by Suzi Love
She jerked the scarf away from her mouth, summoned her most scornful look, hoping, even in the gloomy light, he’d understand her silent warning. Naturally, undaunted, he spoke again. She held an imperious hand before his face.
“Bite your tongue, or I’ll bite it for you.”
His eyes widened, he pulled off his own face covering and chuckled aloud. Also to be expected: he’d pictured her command with the naughtiest connotation.
“I-I would never…” She, with a dark complexion she adored because it precluded all tell-tale maidenly blushes, knew her cheeks now radiated heat. They were hot enough to rival her aunt’s bedroom fire.
His head tilted as he watched her, male to female, seemingly lost to their surroundings. Ummm. I think I’d enjoy you biting my tongue. I can picture your soft lips covering mine. Those sharp little teeth sliding down my tongue….”
“Stop.” The lane remained quiet, empty save for the two of them, but she ordered, “Remember where we are.”
She forced herself to look away from where his gaze still focused on her mouth. In an unconscious reaction, she ran her tongue over her suddenly dry lips. The always-in-control Earl’s demeanor changed. There was a hissed breath, a stiffening of his posture, reminding her of an animal readying to leap. And, to her dismay, she appeared to be his prey.
No. No matter how much the notion of testing him intrigued her, enticed her to prod at his rigid rules and boundaries to see if they’d bend and break, the idea was fraught with danger. Still, she wondered how far she, someone far-distant from his usual type of woman, could disrupt his well-known control. Imagine him floundering out of his depth, this once, and proving his shell could also crack under pressure? Prove he could make mistakes, buckle under the force of human nature, as easily as she and the other females he scorned? Emotional ones. Demanding ones. Clinging ones. Loving ones.
“Remember?” One hand on the wood paneling above her head, he leaned forward, trapped her between his chest and the building. “Only our location is holding me back from the compulsion I feel right now.”
She had to ask. “Wh-what compulsion?”
He glanced at her mouth, and flicked his tongue over his lips to thoroughly wet them. “Why, kissing you, of course.”
A shiver ran up her spine. She laid her hands flat against the wall behind her, as he turned and walked the few steps towards the two larger entrance doors. Placing the lantern directly below the meeting point, he lifted a large padlock away from the securing metal bar and tugged hard. Several attempts to loosen the lock failed, though he’d pulled it from side to side, stuck his boot on the planking and jerked the lock outwards. He shook his head, grunted, held it high towards the glow of the street light, and gave her an enquiring look.
“Hasn’t been opened in a while. Can you do it?”
He turned up the lantern wick and moved aside. Visibility improved and gave her a better chance of picking the lock, though it also increased their chance of drawing unwanted attention.
Drunken sailors, thieves, and worse lurked in these alleys on the lookout for an easy chance. A wealthy toff wandering off the well-lit routes to home. A whore too gin-soaked to notice if her night’s takings were gone from her pockets in the morning. A child who’d clean up nicely and be sold to a brothel.
Richard explained, lectured rather, if she insisted on accompanying him, they needed to be as quiet as church mice, slipping in and out without stirring too much interest. These were mainly storage sheds, but London’s infamous housing shortage meant squatters claimed unused buildings and thieves grouped together, living in flash kens for safety. Mean and desperate, they’d fight to the death to retain right to their buildings.
Thankfully, most kept to themselves, scrounging out a living, unless confronted. Some lived in a perpetual drink-sodden world and would flee rather than fight. Others, the children and women mudlarks, ignored the world, apart from the mud, black and stinking, they dug for buried treasure at low tide. If lucky, they sold their finds for coin, a pie to fill their bellies, or perhaps ale to deaden the sour taste of their lives. Mudlarks didn’t frighten her, because she’d heard stories of them from the women at the shelter.
However, she silently prayed other invisible watchers would heed their own privacy rather than poke their noses into this particular alley. Because she needed focus and force to keep pace with her co-thief, to prove her mettle, to disprove his theory of her being an unnecessary burden.
Though tonight, of all nights, her stiff-upper-lip dragged on the cobblestones, her spine sagged like a sodden wheat stalk, and their cat tiptoeing along a hot brick wall displayed far greater bravery than her standing in this alley. Perhaps breaking into one of London’s notorious eastside warehouses on a ghastly fog-ridden night might see even a hardened thief high-wrought?
The lock dropped with a clunk out of suddenly nerveless fingers. Tears pricked and prodded behind her eyelids. When he touched her back, she jumped.
“Steady, Laura.”
When he bent to squint at her face, her eyes, she ducked. Long elegant fingers, bare since discarding their gloves to better absorb the lock mechanisms, grasped her chin. She resisted, pulled away from his grasp.
No. Don’t let him be kind to me. Not now.
With her nerves tightly strung for weeks, the smallest thing might snap them and bring forth those tears; something out of character, something he’d delight in mentioning at every opportunity.
“Be honest, Laura, just this once. Admit this place terrifies you. We’ll return to the carriage, and within an hour you’ll be safely ensconced before your bedroom fire, sipping cocoa.”
She gave a slow shake of her head. “Then what? Will you promise never to taunt me, as my brothers did? Never to hold tonight’s cowardice against me?”
“Laura,” He took her hands, shook them lightly. “Many people fear the dark. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Who-who said I was afraid of the dark?”
His stance softened, and he leaned into her. She tried to tug out his grip, to hide her face, but he kept hold and dipped to look her in the eyes.
“The family all know. No one thinks worse of you because of it.”
“Huh! Shows how little men understand women. The boys played tricks on me, horrid tricks. Left me alone in the dark. I screeched like a trapped animal. But now I’m an adult, nobody will ever again think me a coward.”
“Puss, your brothers played childish tricks. But now they’re older, they’d never ridicule you for being afraid. Everyone fears something.”
“Except you. You challenged the old Stock Market regime. Became Winning Winchester and forced a more modern path. The Invincible Earl.”
He snorted. “Those silly monikers acquired in the banking district, they mean nothing.” He shrugged. “My feet are made of clay, like every other mortal.”
“Utter rot.” She lifted the lock, studied the keyhole. “Far easier to deal with a little ridicule from business associates than to be labeled an idiot, or a coward.”
She heard him suck in a sharp breath and the lantern he held aloft jerked, dipped, before he straightened his arm again. “If you knew the true extent of my peculiarities, you’d shun me.”
She twisted to peer at his face, trying to read his expression.
“Why would I shun you?”
But now he turned the tables on her by dipping his head, shielding his feelings. He pointed at the lock. “We’re not here to discuss philosophical problems. We’ve got more pressing matters.”
From her jacket pocket, she extracted a small roll of cloth containing her tiny tools, implements used by criminals, lock-picks, for practices taught to the Jamisons by a well-known safe breaker. Their family collected an unusual array of servants, mostly former criminals, who, once rescued from whatever predicament they found themselves embroiled in, invariably became family faithfuls. From these criminals, the five Jamison children had learned many survival skills, the sorts of thing necessary when one’
s father was absent more than present.
Absorbed in the intricate twists and turns of the keyhole, she fed a piece of steel through the hole and jiggled it. Her senses opened as each piece of the puzzle shifted, tumbled and fell into place. She became one with the mechanism, absorbing its thoughts and movements, until it rewarded her with a final click.
After unhooking the padlock from the metal bar, she slid it sideways, grateful for Richard’s hands beside hers pulling strongly.
“Well done.” His softly spoken words caused another shiver of awareness. She stilled, waited for the sensation to pass. Prayed one day her traitorous body would cease these bizarre reactions. Be strong. Be calm.
While he opened the door, she pressed into the shadow of the overhang and surveyed the narrow alley. Wooden door slats scraped when he pushed open the door, the sound echoing loudly. Noise had diminished as nearby residents burrowed into their hovels, snatching a few hours’ sleep before sunrise when their miserable routines would begin again.
“Anything?” His query, spoken into her ear, startled her.
“Don’t do that.” She scuttled around the door, grateful when he pulled it behind them and blocked them from street view.
“You’re as nervous as a mouse avoiding a stalking cat.”
“A stalking cat is a very apt description for you. Like a panther, prowling the jungle for its next meal.”
“Best not to give me ideas.” He held the light high and started weaving a path, between crates and traversing the storage area, with her close on his heels. “The only thing edible in this place would be you. As I promised your aunt to protect you from all menace, I’m including me. I’ll behave as meekly as your fireside cat.” He halted, gave her an exaggerated, leering look, and smacked his lips. “Just for tonight, this panther will sheath his claws.”
She chuckled. “Thank you for making me laugh.”
Unintentionally, she captured his gaze as she said it. Her breath also caught. He’d have gazed at hundreds of women that exact way, eyes full of seductive lures, promising untold pleasure. But despite her mind knowing, despite scolding herself with the truth, for a brief moment she wished he stared only at her with such intense focus. That she, Laura Jamison, was more to him than any of the dozens he’d dallied with. The one for whom he’d renounce his rakish ways and live the life of a saint with her.
Impossible, foolish imaginings. Silly, girlish dreams.
She directed her attention to something more realistic, their immediate situation, as, side by side, they climbed a set of rickety stairs leading to an upper level of offices. Through glass inserts, they looked down onto a row of cubicles spread down one entire side of the warehouse. These viewing holes were originally designed so supervisors could stand above, like demi gods, and watch the working populace below. The glass, now covered in a thick layer of dust, allowed in very little light, but their lantern showed the equally filthy wooden flooring and highlighted any uneven boards.
Half an hour later, Laura stood before her fourth cabinet of drawers and heaved a loud sigh of resignation. Nothing in the last twenty drawers. Nothing in this lot. With the toe of one riding boot, she kicked wildly at the bottom drawer, which gained her nothing more than a sore foot and a scuff on her brother’s boot.
“Nothing of interest?” Richard spoke from the other side of the room, having worked his way down, mirroring her actions, pulling open drawer after drawer, and thumbing through any papers he found.
“Nothing but old shipping records.” Laura let him hear her frustration. “Some trading documents between one storage company and another. I was positive Hetherington must have stored his most secret records here. Who were the henchmen he used. Which peers he blackmailed, and who helped him compromise them. ”
She shifted to the next cabinet and gave the top drawer a fierce tug. “Damn you.” She pulled harder past whatever had wedged it in place, shifting sideways to give herself more leverage, but almost toppled over. “Bloody, bloody hell!”
Behind her, she could hear him laughing.
“Tut, tut! Dockside language from a lady. If we weren’t near the Thames, I'd think it out of place. I suppose your criminal servants taught you to swear like a navvy, as well as pick locks.”
“Actually, no. I learned those particular words from someone not from the lower classes. Many consider him a gentleman.” She glanced at him over her shoulder, deliberately ran her eyes up and down his form. “Some women even consider him handsome.”
“Me? I didn’t teach you swear words.”
“You’ve forgotten about the girl trailing around the estates behind you, whenever you and the other boys came home on school holidays.”
“I remember an annoying hoyden, who displayed infinite adoration for my cousin. Not for me. Only Cayle. Mortifying for a young man bent on cutting a swathe through the entire female population of Upper Greensborough. It’s a wonder I didn’t run away in humiliation.”
She laughed. “You’re incorrigible. And you didn’t notice my defection in the least. Every girl swooned if you set foot in the village. Bessie, the inn-keep’s daughter, cried inconsolably for a week each time you departed for university.”
His nose screwed up. “Which one was Bessie? The eldest?”
“No, Thomas’s second daughter. And my compatriot in mischief.”
“Ah, the cheeky one.” He grinned, and motioned in front of his chest to indicate her breasts. “The one with the enormous –”
“Winchester!”
His lips twitched as he touched a finger to her nose. “I was about to say, her enormous… teeth.”
“Luckily, they didn’t interfere with you kissing her. Often.”
He choked, spluttered a little. “You spied on us?”
“How else would an Upper Greensborough girl learn about the world? Certainly not from our governess. We decided if we didn’t want a marriage similar to our parents, where Papa gallivanted about from one end of England to the other, and left Mama at home to raise us alone, we needed to learn all we could. About men, their mating habits–”
“Mating? You make us sound like rabbits.”
“Rabbits were best for our studies. And we’ve you and your cousins to thank for introducing us to that fascinating arena. Apart from teaching us to swear.”
She smiled. She’d stunned him into speechlessness, and she did adore gaining the upper hand with Winsome Winchester occasionally. Although, despite having dubbed him with that pet name long ago, she’d never utter it aloud. The Earl’s conceit was already considerable, although not unwarranted in some areas. Though she frequently ranted to her family about his contrariness with her personally, for most people, in most circumstances, he was pleasant, engaging and charming.
“I’d never have discussed such things with you. You were girls. Children.”
“They weren’t exactly discussions.”
“What then?”
At his confused expression, she experienced a pang of guilt, even pity.
“We followed you. Listened to you tell tall stories. Bet on who’d utter the rudest word each day.”
“Why the hell didn’t any of us notice you?”
“You were too busy with young men’s posturing and posing to notice the girls trailing in your wake. Much of your time was spent watching those rabbits. Or the roosters, or other animals doing….”
She fluttered her fingers. It was embarrassing for someone who prided herself on her forthrightness and her scientific knowledge to be groping for a suitable word to describe a happening of nature.
“…things.”
His lips twitched. She pointed towards his mouth.
“I saw that. You’re hard pressed not to burst into gales of laughter at my inability to express myself in a lilaceous manner.”
Stifled amusement escaped in short bursts from between his clenched teeth until, finally, his mouth opened with full blown peals of laughter. He bent forwards, slapping his knee.
“I fail to see the
humor.”
“It’s the image of a gaggle of girls…creeping around…” The words erupted between bursts of laughter. “…in the bushes, behind us lads. And despite all your scientific studies, you blush when speaking of lovemaking.”
“Mating is not love—” She sucked in a breath. “It’s …”
“Intercourse? Sexual congress?” His eyes danced with mischief.
“Humph! Stop. You’re distracting me.” She waved a hand, turned back to her stubborn drawer. “Go. Search. Finish so we can leave.”
“Ah, now you’re eager to be rid of me. Earlier, you insisted on coming.”
“My mistake. We always rub each other the wrong way.”
His tone switched from teasing to sensuous. “Ah, but there are so many right ways we could rub together, my sweet.” His huskily spoken words, with their deeper connotation, were his way of distracting her, and she thanked him for trying to make light of her fear of their dark surroundings.
Inadvertently, he also aroused her awareness of his blatantly male side, something she couldn’t afford to acknowledge. She felt shaky, as if the floor itself rocked and not just her emotions. If his daringly spoken words affected her like this, he’d hold unimaginable sway over her if she allowed his flirting ways to fully seduce her senses.
Then the floor truly shifted, with a sharp rock and sway under her feet, while a loud blast assailed her ears. Planks groaned and screeched, loose items slid from cabinet tops and smashed around their feet. A glass pane fronting the office cracked, shattered and blew inwards, the force sending shards in every direction as, almost in slow motion, the window frame sailed out and down.
“Holy hell!”
She’d barely registered his gasp of pain before she was grabbed and thrown towards the corner. A blinding flash, beyond the gaping hole, lit the office. He landed across her, squashed her onto the planking in a protective gesture she associated peculiarly with him.
“Déjà vu,” she muttered into his coat sleeve, as another lesser explosion from below sent a cloud of dust skywards.
