by Anne Renwick
He bent forward, dipping his head to her jaw, her neck, her throat, tasting her soft skin—and was rewarded with a soft gasp. He scraped his teeth gently over her shoulder, nipping lightly, and she shuddered in his arms.
Hot desire pulled in his groin. With one arm, he held her tightly against him, careful to keep the gypsy coins still and silent. He had no interest in discovery. “We could go now,” he said softly, then nibbled her earlobe.
“Go?” She sounded confused.
“Back to the cart.” He kissed his way along her jawline, then pulled back. “Is that a no?”
She whimpered.
“Amanda?” He wanted to hear her say it.
“Yes. No.” She gripped his arm, the one that bound her to him, and gasped out, “We should stay… a bit longer.”
The answer he wanted. His mouth stretched into a grin against her skin, a grin that was a touch feral. “Very well.”
His free hand smoothed over the sinuous curve of her hip, upward across the smooth, bare skin of her stomach. Upward over the brocade of her vest, to slide beneath it, his palm cupping the full heaviness of her soft breast. Beneath the thin cotton of her shirt, her nipple was already pebbled with anticipation, waiting impatiently. He rolled the taut peak between his thumb and forefinger and was rewarded by the buck of her hips against his.
He pushed back, his groin hot and hard with lust.
She threw her head backward onto his shoulder, turning her face into his neck. “God, don’t stop,” she breathed.
He had no intention of stopping, not yet, not until he made her as wild as he felt. As his fingers pinched and tugged, he bent his head and covered her mouth with his, urging her lips apart, sweeping his tongue inside. She answered every stroke with one of her own.
Her hips rocked with increasing insistence, pushing against his throbbing erection, driving him slowly mad. He could feel her restlessness building, her hips moving in that primitive, urgent rhythm driven by biological instinct to seek fulfillment and relief. He knew, if he reached beneath her skirts, he’d find her hot and slick and ready.
His own body begged for release, and the large spool of cable wire before him beckoned. He wanted to bend her over it, lift her skirts and sink into her wet heat. But reason intruded, and he kept his desire firmly in check. Amanda was likely an innocent, and this was neither the time, nor the place.
Still, he could show her all-consuming desire. Even if it meant pushing the limits of his own control to the breaking point. He could make her come.
He pulled away from her demanding lips and looked at her. The pulse at her throat raced, her breath came in pants, her eyes were heavy with desire. Slowly, he slid his hand downward, splaying his fingers across her bare abdomen before hooking a finger under the edge of her belt, tugging a suggestion. “Do you want me to stop? Or do you want more?”
Her arms reached upward, hands threading fingers into his hair, and she breathed, “More.”
His cock throbbed against the leather of his trousers. Blood pounded in his ears. He took a deep breath and, focusing only on the woman in his arms, slid his hand beneath the loose belt, her scarf, the waistband of her skirt, nearly losing all control when he discovered nothing but bare skin. His fingers brushed lightly over downy hair, dipping deeper to find her swollen and wet.
~~~
She jerked in shock and mewled in pleasure as his fingers touched her core, where she was damp with pulsing need. He answered with a low hum of appreciation, his fingers setting up a slow, tortuous exploration of her folds. Circling, pressing, but never quite touching where she most wanted, needed the pressure.
She wanted to scream her frustration. Instead she ground backward against his erection.
He groaned and his teeth came down on her throat, scraping a warning. She gripped his hair in her fists, holding his hot, wet mouth pressed against her neck where it worked its magic. Kissing. Nibbling. Sucking. Sending new waves of heat between her legs where his fingers never stopped moving, addling her mind with desire.
Her heart hammered in her chest. His breath came in ragged, hot pants beside her ear. His leg pushed forward between hers, forcing her thighs apart, spreading her open to him. His fingers dragged mercilessly across her wet crease. She flexed and twisted her hips, demanding more, but he held her tight, continuing to explore her swollen folds.
Sweet torment.
If not for the threat of the watchman, she would twist around, work the buttons at his waist until the hot length of him fell free in her hands. Drag him to the cold, stone floor. Though a virgin, primitive instinct ruled. She was desperate to feel him inside her.
As if he could read her mind, a finger slid deep inside her and she turned her face toward his neck, stifling a moan.
“Hush,” he whispered in warning. “Or I’ll be forced to stop.”
He wouldn’t dare.
She bit down on his throat, suppressing a feral scream.
Two fingers plunged inside her. Withdrew. And plunged again. Over and over as the base of his palm ground against her clitoris, her frantically bucking hips urging him on.
Her nails dug into the corded muscle of his neck as need grew. Muscles inside tightened about his fingers, seeking more pressure, straining for something just out of reach. She fought the urge to scream that built in her throat.
“Stop fighting it and let go.” His low voice rumbled in her ear. Then his fingers thrust deep, his thumb pressed against her throbbing center, and his mouth covered her own, smothering her cry as her body shuddered and arched against his, clenching, pulsing as millions of tiny explosions shattered inside her.
Never had she ever experienced anything quite like this.
His arms shifted, holding her tight and safe as the tremors of bliss subsided, as the blood rushing through her body gradually slowed, leaving her limp and drained. He held her, pressing a kiss to her hair even as his own heart still pounded against her back, as the hard length of his desire still throbbed against her hip, but he made no move to sate his own needs.
What had just happened?
Embarrassed by her wanton, wild behavior, she didn’t dare move. Dear God, she’d moaned and writhed and cried out as he touched her in ways no man ever had, dragging forth a pleasure so intense she’d cried out even under the threat of discovery. How could she ever look him in the eye again? Hold a rational conversation in his presence?
Overhead, rain began to drum on the windows, echoing her own growing distress. She listened as the rain outside gathered strength. Wind began to encourage the drops that fell, hurling them like sharp needles against the windows, against the skylight.
“No shame,” he whispered into her hair as if reading her mind. “What we shared was amazing.” Amanda flushed. She hadn’t noticed much reciprocity. He continued, “If we didn’t need to leave, and soon, I’d be tempted to repeat my performance.”
Humiliation burned in her cheeks. She had no reply. She’d wanted this, asked for it, and it seemed he’d enjoyed it as well. But her heart was behaving in a most ungoverned manner, yearning for the man who held her. He made her feel alive. Physically. Mentally. Yet he would never be hers. He’d said as much.
This encounter might be all they ever shared. Was it enough?
Not nearly.
So for now, she would take anything and everything he was willing to give. For as long as he was willing.
His arms loosened as he whispered, “We should go now.”
She didn’t want to leave this moment behind, but it was time to venture out into the cold and wet of the dark night, out of the circle of his warmth. It was time to face what waited for them both outside. Responsibilities. Expectations.
“We should,” she agreed, pulling away, moving as quickly as her unsteady legs would toward the exit.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
THORNTON SAT IN HIS office, listening to yet one more student try to explain why his case deserved special consideration.
God, he hated offic
e hours.
And today’s session was the worst. “No, Mr. Button,” he said, cutting the man off mid-sentence. “I will not issue a reexamination. If you wish to raise your grade, I suggest you apply yourself more to your studies and less to your antics in the dissection room.” The boy’s mouth fell open. “Yes, Mr. Button. I am well aware of the reasons you and your friends spend such long hours with the cadavers. While there are no specific prohibitions against posing with dead bodies for the camera, I can assure you that the board of trustees is not at all pleased at the distribution of such images and is reconsidering your continued presence at this school.”
The student, pale and shaking, jumped from the stiff-backed chair Thornton reluctantly provided for such student-centered encounters. “Sorry, my lord. I… we… it won’t happen again.”
“Good.”
Mr. Button rushed from the room. Dare he hope that was the last of them?
Thornton closed his eyes and let his head fall into his hands. His headache pounded like a steam-driven piston against his skull. He’d barely slept last night. Instead, he’d lain there, aroused and frustrated until he’d at last taken matters into his own hands.
He wanted her.
If he were honest with himself, he’d wanted her since that first anatomy lecture. Certainly she’d registered as beautiful, as interested—her eyes had followed him as if he were something to be devoured—but her piercing insight into nerve conduction made her a woman to be pursued. He’d told himself he wanted her only for her mind, but that was a lie. He wanted her body and soul.
And she wanted him.
Watching her sit beside Sommersby in today’s lecture—smiling at the man’s comments, responding politely—all the while refusing to make eye contact with him had been nothing short of torture. Thornton wanted her to look up and see the heat in his eyes, see that he was remembering how he held her in his arms last night, making her writhe and twist and buck with pleasure and, at last, come with such force that even now he swelled at the memory. He wanted her complete and undivided attention.
Her continued proximity to Sommersby—to any male that expressed interest—set his teeth on edge.
When no further students entered, Thornton picked up the pile of correspondence he’d dragged with him from his townhome this morning. Invitations to balls, garden parties—and yes—even a tea, he threw in the bin. Then, recognizing Mother’s loud, looping letters, he almost sent her missive behind the others, unopened.
With a sigh, he opened it, expecting the usual weekly exhortation to attend one event or another. But no, now she was arranging her own social events in hopes of forcing his presence. The countess informed him that he was expected at her upcoming house party in the country, that several young ladies were eager to make his acquaintance.
Wonderful how his own mother found him such a poor prospect that his marriage must be arranged. Alas, he’d only encouraged her by agreeing to the arrangement with Lady Anne. Now, it seemed, Mother had a mission.
“Was that the last of them?” Lady Huntley asked, strolling into his office.
“One can only hope.”
“What’s this?” Spying his mother’s handwriting, she snatched the missive from his hand and backed away out of arm’s reach.
He let her read it. She always did. Besides, his leg pained him too much to rise. “Left your manners at home this morning?” he grumbled.
“As did you. Besides, as your assistant, I am merely staying abreast of your affairs.”
“More likely you view my mother’s efforts as the weekly installation of a two-penny theater.”
“Well,” she said. “There is that. It’s amusing to picture you with a quiet, pedigreed wife who will sit quietly, minding hearth and home.”
“One who won’t question my long hours in the… laboratory?” He almost said field. Though it was becoming increasingly difficult, even for him, to envision such a future.
“You could always pre-empt her. Perhaps Lady Amanda would be amenable to filling the position? No necessary white lies.” Lady Huntley tipped her head, giving him a knowing look. “All of England does expect you to produce an heir. Producing one might be more interesting with a woman such as her by your side.”
“Interesting, yes, but a damn sight more complicated. She is my student. Romantic entanglement is forbidden. And children are nothing but additional complications.” His voice mocked, but his mind flashed an image of a small daughter, one with Amanda’s features. He pushed the thought aside.
Lady Huntley glanced away, her response barely audible. “Entanglements and complications. I wanted them very much.”
Immediately, he regretted his words.
John.
But there was no changing the past, only the future. To do that the eye doctor had to be stopped. He cleared his throat. “Lady Amanda, she is working in the laboratory?”
Lady Huntley nodded. “At this very moment. Henri confirmed for me that the device is close to completion, requiring only a few more adjustments before it will be ready for rat trials.” She paused. “Excepting, of course, the lack of an appropriate nerve agent. Is there any news on that front?”
He nodded. “The plant has been located. Lord Thistleton has been provided with a description and the location. He assures me it will soon flourish under his care.”
“It still grows?” Her eyebrows rose.
“And blooms.”
“Where did you manage to find this plant?” she asked.
“Growing alongside a factory chimney. Thank you, by the way, for suggesting to Lady Amanda that she ask her sister to provide a sketch.”
“Of course, having dragged Lady Amanda out into the dark of night—this time unchaperoned—to find said plant,” Black spoke from the doorway, “there will be unintended consequences. The Duke of Avesbury, who is capable of bestowing great power and funds upon your laboratory, requests your presence this evening.” He cocked an eyebrow at Lady Huntley. “Care to wager? Pistols at dawn or the calling of banns?”
“You’re late to that discussion,” Lady Huntley said, then flicked a glance at Thornton. “Special license,” she predicted.
Black laughed.
Thornton was not amused. “Enough,” he said. “What brings you here, Black? Good news?”
The man’s face sobered, and he let out a long sigh. “Alas, it never is. Lady Huntley, I have the unwelcome task of posing a question to you concerning your former husband.”
Lady Huntley frowned. “Ask away.”
“Were you aware that Lord Huntley booked passage for two aboard the Ada Reeve?”
Thornton’s brow furrowed. He and John had traveled aboard that airship en route to Belgium, but they’d each made separate travel arrangements. That meant…
“Yes. I was to accompany him, but an unexpected complication forced me to remain at home.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to need more specifics,” Black said.
Lady Huntley turned her face away, but not before Thornton caught the stricken look on her face and the shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. “I miscarried. I lost quite a lot of blood.”
The two men shared a look of absolute horror.
“I insisted upon remaining at home, to recover.” She swallowed. “John tried to convince me to come; he outright begged. But I was adamant. Now, in retrospect…”
“You think he meant to take you with him, across the border into Germany,” Thornton finished.
She nodded, her back stiff. “Is that all, Black?”
“Concerning your husband, yes. I’m afraid there’s also bad news. There’s another body.”
“Gypsy?” she asked, turning.
Black shook his head. “Tony Spinolli, Lady Amanda’s brother’s therapist. Perhaps you could fetch Lady Amanda from Henri’s side, Lady Huntley? We’ll have need of her expertise.”
“Right away,” she said, departing.
Thornto
n opened his mouth, but Black held up a hand, listening keenly as the enormous gears on the iron door turned. Only when it clanged shut, did he speak. “You believe her?”
“You suspect she knew John was up to something?” Thornton countered.
Black shrugged. “My job is to tie off loose ends.”
He thought back, trying to recall the days and weeks leading up to their ill-fated voyage. “I noticed nothing amiss, but Lady Huntley had yet to work in my laboratory. John seemed happy enough. Giddy, like most newlyweds. I suppose impending parenthood might have made him happier than usual, though, given his plans to sell our device to the enemy, I would have expected signs of stress.” He paused. “John never mentioned that his wife would be joining us, though he did seem somewhat gloomy as we boarded the airship. At the time, I attributed it to leaving behind his bride. Now…”
“Perhaps his conscience was bothering him on multiple fronts.”
“Perhaps,” Thornton agreed. He hoped John had lain awake at night those three long days in the sky. “Bastard. Abandoning his wife like that.”
“Agreed,” Black said.
A few minutes later, Lady Huntley returned with Amanda.
“What has happened?” she asked.
Aside from her seeming inability to meet his eyes, she appeared as always. Beautiful. Composed. Professional. Perfectly well rested.
Then again, he’d left her well sated. A satisfied smile tugged at his lips.
“You may wish to sit, Lady Amanda,” Black said, waving his hand at the empty chair before Thornton’s desk. “I’m afraid I have upsetting news.”
She stiffened. “I’ll stand.”
“After your brother admitted to his involvement in our case, agents were alerted,” Black said. “We’ve found Tony Spinolli. I’m afraid his body spent some time in the Thames before being washed ashore by the tides.”
Amanda paled. “I believe I will sit after all.” She lowered herself gingerly into the chair.
It was always harder when the individual was a personal acquaintance. Or a close friend turned traitor. “Was he altered?” Thornton asked.
