by Darcy Burke
At odds with his strong, confident personality, he gave her a sheepish look that she found incredibly endearing. “Guilty. I have endeavored to become familiar with as many booksellers and publishers as possible.”
“For your library?”
He nodded. “I will have new literary works before anyone else in London.”
“My goodness, that’s exciting, isn’t it? Is your goal driven by your love of books or the desire to be first?”
He let out a sharp laugh. “You’ve a keen skill of observation. How did you realize I’m competitive?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t. But now I’m very curious.”
“I’ve had to work very hard to achieve my place in this world,” he said softly.
Before she could ask why that was, he gestured toward the Chapter Coffee House. “Shall we stop in for a coffee?”
“I’ve never been to a coffee house. How can I refuse?” She pulled on his arm, drawing him to stop. The pavement was only wide enough for two people to walk abreast, and another gentleman walked toward them.
Lord Bodyguard edged closer to her to give the man more room. Consequently, they stood chest to chest. She looked up into his captivating gaze, and her breath caught.
His other hand gently clasped her hip, holding her as the man moved past them. Lord Bodyguard did not immediately back away, nor did she want him to. Indeed, she could have stood like that all afternoon. It was as if the world had been shuttered out, leaving the two of them alone in this riveting proximity.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For taking me places I could only imagine.”
“It’s my pleasure.” He took his hand from her hip, but then clasped her fingers and brought them to his lips. His eyes never left hers as he pressed a kiss to the back of her glove.
Anne shivered. Not with cold or dread, but with something she’d never felt before—desire. She’d never been kissed, and she wanted Lord Bodyguard to be the first.
They continued to the coffee house, moving more closely together than they had before. He escorted her inside, where they found a table in the back corner. He always sought to keep them away from the center of attention, which she appreciated. It was almost impossible that anyone in this area would recognize her, especially since she was new to town, but it was wise to be careful.
“This is also an inn,” he said as he settled her into a chair before taking the one next to her. He looked toward the door, while she was angled toward the wall, which kept her face averted from the main part of the common room. “Writers from out of town stay here when they come to London.”
“You know Paternoster Row very well.”
“I admit I love it. The last day of the month is Magazine Day. That’s when periodicals go on sale, and it draws quite a crowd. For someone who likes to watch people, you’d enjoy it.”
“Then I will make a point of returning at the end of the month. Too bad it’s not a Thursday afternoon.”
“I could still bring you. Or meet you here. Actually, if you come, you should dress like a man. Then you’d blend right in. There are far more men on this street than women, so you tend to stand out.”
The idea excited Anne. But where would she get a set of men’s clothing? “Could I pass for a gentleman?”
He eyed her carefully, his gaze moving down over her. He tipped his head to see around the corner of the table. “It would take some effort, but given your petite size, you could probably pass for a boy. If you bound your, ah, chest.” His gaze jerked to hers, his eyes widening slightly. He abruptly stood. “I’ll fetch coffee.”
Anne watched him as he went to the counter. He was always superbly dressed, from his tall ebony hat to his crisp white cravat to the molded fit of his dark brown pantaloons tucked into his black Wellington boots. His blue wool coat was expertly tailored, hugging the muscles of his shoulders and arms. Seeing him never failed to make her heart skip or her breath catch. Even now, just watching him, she felt a rush of excitement, of anticipation.
He returned with two cups of coffee and set them on the table. Retaking his chair, he offered her a slight smile. “I must apologize for my comment before.”
Anne tried to think of what he’d said—her brain had become quite transfixed on him. “Oh, about my chest?” She glanced down at herself, then looked at him and realized he’d followed her gaze.
He snapped his attention from her to the coffee. “I asked for a weak brew for your first taste. Coffee can be quite strong.”
She found his awkwardness sweet. “You didn’t have to apologize.”
“I shouldn’t have said something so…intimate.” One of his blond brows arched into a sharp peak. “Perhaps we’ve become too familiar.”
“I don’t think so.” She put her hand on his arm. He looked down at where she touched him, then into her eyes. The moment stretched until she finally said, “Now, show me how to drink coffee.”
Withdrawing her hand from his arm, she tamped down the desire that was swirling within her once more. She reached for her cup.
“Do you really need me to show you?” he asked wryly.
“I suppose not.” Lifting the vessel, she put her lips to the edge and carefully sampled the dark brew. An intense bitterness snapped across her tongue. She set the cup down rather hard, nearly sloshing coffee over the rim. It was a bit of a struggle to swallow it down. She ran her tongue along the roof of her mouth and backs of her teeth. “That’s weak?”
He lifted her cup and sniffed. “Yes.” Handing her his cup, he said, “Smell this and tell me what you think.”
She inhaled and immediately turned her head to cough and sputter. “Fine, mine’s weak.”
Suppressing a grin, he sipped his coffee before returning his cup to the table. “It’s somewhat of an acquired taste.”
She wouldn’t have cared if he’d given her dirt in a cup. Nothing could detract from their time together. “I want to come to Magazine Day,” she said. “I’ll make the necessary plans for a man’s costume and a reason to go out.” She’d have to ask her chaperone—her godfather’s daughter—if they could move their appointment that week from Thursday to Wednesday.
“You’re certain?”
“Absolutely.”
The orange mark in his eye seemed to glow brighter as he stared at her. His gaze suddenly shifted over her shoulder. His jaw tightened, and an almost imperceptible shadow fell over his features.
He abruptly stood. “Come.” Moving behind her chair, he helped her rise.
“What about our coffee?”
“I know you don’t really want it,” he whispered next to her ear, eliciting another shiver along her spine.
He slid his arm around her waist and guided her toward the back of the common room. They moved through a doorway into a narrow corridor. He stepped in front of her and took her hand.
A prick of alarm shot through her. “Where are we going?”
He looked back over his shoulder and past her. “Someone I don’t want to see came into the shop. We’ll leave through the back.” He continued forward, passing closed doors on either side.
“You seem to know where you’re going,” she said.
“I’m good at pretending.”
His words made her stop. She tugged on his hand. “Is that what we’ve been doing?”
He pivoted, and she moved with him until her back was against the wall. With more than a foot of height advantage, he towered over her. “What would we have been pretending? I am not a lord. I made that clear from the start.”
He’d made it clear he wasn’t an earl, but she wouldn’t quibble. Now that he was so close to her and the space was dim and small, she knew what she’d said was foolish. The time she spent with him was the most real she could be. He didn’t expect her to be a perfect young miss or to conquer Society and be the success her older sister wasn’t.
“I don’t pretend with you,” she said softly. She also didn’t tell him the complete truth, such as her name, and neither did he totall
y reveal himself to her. “You see who I am. Don’t you?”
“Yes.” His answer thrummed in her chest.
“And I see you.”
“No.” The word came hard and fast. “You see what I want you to see.” He put his palm on the wall above her head and to her left as he pressed his body against hers. He tipped his head down and looked into her eyes. “What do you see?”
Anne lifted her hand and touched his cheek. She glided her fingers down to his jaw. “I see a man. A man who makes me feel important and valued. A man I want.”
A soft but guttural sound lodged in his throat. “You can’t know what that means.”
“Can’t I?” She slipped her hand between his collar and his neck and moved it back to his nape. Pulling him toward her, she stood on her toes and touched her lips to his.
What on earth was she doing? This was utter madness. It was one thing to traipse all over East London in a stranger’s company, but to kiss him?
Only, he wasn’t a stranger. She might not know his name, but she knew him—his character, at least.
And now she was kissing him.
He clasped her waist and pulled his lips from hers but didn’t retreat. “Brazen,” he whispered against her mouth. “Beautiful.”
She looked up into his eyes. “Kiss me. Please?”
“I should decline, but fortunately for you, my judgment is questionable.” He slid his hand between her and the wall, flattening his palm against the small of her back. Holding her fast, he pressed against her as his other hand cupped the side of her neck, his thumb stroking along her jaw. “Ready?” At her nod, he added, “Remember, I am not who you think me to be.”
His mouth crushed over hers, his hands pressing into her, capturing her for the onslaught of his lips and tongue. For that’s what it was—a tumult of desire and desperation that echoed her own. She had no idea what he was doing as his tongue slid into her mouth, but she wanted every part of it.
Sensation soared and spiraled, igniting little fires of need throughout her body. But it was the lush beauty of his kiss that captivated her. He tasted of that bitter coffee but there was something else, a masculine flavor and swagger that threatened to sweep her away if the sudden wobbliness of her legs meant anything.
His tongue swept against hers, exploring and teasing, provoking her to respond. She met him with a gentle thrust, and it must have been right because his thumb pressed into her cheek just in front of her ear.
His body was big and solid against her, making her feel both small and secure in his embrace. She never wanted to leave it. Or him.
The kiss gentled, slowing until he pulled back. But he didn’t move away. “That was unwise.”
She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. “That was heavenly. Please do it again.”
The edges of his mouth curved up. “What am I going to do with you?” he murmured.
“Anything you like.” She trailed her fingertips along the underside of his jaw toward his throat.
“Brazen temptress.” He abruptly let her go and clasped her hand, leading her to a door. Once they were outside in a narrow alleyway, he wound around the row of buildings and back onto Paternoster Row. “Time to return to Hatchard’s.”
Anne sighed. “Pity.”
They walked in silence for a moment. Anne worked to organize her jumbled thoughts—and tamp down the persistent desire she felt toward him. “Would it be bad if we told each other who we are?”
“Yes.” He didn’t pause or even slow. “I meant what I said before—I am not the man you think me to be. If you hope I can court you, know that I cannot. Ever. I should not have kissed you.”
Anne hadn’t realized until that moment that she had been hoping for something. Perhaps not courtship, but if not that, what? Was she hoping he would tup her in the back corridor of a coffee shop? The idea sent a shameful heat blazing through her. “Then what are we doing together?”
“I don’t know.”
They went silent again, and it wasn’t until he steered her toward his parked cabriolet that she finally stopped, tugging on his arm to do the same.
She looked up at him and put her palm against his chest. “I don’t know what we’re doing, but it’s the thing I look forward to the most. I like you.” I love you. Yes, that was what she wanted to say, but wouldn’t. “I like our adventures. I don’t want them to stop.”
He stared past her, his pupils narrowing and the orange in his right eye becoming larger. “I don’t either.” His gaze moved to hers. “But there will come a time when this—us—must.”
Us.
How she loved that tiny word.
“Then I suppose we’ll have to make the most of every moment.” She stood on her toes and brushed her lips against his. “When we get to the cabriolet, I’m going to kiss you again because I can. Prepare yourself.”
He chuckled low in his chest, his eyes glittering. “I’m learning that I’m not sure I can ever adequately prepare myself for you.”
Pleasure flushed through her. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I meant it at as such.” He put his hand over hers, which was still against his chest. “Be warned that I plan to kiss you back.”
Anne couldn’t wait.
One week later…
She was late.
More than a half hour.
Rafe Blackwell stood across the street from Hatchard’s, just outside the Burlington Arcade, which had opened only a few days prior. His cabriolet was parked nearby, his tiger in command of the vehicle so they could quickly be on their way to Aldersgate Street.
She was never late.
Had something terrible prevented her from coming? Perhaps she was ill or hurt. The thought sent a shaft of stark panic piercing straight through him. And that scared him. Four years ago, he’d promised himself that he would never, ever open himself up to such heartache again.
Yet here he was, waiting for a slip of a woman who made his heart race in a way he’d never expected. Not after what he’d endured—what he’d found and lost.
After another quarter hour, he accepted that she wasn’t coming. Muttering a curse, he walked into the arcade. London’s elite mingled amongst the expensive shops. He wandered into a jeweler and browsed the display cases, stopping when his gaze fell on a cameo carved from oyster shell. He instantly thought of Mrs. Dazzling, because the woman’s curls rioted about her shoulders. Mrs. Dazzling’s hair didn’t quite do that, but one or more of her blonde locks often went astray, despite her best attempts to keep them tamed beneath her hat.
And of course the oyster shell reminded him of her. Would he ever eat another oyster without thinking of their time together?
Without indulging much thought, he sought the attention of an employee. “I’d like to purchase that brooch.”
“Aphrodite?” the middle-aged man asked.
Rafe nearly smiled. Of course it was Aphrodite. He’d always been drawn to depictions of the goddess, though he couldn’t exactly say why. “Yes.”
The man withdrew it from the case with a smile. “What a lovely gift. I’ll wrap it up for you.”
Rafe asked the price and paid the man. It wasn’t a gift. In fact, he didn’t even know why he was buying it.
Because you can.
Perhaps that was it. He was a man of considerable means now. To be able to walk into this new arcade, built specifically for Society’s most prestigious, and not be regarded as an interloper was an achievement.
Nevertheless, he wasn’t satisfied. Perhaps he never would be.
The attendant returned with the brooch wrapped in a box. Rafe tucked it into his coat and left the shop.
Frustration and disappointment warred within him as he made his way back to Piccadilly. He couldn’t help but look toward Hatchard’s, as if he’d see her waiting for him outside. She wasn’t. The depth of his emotions was unsettling. He’d been amusing himself with her, or so he’d thought.
Hell, he’d let his guard down spectacularly. He almost n
ever did that, with two distinct exceptions: his sister and Eliza. And both of them were gone from his life, proof positive that he should never let people close.
There were reasons he held himself apart. Self-protection. Unworthiness. Keeping others safe. He was a risk that shouldn’t be taken.
He was broken.
It was good she hadn’t come. Good for him, but even better for her.
That the discontent he typically carried was now magnified troubled him, but the sensation would fade. She’d been a welcome distraction, and now it was time to let her go. It should be simple. He’d become a master of letting things—people—go. A sharp, quick press on his chest told him otherwise.
Perhaps she’d been more than a distraction.
Chapter 1
June 1819
Mayfair
The library was nearly complete.
Rafe Blackwell, or Raphael Bowles as he was now known, surveyed the massive room, which was the second largest in his grand new house on Upper Brook Street. Only the ballroom was bigger. He could probably fit the single-room flat he’d lived in with his sister and their “uncle” when they’d been children in East London into the ballroom at least eight times over.
Two footmen carried in boxes of books and set them on a long, rectangular table, which was covered with a cloth to protect the surface. Such consideration was once odd to Rafe. Until four years ago, he’d never owned a table worth covering. Before that, he hadn’t owned all that many tables.
And he’d never owned this many books. He thanked the footmen, and they departed. Rafe went to one of the boxes and looked inside. So many books.
He immediately thought of Mrs. Dazzling—books always brought her to mind. Not just because he’d met her at Hatchard’s, but because the last time he’d seen her had been that day in Paternoster Row.
He’d considered finding her. It wouldn’t be difficult as she was out this Season.
He didn’t want to.
That wasn’t precisely true. It was best if he didn’t.
