“Who you got hidin’ in there, Thompson?” the man challenged, his voice raspy. “My wife?”
His wife? Had Blake dallied with that man’s woman?
“No,” Blake said.
Her door burst open and a beast of a man stormed into her chamber. Letting out a scream that shook the rafters, Taylor pulled her knees to her chest and all but clung to the iron head rail behind her. She’d forgotten to lock the door. Again. That thought flew from her mind as the moonlight coming through the window illuminated the intruder. The man’s eyes were wild in his florid face, his meaty hands clenched into massive fists at his sides. Those red-rimmed eyes raked over her and Taylor trembled.
“This ain’t my wife,” he grumbled at last. He shot an angry look at Blake. “But I’d wager she don’t belong to you, either.”
“She’s mine,” Blake said.
Taylor gaped at Blake. The man turned and grabbed him by the throat.
“Give me my wife, Thompson,” he growled.
The two men fought as Taylor watched in horror. Blake’s face grew hard, his eyes narrowed, and she felt a chill in the pit of her stomach. Lord, she almost pitied his opponent.
“I’m not a weak woman you can batter into obedience, Beaks,” Blake growled. He pressed the big man against the wall. “I’m a man who’ll fight back!”
The truth stuck Taylor at once. With one final blow from Blake’s fist, Beaks fell to the floor in a groaning heap. Blake leaned forward and placed his hands on his knees, his breathing harsh in the sudden quiet. Taylor took in his appearance then. He wore no shirt or boots, only breeches that clung to his body like a second skin. Dark hair swirled on his broad chest, thinning to a line over his flat belly. Oh my! Even though she was shocked right down to her toes at what just happened in front of her, she couldn’t help but take notice of how beautiful he was. Blake glared at the unconscious man on the floor to make sure he wouldn’t stir any time soon. He raised his head to look at Taylor. “Are you all right?”
Taylor gave him a shaky nod. Blake dragged Beaks out into the corridor, letting him fall back to the floor. He straightened and took a step toward her.
“Thompson!” a voice called from belowstairs.
Blake turned toward the staircase. “Up here, Constable.”
“Billy must have gone for the constable as soon as that bastard Beaks broke in,” Blake said. With a motion toward Taylor to warn her to keep still, he shut the door to her chamber.
Taylor hugged herself and squeezed her eyes shut, eager to rid her mind of the memory of that horrid man. She’d never erase the incredible image Blake had made, however. Like some kind of dark, avenging angel.
* * *
Blake faced the constable. The lawman gaped at Beaks, recognition at last dawning on his round face.
“Beaks, that miserable excuse for a man,” the constable said.
Blake nodded. “He broke in here.”
A light of understanding showed in the other man’s eyes. “Billy told me as much,” he said carefully. “I take it he attacked you?”
“Yes.”
“As for the other . . . ?”
“She’s safe,” was all Blake would say.
Billy appeared at the end of the corridor, his thin body quaking. The boy’s fair hair stood on end and his clothing was buttoned haphazardly.
“Billy,” Blake began, “help the constable haul this pile of refuse from The Hideaway.”
Billy nodded vigorously, a curl of distaste on his mouth as he glanced at Beaks. The boy and the constable were well able to bear the slack weight of the rotter. Blake followed them downstairs to lock the pub up tight.
When he returned abovestairs, he opened the door to Taylor’s chamber. She still sat on her bed, her eyes round, the linens still grasped in her hands so tightly that her fingers showed white. He closed the door and crossed to her, coming to sit on the edge of her bed. Easing her fingers from the sheet, he stroked her chilled hands with his.
“It’s all right now, Taylor,” he said. “The constable will see that Beaks pays for his actions.” He tamped down his disgust at the truth. “Tonight’s actions, in any event.”
Taylor swallowed and stared up at him. “He . . . he beat his wife?”
Blake gave her a measured nod. “Sadly, there’s nothing the law can do about it. But she’s safe, and Beaks won’t be able to find her.”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “I don’t understand how a man could . . . I didn’t know such evil existed.”
He stroked his thumb over her left cheek. “Will you admit now that Trevor caused that bruise?”
She held her breath, then nodded. “He did.”
Without thinking he gathered her into his arms, brushing her sleep-tangled hair from her face. “Some men are not worth the breath in their body.”
She leaned back and stared at him. “You helped her. You help people, Blake. Despite the danger to yourself.”
Blake couldn’t bear the adoration in her blue-gray eyes. He stared at a spot on the wooden floor and cleared his throat. “You’ve seen my ledgers. The pay is more than adequate compensation for any peril.”
Out of the corner of his eyes he saw her shake her head. “No,” she whispered. “You’re a good man.”
Blake’s gaze found hers at last. Her eyes were filled with admiration, yes, but also passion. The heat of it set every nerve in his body aflame. “Taylor,” he rasped, bringing his lips to hers. “Ah, Taylor . . .”
She opened beneath him and he stretched out on the bed, her delectable little body nearly bare beneath his, save for her thin chemise and tangled linens. Her tongue darted into his mouth, the caress tentative but passionate, and oh, so sweet. He groaned as he swelled nearly to bursting. He pushed back her tumbled hair, and buried his face in the crook of her neck.
“Blake,” she whispered, her hands stroking his back.
He heard the desire in her voice, in the little catch in her throat as he flicked his tongue in her ear. Her chemise slipped downward and he kissed her silken shoulder. Ah, the taste of her. “My God, love.”
Blake caressed her breasts through the thin lawn, pulling the fabric taut. One flick of his wrist and the thin ribbon holding her chemise closed gave up its struggle. He lifted his head, his gaze drawn to the round, full breasts that beckoned his touch, his kiss. She was even more exquisite than he’d imagined these past weeks.
He dropped a kiss on one pink nipple and her response thrilled him. Closing his mouth over the bud, he held her waist as she arched beneath him. She was so sweet, so innocent in her response, he nearly disgraced himself in his breeches. He pushed the linens aside and stroked her leg, her thigh, her round bottom. He lifted his head, and with a touch of male arrogance, registered her whimper at the loss of contact. Her face bore her passion, as it had that evening in the corridor. What would she look like when she found her pleasure? Suddenly, he had to know.
“I want you, Taylor,” he said, bringing his face to hers.
She opened her eyes and stared up at him, a smile full of wonder slowly curved her kiss-swollen lips. Reaching toward him, she ran a hand over the heated flesh of his chest, her fingers teasing him. They trailed over his belly, nearly to the waistband of his breeches. He groaned, gritting his teeth as he strove for control. He lifted her hand from its tempting journey downward and kissed her palm. Then he stretched out on top of her once more.
Her hands stroked his back again, coming to rest on his buttocks. Though unschooled in the art of seduction, she managed to incite him to near-madness with her gentle touch. He reached between their bodies to touch her intimately, finding the curls shielding her womanhood damp with desire. One touch. One stroke, just to see if her passion matched his.
“Blake!” she cried, squeezing her eyes shut once more.
He couldn’t wait much longer. She pressed against his hand and the tip of his finger slipped within her. She was so small. So hot and tight. With little imagination he envisioned her heat enfolding him.
He pressed a bit higher and found the evidence of her virginity and that stilled him at last. Even as he withdrew, he couldn’t resist teasing the tiny nub of her desire with his thumb. Kissing her deeply, he aroused her with expert manipulation as she writhed beneath him. He caught her cries in his mouth as she experienced what was probably her first climax.
His hands were on the buttons of his breeches before he could think better of it. Then she opened her eyes and turned that adoring gaze upon him once more. He stilled and braced himself on his elbows, waiting for her to gather her wits.
“Blake,” she breathed. “I didn’t know.”
He grinned down at her. “Your passion pleases me, Taylor.”
He dropped a kiss on her open mouth. Those little hands of hers began to move over his back again, cupping his buttocks once more. He pressed against her in response. The heat of her scorched him through his breeches and he closed his eyes. Long moments passed while his strength of conviction hung in the balance. At last willing his blood to cool, he pushed away from her.
With shaking hands, he covered her breasts with the woefully-insufficient chemise. Her legs were still bared, the golden curls adorning her womanhood, still visible, and he bit back a moan. Forcing a calm he didn’t feel, he settled the bed linens over her body.
“I should leave you,” he murmured, cupping her face with one hand.
She gave a tiny shake of her head and grasped his wrist. Her touch heated his blood once more. “Stay with me, Blake,” she whispered, her cheeks turning pink.
He wanted nothing more than to honor her sweet request, to set aside any thought to propriety. Propriety? He was here with the most tempting package, the glow of her first sexual response still on her exquisite face, and he gave thought to propriety? He owed much more to Robert Shelby than to seduce his little sister.
“I can’t, love,” he said, softening his refusal with a gentle kiss to her brow. “I can scarcely stand to leave you, but I must.”
She said nothing, but the hurt in her eyes cut him as she let her hand fall to the pillow. He lifted that hand and placed a tender kiss on her palm. His lips clung to that heated flesh for a heart-breaking second.
Standing was torture. His body still thrummed with passion. He could only hope that in her innocence she had no notion of his state of arousal.
“Good night, Taylor,” he murmured. He eyed the doorknob, seeing that it hadn’t been damaged from tonight’s events because she’d obviously forgotten to lock it. “Lock this door?”
She gave a small nod.
He left her chamber and closed the door with a click.
“At least if she locks that damn door I’ll stay away from her,” he grumbled.
Bloody fool. What had he been thinking to compromise her so? Ah, but she was so sweet, her surrender so amazing. He entered his chamber and fell upon the bed. God, he was in a bad way. Never before had such desire gripped him. In his many encounters with the fairer sex, his mind was never touched by the passion ruling his body. Only one goal had ever mattered: to ensure his own pleasure while keeping the lady smiling. But with Taylor . . .
The reality of his current situation was more than he could bear tonight, that was certain. The young woman who fired him like no one else lived beneath his roof. And though it would be best for her to leave as soon as possible, he couldn’t help but wish she would stay with him forever.
“Ah, Jason,” he muttered at the ceiling. “Are you laughing now?”
* * *
Taylor stared at the closed door, filled with shame and confusion. She’d given herself to Blake, begged him to stay with her, and he couldn’t have left fast enough. Oh, the magic of his hands and lips on her body, the wonder of the pleasure he had given her! She was surely a wanton.
The consequences of tonight’s events were overshadowed by his fight with that vile man. She’d known Blake’s work was profitable. That was evident from what she’d seen while working on his ledgers. But the danger? The compassion? He’d saved a woman from her brute of a husband. He was a good man, despite his protests. Oh, she’d pined after him for years but what she felt now for him? It was nothing like that girl’s infatuation. Her heart had always known she loved him. Now her mind was forced to accept it.
Her body still hummed from her first taste of pleasure so strong she’d nearly screamed. If not for Blake’s retreat she’d no doubt have surrendered her virginity to him. He’d already shown more control than she could ever hope to possess. No doubt as a virile, unmarried young man, he took his pleasure wherever he found it. Yet, tonight was different for him, wasn’t it? It must have been. He said he didn’t want to leave her. That he couldn’t bear it. Didn’t that mean he wanted more than her passion? Or maybe it was because she wasn’t like Polly or any of the other women he might have taken to his bed. Women who thought of lovemaking as a casual occurrence. He’d touched her. In her most private place. She hadn’t had a second to guess what he was about before she’d soared to the ceiling of the room! He had to know she was untried. A virgin. And, as the noble man she knew him to be, he wouldn’t take something so precious without promising her a lifetime. So he’d left.
The truth was clear to her now. She didn’t want a dalliance. She wanted him forever. And he couldn’t want anything less.
Hot tears stung her eyes as she at last closed them. She had to go to London on her own, and soon. She couldn’t bear to be so close to Blake. She would falter. She would give in to the feelings he inspired, in her body and in her heart. He would dally with her but never marry her. He would never marry at all. The life he led, running a public house and going out on his cases, left no room for a wife and children. No. She was better off getting away from the lure of Blake and his passions. London would hold no such temptations for her heart. And she was resourceful. She’d simply use her charm to learn what she could about Robert from the Watch.
She would have the memory of the brief moments of pleasure in Blake’s arms to warm her lonely nights. That would surely be enough. Wouldn’t it?
Chapter 12
The next two weeks passed slowly for Taylor. Blake had been absent for most of them, on his various cases. She wondered if he was purposely staying away or if his work truly was what kept him occupied. Well, it didn’t concern her. She wasn’t his wife nor his fiancée so he had no reason to tell her his whereabouts or what his missions entailed. He could come and go as he pleased and obviously did so. In any case, it would make what she had to do easier.
To keep herself occupied, Taylor busied herself in her chamber after taking yet another early dinner. The fare was delicious, as she’d assured Mrs. Mott that afternoon. The woman had beamed her pleasure, even going so far as to share the secret of the thick, smooth gravy that accompanied the foul. Taylor had glimpsed the fragrant herbs in the garden, nestled beneath the pretty flowers she picked daily to adorn the public house.
Taylor settled herself for another evening with nothing to keep her company save for reading or needlework as she nibbled on one of Mrs. Mott’s now very excellent lemon biscuits. Sally was blossoming in her position as lady’s maid. Taylor would miss the girl when she was in London. But her own comfort couldn’t concern her at present. Getting away from Blake, and finding her brother, that’s what drove her now. If she didn’t leave The Hideaway she’d go mad.
Blake’s work brought to mind her brother’s own mysterious missions, the comings and goings that made as little sense to Taylor now as they had then. No such persons had approached Robert in Sussex as they did Blake here, however. Surely she’d have noticed such people if they had. The memory of the despicable man who beat his wife threatened to resurface. She tamped it down, knowing well what memories would follow on its heels.
Her shame of that night, reveling in all Blake had done to her, begging him to stay with her in her bed, was never far from her mind. Even more than Blake’s actions were the words he’d said. He helped these people only for the fees they paid him? Hardly. He was a good man.
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“This is no concern of mine,” she murmured, echoing Blake’s own denial.
Words more false had never been spoken, she thought with self-loathing as she finished her preparations for bed. She was a pitiful fool of a girl to think his actions, the dangers he forever put himself in, had little to do with her. She worried about his safety and wondered at his bravery. That bravery only added to his appeal. And his allure would no doubt lead her to leave The Hideaway soon and forever; she couldn’t stay here, knowing he didn’t return her feelings.
Taking her valise from the wardrobe, she began to pack for her journey to Town. Something stilled her, something she had to take care of before she left. She couldn’t let her heart drive her without her mind working out the particulars.
She sat on the bed and opened the shallow drawer set within the bedstand. A few sheets of paper hid there, along with a pen and a bottle of ink. She wrote a carefully-worded appeal to be taken to Jason at his London residence. Surely Blake’s boy, Billy, would know the address. At the very least she was resourceful. She could get the boy to divulge the address as if merely a topic of idle interest to her.
Lacking a seal, she used a bit of wax from her candle on the bedstand to hold the missive closed. She rose and placed the note in her valise. Once more she’d travel in the wee hours of the morning, hoping little attention would be paid to her as she passed through the sleeping village. She had the ugly cloak to shield her as it had on her flight from Sussex. What money she had would allow her to hire a hack or pony cart. She’d continue on the road to London until an opportunity presented itself.
“It’s done, then.”
Biting her lip, she returned to the bedstand and took out another sheet of paper. Her heart aching, she penned a farewell. It was only right she acknowledge his help since her arrival on his doorstep. As to repayment, that would sadly have to wait until she secured a position. The words of farewell pained her more than she imagined, and by the time she finished writing, several tears wet the page. She couldn’t write of her love for him. No. That secret would live forever in her heart.
A Hero and A Gentleman Page 11
