* * *
Taylor stared at the closed door of the dressing room as she nibbled on a sweet roll. She’d heard little of his and Jason’s conversation save for deep masculine mumblings, but the warm, wonderful scent of breakfast had told her what Jason’s duty had been. She fussed at her loose curls again. It was so easy to grow dependent once more upon a lady’s maid. Thankfully Sally was guaranteed a position as long as Taylor stayed at The Hideaway, which, according to the events of yesterday, would be of some duration.
She had no fear of falling for her husband; she’d taken that plunge when she’d learned more of his courageous compassionate work. Concealment was never her manner, but she didn’t believe she had to do much to keep her affections secret. He paid her little attention, save for the more passionate of their exchanges. The days would no doubt continue to pass in the same manner as they had prior to their pledges of yesterday, with him embroiled in his missions and her wrapped up in the running of the public house. No, she’d have little trouble shielding her heart from a pain that could easily tear it in two.
Sipping her tea, she glanced once more at the door as it opened. Blake stood there in the doorway, clad in his usual fine clothing. The dark brown jacket spanned his shoulders, the tan breeches hugged those long, strong legs. Brown boots finished his dress along with a cream waistcoat over a snowy white shirt. Her heart raced and she sought to maintain her expression. Oh, little trouble concealing her feelings indeed.
“May I join you, love?” he asked.
Taylor stared at the bottom of her tea cup and gave a shaky nod. Pitiful. She poured tea into the other cup and glanced up at her husband as he sat himself across from her. She offered him the tea and a bright smile. He blinked and stared at her before taking the cup with a nod of thanks. They shared their meal with little conversation.
Sally rapped on the door soon after, and Blake left Taylor to her maid’s care.
The memory of his parting kiss lingered on Taylor’s lips as she sat before the pretty little vanity. The large mirror atop showed the maid’s handiwork, and Taylor stared blankly into the glass as the girl worked her hair into a more fitting style than her wild curls of the morning.
At last tamed, her hair was wound in little braids that charmingly circled her crown. The girl set the brush and pins on the top of the vanity and smiled at her in the mirror.
“Thank you, Sally,” Taylor said with a smile.
She turned and rose from her chair. The maid bustled about the chamber, gathering Taylor’s discarded nightclothes from the floor with nary a word. Taylor closed her eyes and gave an involuntary shiver. Last night Blake had so easily removed those pretty new garments.
“If that’ll be all, Miss?”
Taylor shook off her mind’s wanderings and nodded vigorously. “Yes, Sally. Thank you.”
The lady’s maid hurried out of the room, no doubt intent on seeing to her mistress’s things, as Taylor once more regarded herself in the mirror. She looked the part of the gentlewoman, dressed and coiffed as she should be. Blake deserved nothing less than a wife who would do him justice, in the eyes of the people of Homerton if not her own. He was a good man; his many clandestine missions proved that to her. And he had selflessly given himself to her forever, if the words spoken before God yesterday held a bond half as tight as the love she felt wrapped around her heart.
“Robert, how I wish you were here,” she whispered.
Her eyes filled with tears and her brother’s face swam before her own reflection. The blue-gray eyes so like her own, the masculine counterpart of the stubborn chin they’d inherited from their father. She felt his loss keenly, coupled with guilt for failing to give him more than a passing thought these past few days. Blake’s passion for her, their hasty marriage, should pardon her for any slight to her brother’s memory. But separated from all she loved cut her deeply now that she found herself attached to a man who would never give her his heart.
Tears spilled over her lashes and she let them flow.
Chapter 18
Blake sat at his desk, happy for the diversion of his pending cases. Nothing yet had turned up about Martin, despite his inquiries with his contacts in London. And, damn Reggie to Hell, he’d been nowhere to be found.
He recognized that Taylor had changed more than his marital status. She needed him like no one ever had. And a more important duty he couldn’t imagine. He closed the file before him and placed his hands behind his head.
Taylor was fashioned solely for him. One glance and he wanted her with a hunger that surpassed anything he’d encountered in all of his blighted life. That faith that filled her beautiful eyes still worried him. She believed he would find Robert, and Blake wanted nothing more than to fulfill her faith in him.
It wouldn’t suit for her to believe him the man she thinks him to be, however. His father always said he was nothing but an opportunist, a man who took financial gain to solve other people’s problems. His father’s opinion wasn’t far off, though the job meant more than the earl could ever guess. He felt compelled to help many of those who came to him. Not for the reward, though he’d be a fool to refuse a decent living. No. He took pride in setting things to rights. Finding lost and stolen treasures and restoring them to their rightful owners. Helping those who couldn’t help themselves.
Taylor thought him a good man. In fact, he was not truly a bad man. Hadn’t he turned his lapse in control into an offer of marriage? Hadn’t he sought to ease the guilt over not solving the mystery of Robert’s disappearance by seeing that his sister lived her life in safety and comfort?
“Bloody hell,” he grumbled.
The bottom drawer of his desk beckoned, the thick file within that refused to divulge the secrets of Robert Shelby’s all too brief partnership. He withdrew the fat packet and placed it on his desk.
The case had seemed so cut and dried and, even when Blake had thought they would get nothing from their contact, Robert had still persisted in carrying on his charade. That damnable stubbornness that Blake’s own sweet wife had in abundance, had led Robert into . . . what? Blake still didn’t know whom he’d met with that last night. But he’d find out what happened to his best friend. He’d learn who kept him from his family’s duties and left Taylor under the protection of that snake Trevor. Opening the file, he began to pore over the contents.
“Robert?” Jason asked from the doorway.
Blake glanced at his brother. He’d been so engrossed in the file he hadn’t heard his knocking. Jason wore his puzzlement on his face as he closed the door and approached the desk.
“Yes, Robert. Damn it to hell,” Blake admitted. “I can’t figure out what happened to him.”
Jason came to stand at his shoulder and gave the papers a cursory glance. “You’re not to blame, you know.”
Blake snorted at Jason’s naïve statement. “I brought him into the case, Jason. If not for me, he’d be happily dividing his time between here and Sussex, with little more pressing concerns save for keeping overzealous suitors away from his gorgeous sister.”
A crooked smile tilted Jason’s mouth. “That speaks volumes, brother.”
Blake shrugged. “Taylor is the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld, Jason. And you wanted her for yourself when you first saw her in the pub, if memory serves.”
Jason laughed with ease. “I would never aspire to marrying the girl. Don’t frown at me, Blake. I’m merely saying that she wouldn’t suit me. I couldn’t begin to make a girl like that happy. You, however—”
“I’ll keep her safe,” Blake cut in. “Trevor is still a concern, despite Taylor’s protestations. I’ve been so wrapped up in my cases and in Taylor I haven’t had a chance to learn just what the weasel is up to in Sussex.”
“And the case?”
Blake cursed softly. “Yes, the case. The bastard’s identity eluded us, Jason. And Robert, that noble fool, thought to bring him to dubious justice in London by baiting him with his grandfather’s signet ring. We knew it was
n’t a simple case of buying and selling goods on the black market. Or even selling their own property for quick money. People came to us looking for their own treasures that had been stolen and sold as well. I still haven’t been able to learn the name of the man he was meeting.”
Jason shook his head and straightened. “I don’t know. But you’re not to blame for Robert’s zeal.” A reluctant smile crossed his face. “I daresay his sister shares that particular trait.”
“In abundance.”
“Then think of her,” Jason said. “You pledged your honor to her yesterday.”
“I know that full well, brother,” Blake said. “Pray, don’t attempt to tell me my duties in that regard. I’ll keep her safe. I’ll find Robert. I’ll keep only to her, and she’ll be content.”
“Contentment,” Jason muttered. “Tepid emotion, that. Your little bride is far from so accommodating a wench as to accept it.”
Blake shook his head. “Enough. I take it you’re leaving?”
“That’s plainly spoken. Yes. I wanted to bid you farewell and good luck.”
Blake came to his feet. “Luck is of little matter to me.”
Jason studied him for a long moment, the keen mind behind the jovial rake evident. “Keep yourself well, brother. And that wife of yours. I’ll be in touch.”
Blake shook his brother’s hand. “Come. Let’s find Taylor so you can bid her the chaste farewell of a brother.”
Jason laughed again and Blake felt the tension within him ease.
* * *
Blake looked on as Taylor quit the dining room for their chamber after their early dinner that evening. He let her go, summoning Polly to the table as Taylor disappeared from his view.
The serving maid followed his gaze to the empty staircase and turned back to him. “What ya’ be wantin’, Thompson?”
Blake studied her plump, curvaceous form for a moment, amazed he’d ever felt his passions rise in reaction to her blatant charms. No animosity showed in the girl’s brown eyes, he was relieved to note.
“Ale, Polly.”
The girl nodded and left him. Blake looked about the dining room. The little touches of gentility—flowers and decorations—had been removed, save for the tablecloths. The men tended to get a bit rowdy with his ale in their bellies, and such refinements would be lost on them. A few women accompanied the men this evening, more than he’d noted in the recent past. Couples, a few much older than his usual patrons, occupied several tables. Well, the food was fine. And the coarser amusements generally held themselves until well after the dining hour.
“Ale,” Polly said, placing the tankard on the table.
Blake nodded, fingering the rim of the mug as he frowned into its amber depths.
“What’s troublin’ ya’?” Polly asked.
He glanced toward the girl. “What?”
Polly sat down in the chair opposite and propped her elbows on the table. “I ain’t seen that dark a scowl since the little dove got herself into that bit of trouble.”
Blake knew she spoke of Duggins and his attempt to gain more from Taylor than a mug of ale. He snorted a laugh and took up his ale, taking a long drink.
“My life is no concern of yours, Polly,” he said, softening the rebuke with a small smile.
The girl shrugged. “I care not where ya’ take yer pleasure now, Thompson,” she said easily. “But Taylor . . . she ain’t the type to give somethin’ so precious for nothin’.”
“I married her.”
Polly stood and adjusted her apron over her ample hips. “Aye. But she’s gentle, that one. Take care with her.”
What was this, his former paramour schooling him on the care of the lady now the center of his attentions? One glance into the girl’s wide eyes showed him her sincerity. Taylor had indeed worked her magic on The Hideaway.
“Thank you for the ale, Polly.”
She shrugged one shoulder and turned to see to the other customers. He drank more of his ale and thought of the sweet girl abovestairs. The distance between them at present might prove a blessing. That day spent in the village, in so domestic a task as seeing her properly outfitted for the role in which he cast her that morning, struck an odd chord in him now. Taylor was his wife. There was nothing else for it. She had nothing to draw her back to Sussex, no family save for her vile cousin. No money from her father’s estate save for that in trust, though he had no idea when she’d see to the marriage settlement. He cared naught about her dowry. He would have married her regardless. He had plenty of money for both of them to live comfortably. And she certainly had no loving brother to see to her safety at present. That was Blake’s duty now.
Duty, he thought sourly as he drained his tankard and gestured for another. He had willingly shirked his duty these past four years, save for his work and his missions. But those were eagerly taken and readily resolved with little harm done to him or his sensibilities. Any ties to his own noble relations wouldn’t draw him back to duty of a more familial sort.
Jason was their father’s heir, after all. Yet, from when Blake was in the nursery, their mother had impressed upon him that he should take pride in the estate and regard it as being as much a part of him as it was a part of his older brother. And from what Jason told him about their father and Thompson Hall when he stopped at The Hideaway, the estate was doing just fine. Blake never asked after their father, though. And, apparently, their father never asked after him. His mother had been wrong. His father truly had no use for him.
He dispatched much of his second tankard, ignoring Polly’s snort of displeasure as he asked her to swiftly refill it before leaving. The din of the others occupying the room rose as the evening’s merriments began in earnest, but they barely intruded on his mind’s unwelcome wanderings. Even as he thought on all of this, and Taylor’s dependence on him, his heart attempted to clarify matters despite the increasingly dense cloud of ale.
More than duty prompted him to ask for Taylor’s hand that night, more than the fear she’d come to harm in London without him there to protect her. When she was in his arms, he felt . . . he couldn’t put a word to it. But he wanted her at The Hideaway. And in his life. Exchanging marriage vows would keep her with him. He wouldn’t seek an escape he didn’t truly desire. And if he appeared honorable, both to the residents of Homerton as well as his brother, that wasn’t his concern.
Was he ready for this? He still hadn’t found Robert, hadn’t found one trace to lead him to his best friend and brother-in-law. He had to find Robert and soon. Otherwise he and Taylor had no chance to be happy.
Some time later he left the empty dining room and climbed the stairs with plodding steps. He paused before Taylor’s door, swaying slightly on his feet. So many nights he’d stood here, his gut twisting with uncertainty. She wasn’t behind that unlocked door any longer, though. No. She was waiting in the bed they now shared. The ale soured his belly and clouded his brain, but his heart wouldn’t be silenced. He wanted Taylor. She was his. And he’d have her, honor be damned.
* * *
Taylor shifted in the bed, letting out a sigh. Her dreams were filled with the pleasantries of their day in the village, walking on Blake’s arm, taking their meals together as if they were any happily betrothed couple. Of their wedding ceremony, strained but lovely. And the wonderful lover her husband proved to be, again, on their wedding night.
Suddenly she came awake in the silence of Blake’s chamber. She sat up and rubbed at her eyes. She could see the door stood open. The sound of the hinges must have awakened her.
“Taylor.”
A shiver of recognition danced over her flesh as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. Blake. Their early dinner hadn’t differed from those they’d shared since their betrothal, stilted conversation and awkwardness despite their intimacy. But she sensed something different tonight. Different even from the man who’d loved her like a husband just last night.
She could say nothing as he stumbled into the room and closed the door behind him. Moonlig
ht through the window showed his profile, his large frame soon blocking even that light as he stood beside the bed.
“What is it, Blake?” she asked.
He didn’t answer, but grabbed her to him as his body came down upon hers. The big bed groaned its protest even as her body sang its delight. He tasted of ale, but it wasn’t unpleasant taken with the unique flavor of his kisses as he parted her lips with his tongue. He untied the ribbon holding her chemise closed and pressed tightly against her. The buttons of his jacket and waistcoat dug into her flesh and she gasped.
He stilled and drew away from her, and she nearly screamed from the loss of contact. With a growl he tore off his clothes, even his breeches, and fell upon her once more. Heat flared between them, and Taylor happily gave herself up to the blaze. His lips burned a path to her breasts, and he took one nipple deep into his mouth. She arched wildly, letting out a moaning sound that she barely recognized as coming from her own lips. His strong fingers caressed her, bringing his fire to the secret place between her legs. Before she knew what he was about, his mouth took over his fingers’ task.
“Oh . . . !” she gasped.
Again and again, his tongue flicked over her heated flesh, driving her toward an ecstasy she trusted would only come from him. When she climaxed, she let loose with a cry. Before she could regain her wits he entered her, hot and heavy and wonderful. He withdrew almost completely and drove forward again.
“God, Taylor,” he moaned.
She said nothing, just wrapped her arms around his neck. He took her hands and drew them over her head, bracing himself on his strong arms as he never ceased his thrusts. She felt her second release crest, knew that she’d once more fly out of herself, and tearfully called his name. Then he was there with her, his body humming as he found his own climax deep within her.
He was suddenly too heavy to bear. His snores met her ears and she wriggled from underneath him.
A Hero and A Gentleman Page 17
