes, almost stopping him, but he had to go on, no matter how much it hurt them both.
‘Because, like you, I was reaching for something I thought we could seize, but we can’t. I’m not the right man for you, Moira, not only because of the difference in our stations, but because of the things you don’t know about me.’
‘You may not have told me everything, but I can guess. You visit gaols and see men forced to tell you what you need to know, and I’m sure it’s ugly business, but it doesn’t make you an ugly man.’
