by Deb Marlowe
His heart twisted. “Good.” Her hand still covered his mouth. The word emerged hot against her fingers.
She was leaving. It wasn’t good. But it was likely right.
She took her hand away. “I’m starting now,” she whispered, leaning full up against him, firing his blood with the press of her long torso to his. “I know you can’t give me everything I want, but this may be it, the last chance I have to feel this way.”
Plain words, but they seared his soul, ignited a hot pool of desire—and chilled him to the bone.
“I’m asking,” she said. “Whatever you can give—I want to take it with me.”
God, what she did to him. He’d been dead and dry inside for so long—now he felt bursting with life and need. Not new—but reborn. She’d reintroduced him to the entire gamut of emotion; interest, building desire, flaring passion, want. Fear, too, because he was alive again—with all of his experience and wisdom intact.
Gratitude flared too, because without her generous spirit and shining example he might never have found his way back.
She asked for reassurance and validation. He was going to give it to her—no matter how it hurt to let her go afterward.
They were mere inches apart now. Impossible for her to jump into his arms, but she managed something close, pressing tight and raising her hands to lock behind his head. She kissed him, demanding, nipping, and then melting, softening into the sweetest of supplications.
Impossible to resist. He was the dragon tamed by the sweet maiden’s touch. Except suddenly her innocent kisses were too sweet to fulfill the hunger roaring inside of him. He stood, pulling her with him and the kiss turned rough again. Their tongues clashed, danced while he wrapped his arms around her and hitched her hard against him. His cock surged against her, rock hard and insistent. He fought for control, bent and tucked a hand under her and lifted her into his arms.
Lisbeth broke the kiss, laughing a little, but her trembling betrayed her nerves. He carried her to the corner, to the chaise his mother had placed here, where she’d busied herself while his father lost himself in his studies.
Edmund stopped beside it. He let Lisbeth slide the long, slow way down the front of him. When her feet hit the floor he buried his face in the curve of her nape and drank in her hiss of pleasure.
With his big hands he covered her breasts. She gasped again and arched into him. Such a struggle to go slow, to be gentle. But he managed. He pushed her wrapper off her shoulders instead of tearing it away, tugged her night rail until one lovely breast sprung free. Her nipple hardened instantly. He raked it with his thumb, knelt to take it with his mouth. He set to teasing it with the graze of his teeth and the flick of his tongue. He palmed her other breast and she groaned long and low, then pinched her lips together and buried her hands in his hair.
Long moments later, he slowed. Lifting her as easily as he would a babe, he laid her down, settling her back into the corner of the chaise. Caught, he stood, just drinking her in.
Long and elegant. Creamy skin flushed with pink. Disheveled braid snaking around to rest against her luscious bare breast. He looked up, past kiss-plumped lips to midnight eyes.
He was hard and full, almost painfully aroused. He wanted nothing more than to claim her, mark her as his, once and forever. Instead, he sank down onto a knee and stretched out beside her.
Lisbeth reveled in his heat, lifted for his kiss, arched her breast into his caress. More. She wanted more. She’d gone wild with desire, reckless with need. In this moment he was hers and she wanted to drown in it.
So large, his hands. They made her feel delicate as they moved over her, fanning across her ribs and sliding down her hip. All the muscles in his chest rippled against her as he reached for the hem of her night rail, tugged it high. She let him, losing herself in the delight of his touch against her bare leg.
Her heart skipped when his touch skimmed inward, teased the delicate skin inside her thighs, urged them apart. Feeling wicked and wonderfully wanton she allowed it—and reeled when he touched her between her legs, right where she’d gone wet, slick and aching.
Bliss.
Her toes curled. She groaned deep and he put his mouth to hers and swallowed it.
He knew better than her what her body wanted. Where to circle slow, when to stroke gently, when to rub harder, faster until she nearly burst with pleasure.
“I feel like one of your gadgets,” she gasped.
“So much better than a gadget,” he growled. “But I am building you higher.” His finger entered her, just a bit, and her pelvis rocked involuntarily. “Higher still,” he whispered and flicked her with a steady rhythm that had her reaching, spiraling, leaving her body entirely behind while she condensed around one straining pulse of erotic pleasure.
She moaned, she thrashed—and she went over a precipice that she never knew existed. Falling, falling, she shook and tumbled and gloried in the tumult.
Minutes passed before she came back to herself. A new self, sated and feeling thoroughly feminine with the press of his hard body against her and the sound of his harsh breathing in her ear.
“Oh,” she said. A most selfish moment, but strangely she didn’t feel guilty. Feeling confident and strong, she reached down and cupped the enormous swell of his manhood, where it pressed against her hip.
He moaned and thrust hard into her. Then reached down and gently disengaged her hand.
“No.”
“No? But—”
“You’re going home,” he whispered. “It would be wrong to hold you here, to clip your wings.”
Everything inside of her stilled.
“I send you with every wish for your happiness—and I want you to remember this moment, remember that you deserve to be worshipped, my dear.”
A tear got away, slid down her cheek. He wiped it away.
“Whenever you are alone, facing your mother or stepfather, some moldy squire or any other obstacle, remember that you can fly, that you are a lovely, giving woman and that you possess power of your own. Enough to change your fate. Enough to save a little girl. Enough to conquer a lonely, prickly recluse and pull him back into the world again.
Almost, she asked. Couldn’t he come just a bit farther? Far enough to make room for someone beside him?
But she’d already asked, hadn’t she? And this had been her answer. A lovely, shattering interlude. But not enough.
She was done with not enough.
So she kissed his temple, laid a hand on his craggy, strong jaw. “Thank you,” she whispered.
She rose, scooped up her wrapper, pulling it on as she crossed the room. At the door she stopped and smiled back at him through a sheen of tears.
“Goodbye,” she said. “And welcome back.”
Turning, she went to her room. And on with her life.
Chapter Nine
Edmund tossed down the suspension spring and lead he’d been fiddling with for too long and dug his fingers into his scalp instead. The problem lay not with the mechanical parts, but with his lack of concentration.
The agency had sent a new candidate for governess this morning. She’d met with him and with Aurelia. Having heard something of their situation, she’d brought along a book on the flora and fauna of Cornwall, where she’d grown up. He’d thought it well done of her. The gesture had won Aurelia’s hesitant approval.
Lisbeth was leaving today. He’d heard the servants discussing it. She’d spent the morning packing and meant to spend the night at a coaching in, so as not to miss the pre-dawn boarding tomorrow.
She and Aurelia had only just left for the party in Richmond. Lisbeth had not bid him goodbye or seen him at all since last night. She’d be back long enough to gather her things this afternoon, and then she’d be gone.
He could comfort himself knowing she’d find her rightful sphere. A home and family of her own to look after, guard zealously, run efficiently. An unknown husband to spoil and comfort, to kiss with abandon, to fall apart beautifully beneath.
A timid knock sounded on the door.
He sat up, only to find he’d kept a hold of the spring earlier and now it was tangled in his hair. He wrestled it free and called, “Enter.”
A footman came in, carrying a message. “This was just left by a messenger boy, my lord. I wouldn’t disturb you, sir, but he said it was urgent.”
Edmund unfolded it.
Meeting today. Two o’clock.
Your presence is required.
Regarding: the future of Miss Elisabeth Mills Moreton.
It was signed by someone named Thorpe and gave a Dorrington Street address.
Edmund looked up. “Bring the boy to me.”
“He didn’t wait, my lord. Left even before collecting a vail.”
“Very well.” There was no decision to be made, really. He stood. “Have the carriage brought `round.”
Less than an hour later he was admitted to a respectable looking home. Obviously expected, he was taken straight toward the back of the house. Puzzled, he looked about. There was no hint of whose house it might be. No portraits, no sound, no warmth, either. The place felt bleak and empty.
Until a set of doors swung open and Edmund’s temper flared. “Vickers! What in hell are you about?”
The other man turned, brow arching. “Answering a summons, the same as you, I suspect.” He turned and gestured toward a small statured man standing behind a cluttered desk in the one bright spot in the room. “Thorpe, I presume?”
“Aye. Come in, the pair of you.” The balding man stepped from behind the desk and gestured toward a grouping of chairs before a cold hearth. “Let me say my piece and get this over with.”
If Lisbeth’s name had not been involved, Edmund would have walked out.
“I’ll get right to the point. I’ve been persuaded, against my better judgment, to interfere with Elisabeth Moreton’s stepfather on her behalf. She won’t be entering into service or marrying a cattle-mad squire twice her age. She will be given a come-out or a trip abroad or whatever she has her heart set on now. But in order for this to work, we must change the story a bit. She’s been staying on with me these weeks in London. Is that understood? Only the two of you can truly contest it. I urge you not to.” He pointed to them both. “That means you keep quiet and your servants, too. Will this be a problem?”
“Who the hell are you to Miss Elisabeth Moreton?” Edmund demanded.
Thorpe huffed. “I am her legally appointed trustee. You will agree to stay silent if you want what’s best for the girl. I want this wrapped up quickly or I shall wash my hands of it. This was not the agreement I entered into with her father—”
The man launched into a grievous list of complaints and Edmund looked about. This then had been the business she’d pursued. And met with . . . what? What had happened to the strange man to bring him to such a manner of existence? He stared at a nearby map of Asia and an attached list of exports. Surely there had been an inciting incident. Perhaps just a slow slide brought on by grief, loss, or disappointment?
Edmund had known all three. He hadn’t been smart to wall himself off from the world in response, to replace human interaction with mechanics and equations and long hours in his lab, but he’d been so weary. Heartsore. And yes, a little afraid.
Afraid. But he’d never been a coward. He straightened. Until last night.
He stared about with dawning horror. This. This is what the path of cowardice could so easily lead to. It wasn’t even a stretch to imagine himself in a similar dungeon of his own making, surrounded by metal bits and gears instead of maps and charts. Instead of life and love.
He stood. Strode out of the door without a word.
“Cotwell?”
He ignored the call. Only stopped on the outside stoop when Vickers grabbed his shoulder.
“Cotwell. Will you give Lisbeth a message for me?”
Edmund ran an eye over his former friend. He looked more rested. His eyes had lost their dark circles and he appeared less . . . haunted.
“What is it?”
“Tell her I’m sorry. That I’m glad things worked out for her. That I’d like to see her.”
“To what purpose?” Edmund barked.
“To make amends.” Vickers paused. “And then, well, we shall see.”
Edmund bristled. “Stay the hell away from her.”
Vickers stared. “You’ve no right to dictate who she sees.”
“Not yet.” He spun about and climbed into his carriage. “We’re going to Richmond,” he told the coachman.
* * *
James watched him go. When Cotwell’s vehicle turned a corner, he walked the few steps to his own waiting carriage.
“There.” Hestia Wright smiled at him from inside. “You’ve done what you can. Either he will act or he won’t.”
“He already has.”
She sighed in relief. “Good. Be happy for them. And move forward.”
James nodded. And hoped that it was possible.
Chapter Ten
It was the perfect day for a garden party. The sun shone warm, the river lay calm, and the lightest of breezes ruffled the blooms and the hems of the ladies’ dresses. Lady Ashburn had set up a charming table for the little girls at the edge of the lawns, near the entrance into the side gardens. Her adult guests enjoyed themselves in happy groups across the lawns or in pairs down by the shoreline. Her servants kept a supply of dainty party foods and an array of drinks moving steadily.
Lisbeth figured that she was the only thorn currently in their hostess’s side.
None of the other girls had brought a governess. They’d accompanied their families or been escorted by a nurse. Lady Ashburn didn’t know what to do with Lisbeth, as she wasn’t an invited guest, nor quite a servant.
Lisbeth solved the problem by taking up stance alone, just a bit removed from the children’s party, beneath a blooming hedge. Aurelia occasionally glanced over her shoulder to check if she was still there. Every time, Lisbeth nodded and smiled, and Aurelia would go back to enjoying the party.
The rest of the time, Lisbeth amused herself by avoiding the buzzing bees, watching the guests interact and imagining what they might do if they knew what she’d been up to with Lord Cotwell last night.
She bit back a smile and felt encouraged that she could joke about it, even to herself. She supposed she should feel a bit of guilt. She couldn’t. She refused to regret taking something for herself.
And she’d enjoyed it entirely too much.
Sighing, she waved another bee from her hat, then realized that something had stirred up the guests. They leaned together in groups, whispering. Gradually they all turned to look—not at her, thank goodness—but toward the house. She stepped away from the hedge to see what the fuss was about.
Her heart skipped painfully. Lord Cotwell had emerged onto the terrace above the lawns.
He looked as rumpled as usual—except that his dark hair looked as if the wind had scattered it in different directions. He halted at the edge of the terrace and scanned the party.
Their gazes met.
Trepidation seized up all of her innards. Every one.
But he made his way toward the children with those long, loose strides, and pulling Aurelia aside, he knelt and whispered in her ear.
After a moment she nodded and broke into a brilliant grin.
He stood, then. Turned toward Lisbeth.
She couldn’t swallow.
But Aurelia tugged on his hand. Letting him go, she skipped over to whisper in Margaret Ashburn’s ear. Another ear-splitting grin, and Margaret reached out, pulled the flowers from the centerpiece vase and went to present them to the baron.
He took the dripping flowers in one hand and Aurelia’s tiny grip in the other—and set out toward her.
All the little girls followed on his heels.
The low buzz of party chatter had died. Only the bees made noise now as every guest turned their eye toward her. Sh
e shifted, unable to keep still as the whole troop stopped before her.
Lord Cotwell thrust the flowers at her. All the little girls giggled.
“My lord,” she said somewhat caustically. “I fear you are making a spectacle.”
“I know,” he grumped in return. “I’m hoping you’ll appreciate the extreme irony.”
“Take the flowers,” Aurelia prodded.
She accepted the blooms and raised a brow at the baron.
“There’s the problem.” He sounded excited and cross. “I know I’m a bad bargain. I’m blunt and testy. Often grubby. I hibernate like a bear in my laboratory and I deliberately let the blood run dry in my veins.” He hitched a shoulder. “You came along and woke me up and I’m such an idiot I congratulated myself on remembering to bring my caution and inhibitions along.”
She jumped a little when he reached out to take her hand. “It took me too long, I know, but I took a page from your book and I stopped to listen. I’ve been hanging on your words, but at last I hear. I let myself feel, but only so much. I knew you deserved more, but I didn’t think I could cast off those hindrances and restraints.”
She bit her lip and fought back tears. “Can you?”
“I’m damned well going to try. Lisbeth Moreton,” he whispered, “you’ve dragged me back to life and now I cannot bear the thought of living it without you. I know your marketing skills are fearsome, but just this once, will you make the bad bargain and take me on?”
“And me!” Aurelia piped up.
“Both of us,” he amended. “I promise I shall spend the rest of my days trying to increase the value of the trade.”
The tears fell then and she looked to Aurelia. The girl’s eyes shone bright too, but she nodded. Lisbeth handed her the flowers and took her other hand. They stood together, all three linked.
“I’ll take you both on, if you’ll have a practical girl like me—and if you’ll make me one promise.”
