“Oh dear.”
“Now you see why you should leave my room with as much haste as you can muster?”
She considered that hardness. Then she considered the ache between her thighs. She had read and heard enough to know that a woman could make love to a man this way. It would be so easy.
“Do not send me away. You’re a man of honour, August. No one could take that from you. But please do not make me beg.” Ivy pressed herself against him for emphasis. The ache low down increased and a short, sharp shock of pleasure rippled through her. Her lips parted of their own accord and she repeated the movement. “I ache for you.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed several times and she heard his teeth grind. Eyes still dark, the grip on her waist tightened and then he moved her again. “I won’t take you,” he told her. “But I can ease that ache.”
She couldn’t decide whether to be thrilled or disappointed. As much as she longed to experience love-making, it was still a daunting prospect when not completely wrapped in a haze of desire. His reticence meant she couldn’t be wholly enveloped—at least not while she knew she was still fighting to break through his control.
A control she could not help admire. Would she have the same restraint in his position? Unlikely. She had rarely been restrained. Her cold parents failed entirely to understand her and in some respects that encouraged her to push her boundaries further. Just one more adventure, just one more outrageous remark and then surely they’d react to her with something other than indifference?
August rocked her slowly at first and the gentle pulses of pleasure stirred in her sex. She had created a crack and she was seeping in like water into a boat. Soon she would fill him... and hopefully he would fill her. But as much as she wanted to break through and see the man beneath the control—that tempting one that she had caught glimpses of—she understood that she would not admire him so much without that aspect of his personality.
He gazed up at her, his eyes intense. That look made her chest constrict. He noticed her, he reacted to her. Under that look, she felt powerful, in control and wanted. It was as though he had passed her that little sliver of control and she couldn’t help be grateful for that gift.
Lips parted, breathing deeply, she gained a rhythm with the help of his hands to her waist. She gripped the cotton of his nightshirt as the bursts of ecstasy grew until they were one great wave of sensation. Underneath her, his arousal pulsed against her tender folds. He kept his jaw tight and his fingers dug into her skin.
Protected, wanted, needed. She felt all those things and more.
“Oh, August,” she spilled out. “Feels so good.”
“Keep moving,” he said tightly. “Keep moving, my sweets.”
My sweets. My sweets. It was not until that moment she realised how much she longed to be my sweets. My anything really. No one else had been interested in claiming her, not even her parents.
Before she could respond, he picked up the pace, working her frantically against his hardness. She maintained that pace by rocking with him while a sweet burn kindled under her skin, making her feel as though she had drunk strong spirits.
It shattered through her—the blissful feeling. Her body shook and she drew in great breaths while her peak flooded through her. She clenched her eyes shut to focus on the feeling and the image of August’s blue eyes floated in front of her vision.
He didn’t let up, didn’t release her. Fingers clamped to her waist her rocked her and rocked her. A guttural groan came from him and her eyelids flew open to watch it happen.
“Damn it.” He hissed the words and lifted her away from him and she stared on as he raised the blankets and pumped furiously. She longed to curl her hand around his and help him but her orgasm had made her limbs weak and useless. She sat, slumped to one side, awe-struck by the sight.
His gaze locked with hers as he spilled. It said, This was you, Ivy. You did this to me. You do this to me.
Drawing in a deep breath that made his chest rise and made her long to spread her palms across it, he used his nightshirt to clean himself and released that breath before looking at her. She knew what was coming. Some words of regret perhaps or he would berate himself for losing control.
So before he could speak, she leaned over and kissed his slack lips. Ivy caught sight of his brow creasing in surprise briefly as she flattened her lips to his.
“That was wonderful,” she said when she drew away, “thank you.”
And then she left him. Satisfaction mingled with regret. The desire to crawl back into bed with August and while away the morning tucked into his side, perhaps seeing if she could get him aroused again, burned low in her belly. But that wouldn’t happen.
Not yet at least. She allowed herself a grin as she slipped back into her bedroom and peeked in to see Elsie sleeping soundly in her cot. She’d created a crack. Soon she would break all the way through and finally get what she craved.
Chapter Sixteen
It was no good. He’d have to fire her. This couldn’t go on. He glanced at the window and saw Ivy holding Elsie while they waved goodbye. He was to spend the day at the tunnel site. Hopefully they’d caught up after the collapse. After his last visit, he wasn’t so sure though. The men had likely been replaced—there were always men looking for work, even dangerous work like tunnel construction—but the damage had been great and much of the brickwork would need replacing. His palms grew sweaty when he thought of the money and time lost with the delays, but more than anything regret yanked at his gut at the loss of life. This was his project and regardless of why it had happened, the blame would always land at his feet.
He greeted the driver and stepped up into the closed carriage. A glance to the window revealed Ivy still watching him. She did that a lot—watched him. It was disconcerting indeed.
He’d have to fire her.
August had this awful notion she saw through him. She continued to inch him forwards and now he was hanging from that bridge by just his fingers. Each time she bestowed a look upon him or she brushed past him or tried to get close, one finger would slip. He thought it likely he was hanging on by only his fingernails now.
Settling back against the plush seat of the carriage, he eyed the dark blue velvet interior and told himself not to glance back at her.
One week. Seven days. Countless hours. And yet he’d still not forgotten what it was like to have her ride against him, to have her come apart. His own release had been blinding but unsatisfying. He doubted it would ever be satisfying until he was buried inside her—a gravely worrying notion as he had little intention of taking her innocence.
A twisted smile teased his lips. He couldn’t help admire her determination again. She wanted something and she went for it. He was the same. He’d worked damned hard to get where he was, driven by a passion to see the country continue to prosper and a need to push for more—to achieve things men said were impossible.
Taking Ivy Davis, however, was not something he wished to achieve. At least, the honourable part of him didn’t wish to. A small part of him whispered at him to give in to her. To let her push him over. What would be waiting at the bottom for him, though? A few moments of pleasure and then she’d be gone, leaving him with the knowledge he’d ruined her. Perhaps she might even take a little of his soul with her too. He had the distinct impression that one night buried in the gregarious Ivy could do such a thing, sublime creature that she was.
The carriage took him out of the town and over the bumpy country roads. The land here was wild and barren in places but breathtaking. Not enough to distract him unfortunately. That woman occupied his thoughts far too often.
He’d have to fire her.
But where would she go? And who would look after Elsie? No, he couldn’t let her go, not quite yet. August Avery would not let himself be dictated to by a woman. He’d use today to centre his thoughts, gain some control back and steel his determination. Employee. Master. Nothing more. And he’d do well to remember that.
; Of course, the image of her in her nightgown, riding him, her lips parted in pleasure plagued him until he reached the tunnel site. His fingers near burned from the memory of holding her slender waist.
Not even the whipping wind as he stepped out of the carriage and made his way down the dirt track to the entrance of the tunnel could wash away that memory. A sound beating might banish the memories but he doubted it. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try. He’d visit the club some time this week, though he wouldn’t allow himself to get bruised and battered. If Ivy insisted on tending to him again, he suspected it would be the end of him.
Mud squelched under his shoes and a whistle rang out. Men spilled from the tunnel in search of sustenance. A ramshackle hut housed the tables and they all made their way to it to eat their fill of stew. August paused to admire the entranceway. They were making good progress after all. Some of the stonework had been put in place and they looked to be maybe a month away from finishing.
He stopped by the foreman’s hut, but Mr Phillips must have been dining too as he was nowhere to be seen. Deciding he would find him after lunch, August left the hut and went to inspect the interior of the tunnel. Lamps lit the way and wooden scaffolding lined the damp interior. Underfoot, boards created a relatively dry walkway but they squelched into the mud with each step. He gazed up at the brickwork, ignoring the drops of water that landed on his face and shoulders.
Pride filled him. He’d almost done it, and all the naysayers would have to admit he was not an utter fool for such an endeavour. This tunnel would be the pinnacle of his career. Here, in this dark hole, he’d made his mark on the world.
Satisfied things were not as dire as he’d feared, he returned to the foreman’s hut to find Mr Phillips at his desk with a bowl of stew.
“Sir,” he greeted, coming to his feet.
August waved him back down. “How are things, Phillips? I see we’ve made progress on the facade.”
“Yes, sir. We took on several more hands after the collapse and have kept up the pace.”
“How many extra hands do we have now?”
“We took on five more to replace the men lost and another half dozen to keep us on schedule.” The man pushed his glasses back up his nose. “I’d say we’ve only lost about a week.”
August nodded and flicked through the accounts book on the desk. “It shouldn’t cost us too much more to keep on those extra men for the remainder of the project. Hopefully we’ll still be on budget.”
“Yes, sir. We planned for these things and though we didn’t expect a collapse this late on, it has not made too much of a difference.”
“Excellent.” He paused to peer out of the small, grimy window as the whistle that signalled the end of lunch sounded. “Who is that?”
A figure was visible up on the hilltop. He appeared to have a camera and was photographing the tunnel. Phillips stood and came to his side.
“Oh that’s a Mr Knightsbridge from the Manchester Gazette. A real pain in the arse, if you don’t mind me saying, sir. He’s been trying to gain access to the tunnel to photograph the progress but I keep having men carry him off. He will not listen when I tell him it’s too dangerous. Says that if it’s too dangerous for him, why are hundreds of men allowed to work inside.”
August pinched the bridge of his nose. A naysayer. Here was one of the men who had flouted his project as foolish—a waste of time and money. Why build a tunnel when they could just go around the hill? Never mind that it saved time, land and money. Why would men forever be scared of change?
The fleeting notion that Ivy brought about change invaded his mind and he shoved it away. He wasn’t scared of change or, heaven forbid, a woman. He simply didn’t want to bed an innocent.
Slapping closed the accounts book, he drew in a breath through his nostrils. “I shall speak with him. Perhaps if he has some answers, he’ll leave you be. It’s too dangerous to have him getting in the way of the workers.”
Phillips nodded and sat down to finish his stew. August stepped out of the hut and squinted at the figure on the hill. He noted the reporter appeared to be turning his camera to the dining hut. What was so interesting about the hut that he needed to have photos?
August wasted no time in climbing the hill to come to Mr Knightsbridge’s side. The man was tall and reedy with a slightly sickly countenance. Not many men were taller than August but this one managed to peer down his nose at him with a distinct air of haughtiness.
“Good day,” August greeted. “Can I help you?”
“Mr August Avery, is it not?”
“It is indeed.”
The reporter offered a hand. “Mr Knightsbridge of the Manchester—”
“I know.” August took his hand and shook it hard enough to make the man wince. He released the man’s hand and folded his arms. “My foreman tells me you’ve been making a nuisance of yourself.”
“I’m merely doing my job, Mr Avery.”
“Which is?”
“Reporting the news, of course.” Mr Knightsbridge patted his camera. “The public likes a good story and your tunnel has them enraptured it seems.”
August snorted. He might think of little else but railways and tunnels—and Ivy—but he didn’t think the public were all that fascinated by it. Give them a completed tunnel and there would be a fanfare when the first train passed through but who wished to see photos of mud and filthy workers?
“Enraptured? Really?”
“Since the devastating collapse, there has been increased interest. Perhaps you could give me a quote for the paper, Mr Avery? A message to the readers on how you will prevent any more travesties?”
His tightened his jaw. “We work as safely as we can. Accidents happen. They always will but it has nothing to do with the safety regulations we have in place.”
“So you think you are providing adequate protection for your workers?”
August let his brow furrow. “Since when is the gazette interested in the lives of navvies? Aren’t you better off reporting on the latest ball or scandalous piece of gossip?”
A smirk on the man’s lips made August want to bunch his fist and wipe it away.
“People care these days. This is where the stories are, Mr Avery. Tales of sorrow and tragedy. That’s what people want.”
“How fortunate for you that you found your tragedy, Mr Knightsbridge. No doubt it sold many newspapers for you. But let me assure you, there shall be no more tragedies unless I find you on site again. As you have pointed out, these sites are dangerous and I could not guarantee your safety.”
“Is that a threat, Mr Avery?”
Was it? Perhaps it was. Heat bubbled beneath his skin. How dare this man insinuate that August hadn’t done everything in his power to protect the workers? Did this man ever talk to them or play cards with them or even look at them with anything other than disdain? He doubted it. But August knew them, spoke with them, sat at the same table as them sometimes. And now this man was using those deaths as entertainment for the masses. Bile rose in his throat.
“Get off this land, Mr Knightsbridge, before I have you forcibly removed.”
That smug look remained and August fisted a hand at his side. He’d probably given the reporter his story. He could see the headlines now. Respected engineer or potential murderer? What a mess.
“Good day to you, Mr Avery,” he said as he began to pack away his camera.
Unable to summon a polite response, August turned and stomped back down the hill. When he reached the bottom and peered back at the hill, he saw the reporter was making his way to the road and a waiting carriage. Good. He hoped that was the last they saw of him. Now he just had to hope the man didn’t write some disparaging article and further tarnish August’s name. The scepticisms surrounding this project had already done a vast amount of damage.
He rubbed his temples and strode back in the direction of the office hut. For the briefest moment he longed to be in Ivy’s arms. He wanted her soft fingers brushing through his hair and telling
him not to worry. To breathe in her scent and hear her voice would soothe away all his ills. The idea shocked him so much that he came to a stop and had to take a moment to gather his wits. He was used to the burning desire now but never before had he wanted to just be held by a woman. What the devil was she doing to him?
Chapter Seventeen
By the time August returned from the tunnel site, it was dark. Lamps lit the streets and it had begun to rain, leaving deep puddles amongst the cobbles. They reflected the glow of the gas lamps. Glittering rain drops speckled the window. Ivy sighed. They might be into summer now but it hardly looked like it—not that rainfall was unusual in England but she prayed the rain didn’t linger. Being inside all day with Elsie was certainly trying.
She wrapped her shawl tightly about herself and watched the carriage draw up. She shouldn’t smile, but she couldn’t help it when August alighted from the vehicle only to be accosted by a woman with an umbrella. Though she could not see the woman’s face, she knew well who it was.
Mrs Pepperwhite. The woman had tenacity, she would give her that, but she knew August well enough now to know he held little affection for her and even less tolerance. Poor man.
Ivy waited a few moments while they conversed before deciding to rescue him. She wasn’t sure he deserved it. He had spent the entire week being his usual fusty self, pretending nothing had happened between them and seeming immune to her. Why would he not allow himself just a few moments of pleasure? She swore he would work himself into an early grave if he wasn’t careful. But the past week had done one thing. It had changed her motivations.
Before they had been purely selfish. A desire for affection and the overwhelming sensations he brought out in her drove her. But now it was something else. She longed to help him find enjoyment in life outside of work. He could find enjoyment with her, she was sure of it.
Even if it was only brief.
Oh goodness, there she went again. She thrust that thought aside. Ivy Davis, the famous singer. That was her dream, was it not? It certainly wasn’t to spend the rest of her days being Elsie’s governess and August’s mistress. And what if he did marry? She pressed a hand to her mouth. Oh dear, that would be awful. She definitely wouldn’t be able to stay under the same roof as him. Better she have those few moments of excitement to keep her going while she pursued her career.
Kissed at Midnight Page 13
