by Anne Renwick
Heat pooled at the juncture of her thighs. She wanted more than mere kisses and promises. Her palms began a determined exploration of his muscled back, moving over the linen of his shirt, tapering downward to his hips and growing increasingly dissatisfied with the cotton and linen barriers that separated them. When her fingers met the waistband of his trousers, she growled her frustration and pushed hard against his chest.
Thornton stepped back, his breath ragged, his eyes questioning.
“Skin,” she panted, reaching for the buttons of his waistcoat. She wanted to feel his warm skin brush hers as his body tensed and flexed. He assisted, making short work of his cravat, then the buttons that held his shirt in place. Moments later all his upper garments joined her corset and his coat on the floor.
For several long seconds, Amanda allowed herself to stare at the glorious, muscled torso that stood before her. She reached out and ran her palm over the crisp hairs that covered his chest.
“That’s long enough,” he growled and gripped her waist, lifting her, depositing her on the workbench. “Your turn. Finish what I started earlier.” His voice, low and commanding, sent a ripple of electricity across her skin. He stepped back, ever so slightly, and crossed his arms.
He’d managed to make significant progress with the buttons at her neck before they were interrupted, but she’d had to undo some of that progress in deference to their guest. But this time he wanted to watch?
She smiled, softly and coyly, reveling under his intense focus as her fingers worked—slowly—to regain lost ground. Her nipples strained beneath the fine cotton, drawing his gaze to their hard peaks. But he did not touch. He waited as the cotton of her shirt parted, exposing a long, thin strip of bare skin. A few tangled strands of hair fell forward across her face.
Finally, he reached out, but not to touch her shirtwaist. Instead his fingers pulled first one hair pin free. Then another, and another. Lock after lock tumbled free over her shoulders, falling on the cotton that still covered the tops of her breasts.
It was torture, the waiting.
She drew in fast, shallow breaths as one long finger began to twist a lock of hair, the increasing tension tugging at her scalp, tipping her head backward, exposing her throat.
Enough.
She threaded her fingers through his own tousled curls and pulled his head to her throat.
He let out a low, satisfied laugh at her impatience.
At last he was touching her. His teeth scraped her neck, his mouth explored the column of her throat, his rough beard grazed her smooth skin which screamed in pleasure. A moan escaped her lips.
God, he was taking too long.
She tugged on his waistband, pulling him between her knees. Thornton stepped forward into the folds of her skirts. So many petticoats, all of them working against her. Desperate and bold, she caressed the hard column beneath his trousers.
Long and thick. There was so much of him, but all she wanted was him inside her.
He hissed out a wild sound, his hips flexing under her palm. He yanked open her shirtwaist and cupped both breasts, lifting them. He bent, sucking a taut nipple into his mouth, circling it with his tongue, pulling it gently between his teeth, all while his fingers toyed with the other tip.
Amanda arched her chest with a cry of pleasure, catching herself on her hands. This was what she wanted. Needed. She slid her hips forward on the workbench, wanting to feel the press of his arousal as his lips drove her into a frenzy, but the ridiculous volume of her skirts dulled all sensation.
Finally, she could stand it no longer. She needed more. Dragging his face to hers, she kissed him long and deep, pouring forth all the need she felt. Then, with her hands about his neck, she flexed her hips and slid from the workbench, slid along his long, hard length until her toes reached the floor. She tugged at his waistband, her fingers searching for the catch. “More.”
He laughed and tugged her toward the cot, with only a slight hitch in his step. Then he turned, gathering her into his arms, kissing her forehead and murmuring into her hair, “I’ve wanted this from the moment you first spoke in lecture.”
“You called me a fool.”
“Secrets had to be kept.”
“No more now.”
“No more.” He caught her lips again in a deep, soul-baring kiss. Then released her as his hands moved to his waistband.
His fingers moved quickly now, flying down his own buttons, tugging off his shoes. Amanda turned her attention to discarding her many skirts. Her drawers. But when she reached for her garters, he stopped her.
“Leave them.”
Her heart stopped as she looked up. Thornton in all his glory.
In one hand he held a piece of brown paper. Inside it she knew she’d find a sheath. He’d come prepared. Strong, wide shoulders flexed as a muscled arm reached out for her, but her eyes were drawn to the crisp hairs that covered his chest, his abdomen, merging at the vee of a narrow waist and drawing attention to his large, rampant need.
All man.
An echoing need pulsed between her thighs, demanding fulfillment. She stepped forward, her hand brushing over his chest, her palm caressing its surface. She recalled his leg and glanced downward. Thin straps of jointed metal provided support. Beneath the brace, a jagged scar curved. “Sit,” she said, pushing against his chest.
He frowned. “There’s no pain. Not now.”
“Please.” She pressed again.
He sat, then fell backward onto the cot, dragging her with him. His erection pressed into her stomach. She slid herself over him, kissing him as she moved to straddle him, pressing her wetness against his need.
His hips bucked.
She bent forward, her hair falling in a curtain about their faces while she kissed him deeply, as the tips of her breasts brushed against his chest. Tongues tangled. Hips rocked.
At last the pressure building inside of her was so intense she could think only of release. She wanted him inside her, wanted him to fall apart beneath her as they both found their pleasure. She pulled back, sliding away, reaching for the brown paper packet, sliding the sheath she found inside over his thick member. Nerves flared and her hands shook.
“You’re certain?” he whispered.
“More than anything.”
His hands guided her hips back over him, over his thick column and onto its tip, nudging at her opening. It would hurt, she knew, but only for a moment. She hoped. Spreading her legs wider, she sank onto him, slowly, as he stretched her wide, and she had yet to take him entirely within.
“Fast? Or slow?” he hissed. His every muscle clenched with the effort to not move.
“Fast.”
“Thank God.” His fingers gripped her hips, and he thrust upward with a sudden surge, deep within her core, groaning in pleasure as he filled her tightly and completely.
She cried out at the sharp pinch, twisting at the burning sensation of being stretched so suddenly. Desire was ebbing away.
“Wait,” he bit out through gritted teeth. “Stay. Give it a moment.” He stroked the juncture of her thighs with the pad of his thumb.
Pain faded as pleasure returned and her body began to relax. He pulled her forward, sucking a nipple into his mouth and a bolt of desire shot through her to her center. Her hips bucked against him as she cried out. A sensation like she’d never experienced before took hold, a driving need to move against him.
She rocked her hips again.
“That’s it,” he moaned. His hands helped her hips find their rhythm, lifting her up, pulling her back down tightly against him. Each retreat left her empty, each plunge seated him deeply within her.
Her pulse raced, and her breath came in pants. He gripped her hips tighter now, his thrusts coming faster and harder as the primal need for release built. She rose. He plunged. Again and again and again. Tension coiled within her, all focusing tighter and tighter where they joined.
A low keen escaped her lips as her body seemed to pulse. He growled an
d drove into her, yanking her against him. Amanda threw her head back and let the spasm of pleasure wash over her. Thornton’s fingers dug into her flesh, grinding his hips upward as he cried out his own release. She collapsed forward onto his chest, heart pounding, lungs heaving. What they’d found together—this sliver of paradise—was beyond anything she could have hoped.
At long last, she pushed herself upward and looked into his eyes. For a moment, she imagined she could see his soul. He held nothing back now, nothing was hidden. She felt a closeness, a completeness unlike any she could ever have imagined.
His hands caressed her back, smoothed her hair away, then pressed a kiss to her lips so tender her heart squeezed.
Amanda shifted to move beside him. Thornton’s arm flexed, holding her tight against his side on the narrow cot. His eyes were closed, his face more relaxed than she’d ever seen before. She rested her head on his shoulder, and for a long moment, she lay still, content to do nothing but inhale his scent. She trailed her fingers along his jaw across the rough shadow of beard that darkened his face, feeling its stubble catch and release against the whorls of her fingertips.
If only she could stay like this forever, curled against his strength. Wrapped in his arms, the rest of the world faded. But she lifted her head, glancing over at her workbench. Duty beckoned.
“The drug can wait an hour. Rest now.” His hand reached up, pulling her head down once more against his chest. How well he knew her. She smiled against his skin.
“An hour,” she agreed, then, for the first time in weeks, drifted into blissful slumber.
~~~
She slept for nearly two.
Thornton was watching when Amanda’s eyes fluttered open. He’d not slept a wink. Not with so many thoughts invading his mind.
The deep attraction he felt for this woman in his arms was more than lust. He’d thought their joining would satisfy him, but now he wanted more. She’d given him her trust, her virginity, her passion. She was his. He felt a driving, primitive need to let the world know exactly that. That she was off limits to all other men.
When she next arrived in the lecture theater, it would take all his self-control not to punch the first student whose eyes dropped to appreciate her feminine assets.
Mine! He wanted to cry the word aloud.
But would this last? Would she tire of a man who avoided society? Spent long hours holed up in a laboratory? Often disappeared for weeks? No. He wouldn’t disappear. Not anymore. Not once his leg failed. That too presented a problem. He was soon to be a broken man.
Reluctantly, he moved away. He shifted to sit at the end of the cot and began to dress, pulling his trousers over the metal cage that guarded his lower leg.
“The pressure points worked well,” she said, moving to sit beside him. “I can—”
“No. Thank you. It’s fine.” His words were polite, but his tone closed the topic.
She sighed, but tugged on her shirtwaist and began pushing the tiny pearl buttons back into place. “Will you stay?” A slow blush that crept over her cheeks suggested she hoped for a repeat encounter.
He stroked her full lower lip with his thumb. “I think it’s best if I don’t, Amanda. Not tonight.” They’d risked enough already, lying about in such a disheveled state. Questions might be asked, ones that would damage her reputation, perhaps even her career. “If you give me the vial of distilled essence, I can have it in the hands of the Lister chemists tonight. You’ve done amazing work here,” he indicated her laboratory, “but with their equipment and knowledge, the drug will be—”
“Of higher quality,” she nodded. “I know I’m not a chemist. No need to soothe my wounded, scientific soul.”
“It will be better protected,” he said. “And you will be safer with it removed from your keeping. If I work quickly tonight, there will be time to run the procedure tomorrow on a rat—at least once—in the laboratory, before we try it on your brother.”
She nodded, her eyes not meeting his.
He tipped her chin upward. “Know that I already want you again, Amanda.”
Now she looked deep into his eyes. “Then stay.”
“If only I could,” he said, then pressed his lips against hers, pouring his heart into the kiss, showing her what he could not say.
Chapter Thirty-One
AMANDA WAS ON HER way to breakfast when her sister screamed.
A cacophony of blinking and hissing and whirring emerged from the breakfast room. She arrived at the door to find Steam Mary spinning in distressed circles and RT rolling back and forth across the floor, the teacups on his surface rattling and splashing. Burton stood, his jaw opening and closing without emitting any sound.
Mother had collapsed forward onto the dining table, her face buried in her arms. Before the table Olivia stood, or rather, swayed as she flapped a feathered fan at her face, her lungs struggling to cope beneath her too-tight corset; she wasn’t far behind Mother.
“Sit, Olivia. Before you fall,” she commanded.
Olivia’s knees buckled, and she collapsed into her chair.
“Whatever is the matter?”
“It’s over… everything’s ruined…” The fan flapped faster.
“What?” she demanded.
“Emily.” A trembling finger pointed at a gossip rag that had fallen to the floor.
Burton lifted it and handed it to Amanda.
She read.
‘Lady E—, daughter of the great and powerful Duke of A—, was sighted last night in the company of those gypsies currently camping in Kensington Gardens. The colorful garb she wore, and her suspiciously rounded form, suggests she now lives among them as one of their own.’
The rag still in hand, Amanda sank into a chair beside her sister, wondering what—if anything—she ought do. The damage was done. Amanda lifted a half-empty teacup from RT’s surface. She pressed the porcelain cup into her sister’s trembling hand. “Drink some tea,” she said, hoping the motion would slow Olivia’s breaths.
A knock at the front door had Burton hurrying from the room. A caller at this hour could mean only one thing. Olivia turned toward Amanda, eyes wide with fear and apprehension.
“I will see the duke,” a voice boomed. “Now.”
Carlton.
Olivia dropped her teacup in her lap. Angry footsteps moved down the hall. Tears began to stream down Olivia’s face.
As Steam Mary rushed to blot Olivia’s skirts, Amanda took her sister’s hand and squeezed. There were no words of comfort to offer her sister. She might not be sorry to see the last of Carlton, but all of Olivia’s hopes and dreams, her efforts at securing a titled husband and her own household, had shattered.
Damp lashes and watery eyes looked back at Amanda. “It’s over. No one will have me now. We’re to end our lives in this house as two dried out old spinsters. Together.”
A decided possibility. Though she didn’t give it voice. She turned to the collection of steambots that had gathered in the doorway. Somehow their copper and bronze faces managed to convey worry. “Both women have had a shock and will be happier resting in their chambers.” Metal necks creaked as heads nodded. “Steam Susan, please bring the bath chair for the duchess. Steam Joseph, if you would escort Lady Olivia to her room. Please see that their personal lady’s maids are summoned.”
Once her mother and her sister were taken care of, Amanda penned a quick note to Ned, who, she was informed, had left earlier for the Symphony House. She informed him the family was in crisis and suggested he return home at once. He could shoulder some of the burden while she labored in the laboratory on his behalf.
~~~
A knock sounded on Thornton’s office door. “Enter!” he called, relieved that someone had arrived to rescue him from the tedium of neglected paperwork.
The necessary task was taking longer than normal as his mental efforts were hindered by the constant intrusion of thoughts of Amanda. Thoughts of her soft
curves, of driving into her wet heat, of the look on her face as she shattered above him. Nothing had ever felt so good, so right. Last night, something inside him had broken free. A taste of her passion was no longer enough. He wanted more. Concentration was next to impossible.
The white-bearded face of Lord Thistleton appeared. “Good news, Thornton.”
“That will make for a nice change. Come in.”
The man laughed. “I sent a man to the powerhouse to collect the plant, roots and all. Amatiflora now grows in my greenhouse under lock and key. I’ve never seen its like, though I believe it a close relative of —” he waved a hand, “never mind. In a few weeks, I should be able to force a bloom.”
“Excellent,” Thornton said, trying to muster some enthusiasm. By then it would be too late for him. “And its essence?”
Lord Thistleton grinned. “More good news. The nerve agent was easily concocted in our laboratories. Your assistant, Lady Huntley was so kind as to assist. She brought us a rat.” Lord Thistleton laughed. “The looks on the faces of my assistants. None of them are used to test subjects with faces and tails. In any case, she helped us with a trial run of your drug. The formula is impressive, quite effective. It does not suppress nerve transmission completely. It only calms the nerve. Lady Huntley assures me that this is exactly the outcome you hoped for?”
“It is.” The neurachnid needed to test its connections as it wove its golden strands.
“Well, then, I’ll be going. I’ll send updates on the plant’s status.”
“Wait,” Thornton said. “The drug?”
“I left the entire vial,” Lord Thistleton grinned widely, “safe in your assistant’s hands.” The man nodded and left.
Good. Finally they made progress.
Black appeared in the doorway. “We have a problem.”
A problem. He supposed good news was too much to hope for with a murderous spy on the loose. “What now?” he asked.
