by Ashley March
“A h.” Beside her, A lex sounded relieved.
Woolstone cleared his throat. “I know you are courting my sister, Mr. Laurie, but you should know that I gave her the dye so she would have the freedom to marry or to not marry as she wishes. If she chooses you, she will need the dye as her dowry, because I know my father won’t approve of the marriage.”
“I don’t need her dowry. A nd I intended to marry her regardless.” A lex ran his hand through his hair, then down his face, as if he could wipe Woolstone’s words away.
It was difficult to find any pity for him. Though it was possible he wouldn’t succeed in convincing Lady Marianna to marry him, from everything Willa had seen, it appeared he had a very good chance.
Willa, on the other hand, did not. In a way it could have been amusing that both she and Lady Marianna regarded the Madonna dye as their means to freedom, to choose to live their lives as they wished. Only Willa was fairly certain what Lady Marianna would choose; she could practically hear the wedding bells for A lex and the marquess’s daughter now.
“I’d like to return to the hotel,” she said.
A lex nodded and they bid good-bye to Woolstone.
Once outside again, they discovered that the drizzle had softened to a fine mist.
It blanketed her skin like dew, and Willa turned her face to the heavens. A s soon as she returned to the hotel, she would decide what to do next.
Willa pursed her lips, lowering her head. For the moment she didn’t want to think about A lex marrying Lady Marianna.
“We will return to Holcombe House first,” he said as they walked along. “I would prefer to take a hansom cab, but I fear it’s too late for many to be about, and I don’t want to wait. My apologies for the state of the carriage.” Willa swallowed. “How goes your courtship of the Lady Marianna?” Willa swallowed. “How goes your courtship of the Lady Marianna?” He stiffened, then narrowed his eyes. “What are you planning?”
“Nothing.” It was the truth; she hadn’t even considered sabotaging their relationship until now.
He gave a bitter chuckle. “Well, thank you. I suppose it’s a good thing I like her so well already, isn’t it? If you marry Uxbridge we will again be competing for investors, won’t we?”
Would she still consider marrying the earl? It had become a possibility, if only as a last resort so she wouldn’t have to marry Eichel. A nd she was fond of Uxbridge.
“If I married the earl, I would no longer work for my father. You would have the investors to yourself. A nd the Madonna dye.”
“Perhaps I could convince her to sell the dye to you, so you could have your freedom. A s I said, I meant to marry her, anyway.”
Willa stared at him. “I know you want the dye. Why would you—” He stopped walking and swung around in front of her, taking her shoulders in his hands.
“A lex—”
He kissed her. It was not at all the slow, exploring kiss of Italy, but an angry, sweeping, passionate kiss that had her bringing her hands up to his chest, uncertain whether he meant to maul her to death.
It turned out that being mauled to death by kissing might not be such a bad thing.
Wrapping an arm about her waist, he backed her against the wall, pressing his body against hers in every place she’d yearned for him for the past three years.
But Willa fought just as well as he did; she lifted her hands to his face, scraping her fingernails along his jaw as their lips clashed in sensuous battle. She didn’t give him quarter by opening her mouth to him, but sought to invade his with her lips and tongue, wrapping her leg around his calf to take everything he was willing to give her.
Unlike in Italy, no moans escaped from her throat. Moans were for pleasure, and this kiss wasn’t a kiss of pleasure, but of greed. His hand slid from her waist to her backside, groping as he rocked hard against her pelvis. She dug her fingers into his damp hair, knocking his hat aside, wriggling against him to get closer.
More, more, more.
Their lips parted, clung, moving together and against each other. Neither gave but took, and only when the hot brand of his palm cupped between her thighs did Willa jerk to her senses.
She wrenched her mouth from his.
His hands immediately retreated and he stepped away. In the mist of rain his heavy breathing created gusts of fog, but otherwise he appeared calm. Unmoved.
In complete control as he studied her through dark, alert eyes. Whereas Willa’s body pulsed in places it shouldn’t, her skin sensitive and throbbing from his touch. Perspiration gathered on her chest, below her breasts. A piercing ache lay between her thighs; a wetness gathered that made her wish if only for a moment between her thighs; a wetness gathered that made her wish if only for a moment that they hadn’t stopped. She collapsed against the building, resting her head on the wall.
They watched each other not as predator and prey, but as equal combatants.
He waited for her breathing to slow, for her chest to cease heaving, before he spoke. She hadn’t known he carried such patience around in his arsenal of weapons; how much more generous it would have been for him to take her arm and hurry her along to the future, where she could forget these past few precious moments had occurred.
“I suppose you intend to tell me that kiss was disgusting as well.” She understood then: this kiss was all of the regret she would receive for the choices he would make. There would be no words to express what might have been.
Willa straightened and stepped toward him. She lifted her hand. He flinched.
A djusting the lay of his cravat, she said, “It was adequate.” She patted his chest and began walking again. “Come, Mr. Laurie. Take me to my hotel and then you can continue practicing the improvement of your kisses on Lady Marianna.” Not only did A lex have to endure another carriage ride; he had to sit in the carriage across from Willa. Even though he abhorred facing backward, he did so; it was either that or sit beside her, and then he’d have to worry about things. Such as whether or not he’d be able to keep his hands off of her before they reached her hotel. He’d refused to even consider letting her go alone—not because he feared for her safety without him, but because he knew he would be jealous of the minutes he could have spent in her presence.
He sank into the corner shadows of his seat, beyond the dim light of the lamp which swung gently to and fro with the sway of the carriage. He studied her—the proud tilt of her chin, the current aloof curve to the perpetual smile she seemed to wear, the profound interest she exhibited in the night occupations of London street rats as they traveled from Belgrave Square.
A cross the carriage, Willa gave a small sigh, soft enough that he might have mistaken it for his own breath if he hadn’t seen her lips part and her chest fall.
He shifted, his fingers clenching the seat’s edge. Even if he gave up the Madonna dye, even if he refused to marry Lady Marianna, he could not have her. Not if he intended to legitimize his family and business with aristocratic connections. Not if he wished for more aristocratic investors to smooth the way for future expansions, for the acclaim of his invention once it succeeded.
“Do you mean to marry Uxbridge if he proposes?” he asked casually, the first words either had spoken since entering the carriage.
Her shoulders jerked, but she didn’t look at him. “I haven’t decided.”
“What will you do if he doesn’t propose? Will you return to A merica to marry Mr. Eichel? Or will you stay here to encourage another suitor?” Finally she looked at him, her eyes searching for him in the shadows. “Truly, Mr.
Laurie. Simply because you kissed me a little while ago doesn’t mean you must be Laurie. Simply because you kissed me a little while ago doesn’t mean you must be privy to all of my thoughts and plans now.”
He gave a short nod and jerked his gaze away, his hands clenching into fists on his thighs. She was correct. She was not his family, not his wife. They weren’t lovers; they weren’t even friends. A nd it didn’t matter if she didn’t marry Uxbrid
ge or Eichel. It didn’t matter if she never married at all. She wouldn’t be his.
“I fantasize about you, Willa,” he murmured in a low voice.
She stilled, and he wondered whether she would pretend to have not heard him.
He went on, not giving her the chance to pretend. “I’ve dreamed about kissing you like that a hundred times, a thousand times in the past three years. Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you—”
“You’re right. You shouldn’t.” He heard her take a long, shaky breath, then whisper: “Please, don’t.”
He cursed beneath his breath, but he didn’t say anything further. Everything he wanted to tell her was too late. A nd none of it was enough. Even if he could have, he couldn’t speak to her of love.
He could speak of want, and desire, of lust not only for her body but also for her soul: to claim her and possess her wholly. But love? No, he could not speak to her of such. Even if he felt it, it wasn’t his right. A nd she deserved much more than torrid words spewed out of desperation.
They arrived at Mivart’s shortly after. The footman opened the door and unfolded the steps. A s Willa rose to descend to the street, A lex tugged at her hand.
Her head turned, her gaze meeting his. He forced a smile at the wariness he found there. But all he said was, simply, “Good night, Miss Stratton.” Chapter 13
As far as strategies went, Willa had decided not to leave her fate in the hands of others.
She had learned a few things while stalking A lex and Holcombe House. First, the more one was able to blend into the night, the better.
Tonight, she wore black trousers, a black shirt and coat, black boots, and a short black wig to cover her hair. Nothing would hide the fact that she was a woman; her face would always give her away. But she would keep to the shadows and avoid allowing her face to be seen.
Second, one mustn’t leave evidence behind.
Tonight, she’d left her mother’s pendant at the hotel.
Third, one must know one’s objective.
While at Holcombe House her intention was always to follow A lex and hope he led her to Woolstone, tonight she waited for the Marquess of Byrne, the Marchioness of Byrne, and Lady Marianna to leave for the A thertons’ garden party she knew they would attend.
Once they did, Willa crept to the low garden wall, hoisted herself over, and covered her nose and mouth with a kerchief to avoid any reaction to the flowers as she ran to the terrace doors.
Oh, yes: and one must learn how to pick a lock. She’d practiced that for hours and hours in her hotel suite with a hairpin until she’d become quite the expert.
A quiet click sounded as the lock released, and Willa eased the door open quietly, her breath frozen in her lungs. She waited a few moments, her ears listening for any movement outside the corridors of the Byrne ballroom that would indicate the servants somehow had discovered her intrusion. No one came; all was well.
Slipping inside, she closed the door and pocketed her handkerchief, giving her eyes time to adjust to the darkness before making her way to one of the interior doors leading away from the ballroom.
Lowering herself to the floor, she searched beneath the crack of the door for the movement of shoes. A ll was quiet, still. A footman or the butler might be at the front door awaiting the family’s return, but the other servants were most likely in their quarters, resting or enjoying the family’s absence.
It was all too easy.
Releasing a shuddering breath, Willa opened the door. She crept quietly through the corridors, slinking from wall to corner to alcove.
She was nearly caught at the main staircase—she didn’t dare try to sneak up the She was nearly caught at the main staircase—she didn’t dare try to sneak up the servants’ stairs—when a maid turned a corner in front of her just as Willa stepped forward out of the shadows.
She froze, her heart beating at her throat, but the maid continued on, unaware.
Willa scurried backward into the shadows again.
The possibility of being discovered had occurred to her many times. A fter all, she knew it could happen. She’d been discovered at Holcombe House. A nd there was no feasible explanation for her being here now, not when the family was gone, not when she was dressed as a person who appeared inclined to burglarize the house. She could confess that she meant to sneak in to meet with Richard for an assignation, pretending ignorance regarding the fact that he lived alone somewhere else.
It was the best she had, and even that would thoroughly ruin her reputation. But she was desperate, and if she wasn’t discovered and she escaped back to Mivart’s in possession of the dye papers, then that would be a very, very good thing, indeed.
A full half hour passed before Willa found the courage to continue, her breath hitching at every small noise emanating from the depths of the house. Only one other servant—the butler—passed by during that time.
If she were going to go, then it must be now. Otherwise she should turn around and leave the house as she’d come in. She’d run up the stairs at the count of three.
One. Two. Three.
She didn’t move.
Perhaps after ten.
No. Now.
Blood beat at her ears as she rushed from her hiding place and surged up the stairs. She tripped on the last step, tumbling face forward on the landing. Her elbows caught the brunt of her weight.
She heard voices, then footsteps.
Oh, God.
Pushing herself to her hands and knees, Willa scrambled up, then ran down the hallway and inside the first room she found. She shut the door and slammed herself against the wall behind it, her lungs bellowing and her entire body pulsing with terror.
Dear God. Could she possibly be a worse criminal?
A lthough more shadows hugged the room she’d entered, there were shapes strewn throughout the long rectangular room she could identify. A pianoforte. A harp. A viola on its stand.
A music room.
Shouts echoed outside the door, and Willa’s gaze darted to the window on the opposite side of the room. Of course she couldn’t jump from the window. It was at least fifteen feet to the ground, if not more. She would break bones; she might die.
die.
The floor beneath her feet shook. Willa tensed. Someone ran past the music room. Seconds later, a thunder of noise—more people running—past the music room. These were the voices she’d heard.
“Stop, thief!”
“Get him!”
Him? Someone else had snuck into the house?
A hysterical giggle caught at the back of her throat, but Willa swallowed it. She mustn’t make a sound.
She heard a door slam far in the distance, then another. A nd another. Closer this time.
They were searching the rooms!
She should hide, quickly. Beneath the pianoforte. No, they would see her.
Behind the harp. No, not there, either.
Her breath came faster and faster as she glanced about the room, from corner to corner, from chair to instrument, from instrument to chair. There was nowhere to go.
Then the door opened, and she forgot to breathe at all.
A man’s form appeared—another shadow in the darkness—and he quickly turned, shutting the door quietly.
The other intruder!
She watched, frozen, as he, too, scanned the music room for a place to hide.
They’d called him a thief. A true criminal. Did he carry a weapon? A knife, perhaps? If he discovered her there inside the room with him, would he think her a threat and stab her?
A silent scream built low, starting all the way from her toes. It coursed up her legs, through her stomach, into her chest.
Voices. The next room—the door slammed there. They were coming!
The man’s head jerked toward the corridor; then he lunged behind the music room door and against her.
Willa’s head bounced against the wall. Making claws of her hands, she attacked everywhere she could reach. His neck, his shoulders, his jaw. Th
e scream reached the back of her throat, and she opened her mouth.
“What the bloody—” He pushed his body into hers, clapping a hand over her mouth as he pinned hers arms to her chest with his weight.
She sank her teeth into his palm.
He gave another low curse, then shoved his mouth against her ear. “Stop, Willa.
It’s me. A lex.”
“A lex?” she mumbled against his hand. “You—”
The door to the music room opened.
Willa watched it swing toward them, stilling an inch away from A lex’s back. A flicker of light shone on the wall to her left. Through the crack between the door and its frame she could see three male servants enter the music room. The last one paused at the door, his sleeve still in her vision.
one paused at the door, his sleeve still in her vision.
She swallowed the scream. She scarcely dared to breathe, lest the stirring of air from her nostrils or the movement of her chest against A lex’s alert the servants to their presence. A lex must have thought to do the same, because his warm breath at her ear came slowly, softly—almost a caress.
The light reflected on the left wall dimmed.
“Look behind the curtains.”
A snap of cloth, as if the servant had been prepared to catch the intruder with an “A ha!”
“He’s not here.”
“Could he have gone out one of the windows?”
“No, I’ve been checking them in all the rooms.”
“C’mon!” The man by the door spoke. “He must’ve gone down the other way when we weren’t looking. Sam, you go upstairs. Tim, you go downstairs. I’ll search the other rooms again.”
They filed out, taking the light and slamming the music room door behind them.
Thirty seconds might have passed, at least no more than a minute. A ll at once sensation returned to her body, and right along behind it, awareness of the man who still stood against her, pinning her to the wall with his strong, hard, heavy body. His nose pressing into her hair, his mouth at the top of her ear.
