by Darcy Burke
Mrs. Reddy contemplated her lap. When she looked up again, tears leaked from her eyes. “I don’t know if I’m equal to the task, my lord.”
“You’d prefer to risk Mr. Reddy’s violence than do honest work that would help both you and your sister?” Saxton’s tone now matched the frigidity of his eyes.
Mrs. Reddy turned her head, perhaps unable to bear the scrutiny of his gaze another moment. Olivia patted the woman’s shoulder instead of shaking it, which she longed to do. Tomorrow she would talk her into accepting the earl’s offer. Really, Mrs. Reddy had no other choice.
Olivia directed her attention to Saxton. “You should go.”
“You’ll accompany me upstairs.” His mouth was hard. “We aren’t finished.”
She knew they weren’t, but neither did she want to be alone with him. She was afraid of what might happen, what she might allow. “I should stay to comfort—”
He lightly took her arm, steering her toward the door along with him.
Olivia turned her head to look at Mrs. Reddy.
“Go on then. I’ll be fine.” Mrs. Reddy waved her out.
“I’ll check on you in the morning.” Olivia trudged from the apartment at Saxton’s side, but pulled her arm from his hand.
“You can’t stay here.” His voice was calm, controlled. In fact, he’d scarcely showed any emotion toward her at all since he’d gone to save Mrs. Reddy.
She climbed the stairs. She didn’t like him ordering her about. He didn’t own her. No one did. “Of course I can. You have no say in the matter.”
He followed close behind her. “Think about what you told Mrs. Reddy. What if Reddy comes back, and she’s not here to satisfy his violent urges?”
He made an excellent point, but right now Saxton’s presence intimidated her far more than the idea of Mr. Reddy returning. “I don’t think he will. And even if he did, he has no quarrel with me.”
Olivia preceded him into the apartment and went about gathering his clothes. Saxton closed the door after he entered just as Olivia had piled his garments on the chair. She picked the bills up from the table, meaning to give them to him.
He came to stand next to her. “You can’t stay here. Even if it wasn’t the dingiest, most horrible place I’ve ever seen, your safety has been compromised. I insist you come away with me tonight.”
Olivia clutched the money, relieved he’d dropped the topic of her failed scheme, at least for the moment. “I appreciate your concern, but I won’t feel any safer in your care.”
The chill in his eyes made her shiver. “Let us not forget I’m the injured party here. I’m offering you valid assistance that any sane woman in your position would gratefully accept.”
“What I did was wrong, but that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want to go with you.”
His grip on her arm tightened, but not painfully so. “How many times have you and Tilly executed this scheme?”
“Never.”
His intense stare curled her toes. “So you screw your other clients. It’s just me you defraud?”
She sucked in a breath, wishing he were ugly and cruel instead of devastatingly handsome and justifiably outraged. “No.”
His gaze heated and he pushed closer, his bare chest a hair’s breadth from hers. It was very difficult to find her voice. “I lied about being a whore. I’ve never traded my body for money. To anyone.”
He pressed even closer, bringing his pelvis against hers. “Should I feel complimented because you considered it with me?” His voice had dropped to a disturbingly seductive tone. The words caressed the side of her neck as he leaned in.
Horrifyingly, her body burned where she came into contact with him. Desire pulsed urgently between her thighs. Air couldn’t seem to find its way to her lungs. She wanted…she wasn’t sure what she wanted. “I…needed money.”
“Then take it.” He unfolded her hand, took the money from her palm, and set it on the table. He traced his finger around the edge of her face from brow to chin. She should flee, but could only stand there mute, bound by the promise in his gaze. “The devil,” he muttered before kissing her.
His lips were soft and so delicious, like cool water for her parched mouth. He curled his hands around her scalp and slanted his mouth. His tongue licked at her, seeking entry.
She shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t want this, but God help her she did. It had been so long since anyone had touched her with anything other than passing kindness.
Desperate to lose herself, forget everything that plagued her mind, she opened her mouth to him. With devastating skill, he swept his tongue inside and burned her. Shivers ran to her extremities and collected in her belly in a mass of longing. She lifted her hands and splayed her palms against the smooth heat of his shoulders.
She’d been kissed before, but never like this. He kissed her like he couldn’t get enough, as if she were the reason he drew breath. His tenderness and deliberation made her feel precious and beautiful and cherished. The way he stroked her tongue with his, the manner in which his lips played over hers, the tender clasp of his hands holding her close…his touch, his scent, the dark sounds of his body as he worshipped her with this kiss.
She wanted to wrap herself around him. She pulled at his shoulders and he answered by grinding his hips against hers. His erection pulsed against her, making her core unbearably damp.
His hands moved down, sliding to the curve of her lower back. His fingers dug into her, driving her against his arousal.
All the while his mouth continued, stirring her desire until she thought she might burst. His hand skimmed up her side and cradled the underside of her breast. She trembled as pleasure shot through her. His thumb tracked over her nipple. She wanted to weep with the joy of it.
A strong breeze blew the pound notes off the table and one fluttered against her arm before drifting to the floor. She was not a whore.
Olivia pulled back. Their mouths broke, and their mingled breath panted hotly between them. She ached for him, but if she accepted his money, she’d lose more than she could bear. “I don’t want you. Not like this.”
He ran his fingers down her neck and dragged them along her collarbone. “If I lift your skirts right now, your body will tell me otherwise.”
The truth of his words only enflamed her more. She had to stop him before it was too late. “You’ll force me then.”
His features hardened, the desire in his eyes cooling. He released her, and she sagged backward, her thighs quivering.
He turned away. A minute passed, and he didn’t move. Olivia waited to see what he would do, too afraid to poke the quiet beast.
Finally, he retrieved his shirt from the chair and drew it over his head. Olivia relaxed, her heartbeat slowing its frenetic pace. He sat on her bed and donned his stockings and boots. She silently watched his movements with a mixture of relief and disappointment. It was for the best. It had to be.
When he was finished, he stood and looked at her, his eyes reflecting none of the heat her body still contained. He picked up his waistcoat and pulled it on, then draped his cravat around his neck. “You should stay somewhere else tonight. Take the money and find a hotel or an inn.”
She moved around the table, more comfortable with the obstacle between them. Not because she feared him hurting her, but because if he didn’t leave soon, she’d be tempted to finish what she’d started. “I don’t want your money.” She should have said, I don’t want you again but couldn’t force the lie from her lips a second time.
“Don’t allow your pride to overrule common sense. Take the money.”
“And what will you expect in return?”
His gaze moved over her with deliberate intent. “Your company. And don’t tell me you don’t want me. I know a woman’s desire, and you do want me.”
The arrogance with which he delivered his assurances kindled her anger. “You presume too much, my lord.”
“I presume nothing except that you will lie, as you’re doing right now
.”
She wanted to dispute what he said, but she couldn’t. She merely stood mute while her wanton body warred with her scrupulous mind.
“I’ll come back tomorrow after you’ve had time to reflect on the benefits—both financial and physical—of accepting my offer. If you’re still intent to refuse the joy we could both share, we’ll find another way for you to earn the money.”
She was well aware of the benefits. The money was an obvious need, but the intimacy of sharing a night with him would give her more than food, shelter, or clothing. It would warm her through a hundred—maybe a thousand—lonely nights. But the cost was too dear. She wouldn’t change her mind. “Don’t come back. I made a mistake.”
His features flashed with fury. “Damn it, Olivia. I am not a mistake. I am the Earl of Saxton.”
And more tempting than the devil himself. She summoned her anger. Needed it if she wanted to keep him at bay. “I’m not interested in a liaison with you. You’ll have to satisfy your lust with someone else.”
With a few quick steps, he came around the table. She flattened herself against the wall. He didn’t touch her, but his lips hovered above hers. “I don’t want anyone else. I want you.” The barest touch of his mouth against hers, a whisper of a kiss. “Only you.”
He pulled back, whisking his coat from the chair. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Olivia sagged against the wall. It was only a matter of time before she surrendered. Because of the money, and because she couldn’t deny what he said…and he knew it.
He glanced at the pound notes strewn about by the breeze. “Keep the money. You’ll pay the debt—somehow.”
Her gaze strayed to the door.
He thrust his arms into his coat sleeves, his face stern and beautiful. “Don’t run from me, Olivia. I’ll find you.”
At last, he left. Her knees wilted, and she slid to the floor. She couldn’t be here come tomorrow. Though she knew it would infuriate him, she had to take the ten pounds and run. And pray he never found her.
Chapter Five
JASPER COULDN’T wait to hit someone. He strode toward the Black Horse Court and the tavern that bore the same name, his long gait devouring the cobblestones beneath his feet.
He still couldn’t believe she’d deceived him. He didn’t give his trust lightly, and tonight was a painful reminder why. Nevertheless, he still wanted her. More than he’d ever wanted anyone. More than Abigail.
And not just because of her beauty—Olivia was spirited and intelligent and unafraid to seek her own fortune. God, she’d set him afire. All while lying through her beautiful teeth.
He had great difficulty believing she wasn’t a prostitute—the skill she’d displayed before blindfolding him was not that of a virtuous young maiden. Abigail had demonstrated no such prowess.
However, if Olivia were a prostitute, there was no reason for her to have concocted her swindle in the first place. She would’ve taken his money and provided her services. So why the ruse?
His pace slowed as he turned into the court. He assumed her financial situation was dire, but to blindfold him and leave him to the mercy of some unknown whore was inexcusable. He intended to discover the truth, and maybe, if she could manage to keep from telling more lies, he’d offer to help her in a manner that didn’t involve fraud. And if he found her to be as innocent as she claimed, he would argue that trading her honor was never an acceptable solution. Ten years ago he’d allowed his honor to be stripped from him, and he would never, ever let it happen again.
Fisting his hands, he stalked into the crowded common room of the Black Horse Tavern. Sevrin typically sat at a table in the back corner with other members of the club. Jasper’s gaze settled on them, and he made his way to the lone empty chair.
“Evening, Saxton. I’d offer you some gin,” Sevrin gestured to the bottle on the table, “but I know you prefer whiskey.”
Gin sounded just fine after the night he’d had. “Is there a spare cup?”
Sevrin chuckled and motioned for the serving girl, who quickly deposited a chipped mug on the table. Jasper didn’t wait for niceties and poured himself a healthy draught. He took a deep, stinging drink, noting the entrance of two women, one with radiant red hair. She wasn’t Olivia, but her presence reminded him of her duplicity.
“You ready for conversation yet?” Sevrin asked with a more than a bit of sarcasm. Jasper shot him a warning glance, but Sevrin didn’t seem to care. He gestured to the lean young man sitting to his left. “This is Gifford. I don’t think you’ve met.”
Jasper contemplated the smoothness of Gifford’s jaw, the narrow set of his shoulders. He wasn’t terribly young, but neither had he reached full manhood. “Is he old enough to fight?”
Sevrin called for ale. “Don’t be an old fart, Saxton.”
“Will you fight tonight?” the young man asked.
“Aye.” Jasper drained the cup, eager for the gin to take the edge off his emotions. Coupled with a good fight, soon he wouldn’t feel a thing.
“Your knuckles have been bleeding, Sax,” Sevrin observed. “You already get into it tonight?”
“A necessary interruption.”
“I suppose that means you weren’t at some Society event. Isn’t there a ball or dinner party that needs your attendance?”
A musicale at Lady Ponsonby’s, not that Jasper cared. “Probably.”
Their ale was delivered—one tankard for each of the three men at the table. Sevrin took a long draught before saying, “I understand you’ll be selecting a bride soon.”
Jasper swilled the rest of his gin. “How do you know that?”
“My membership at White’s is still intact.” Sevrin grinned. “There are some things even stiff-necked Society pricks can’t take from a viscount. I saw at least a dozen wagers in the betting book as to who she’ll be. Care to give me a tip?”
“No.”
A crash from the other side of the common room drew their attention. Then came a shriek. Gifford jumped to his feet. Jasper and the others followed.
The commotion grew. Gifford preceded them toward the altercation. On the floor, a man straddled one of the women who’d entered. “Ye’re coming with me.”
She struggled, but the man was too big for her. Gifford reached down and threw him to the side. The boy was much stronger than he looked.
The man scrambled to his feet, but Gifford advanced on him. “You shouldn’t beat up women.” He grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and pushed him against the wall. His head hit the wood with a loud smack. Surprisingly, he didn’t lose consciousness.
The tavern keeper rushed to Sevrin. “Not in the common room. We have an arrangement.”
Sevrin nodded and moved to Gifford’s side. He pulled on the lad’s arm. “Go to the back. I’ll take care of this.” His voice was stern.
Gifford hesitated a moment, then he turned without a word.
“Go with him,” Sevrin said to Jasper.
He nodded and followed the youth into the back room they used for fighting. He stepped over the threshold just as he heard a grunt. Gifford stood near the far wall shaking out his hand.
“Did the wall somehow offend?” Jasper crossed the room and studied the lad’s hand. “I thought you meant to tear that man’s limbs from his body.”
“I might’ve, if not for Sevrin. If not for this club.”
Though he’d only just joined, Jasper shared his sentiment. In the midst of Holborn’s expectations, he’d needed something he could take inside himself and hold close. Fighting the other night and tonight dulled the sharp edges of his emotions, made the cold requirements of his station palatable. Jasper marveled at the commonality between him and this young man. “I think I understand.”
Gifford gave a commiserative nod, his eyes burning bright. “You can do things here, be different here.”
Sevrin stalked into the room. “Christ, Giff, you know the rules. No fighting outside this room.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” He said th
e words, but he didn’t look contrite at all. The fire in his gaze was hot and vivid. “I just couldn’t let him bully her.”
“You might try words first next time.” Sevrin motioned toward the makeshift bar along the wall. “Go on, Giff, have a drink.” The young man took himself off, the obstinate jut of his chin suggesting he needed the libation.
A woman pushed open a back door that Jasper hadn’t noticed during his previous visits. Several others tried to follow her inside, but Sevrin crossed the room and ushered them out. “Damn prostitutes.”
Other members began arriving, each hailing Jasper with a strong handshake or a hearty greeting. Sevrin returned to Jasper’s side. “Lightskirts from the neighborhood loitering in the hope of income.”
Was Olivia one of them? “Tell me, is there a red-haired beauty among them?”
Sevrin’s brows narrowed. “I don’t think so. There’s a carrot-topped woman, quite buxom, but I wouldn’t term her a beauty. Wait, do you mean Olivia West? She lives across the street in Coventry Court with a group of women who do come here.”
Jasper turned toward him sharply. “What do you know of her? Is she a prostitute?”
“She doesn’t hang about with the others. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen her hawking her wares.”
Just because Sevrin hadn’t seen her didn’t mean she was innocent. Of anything.
Sevrin clapped him on the shoulder. “You ready?”
“More than.” Jasper shrugged out of his coat, eager to banish all thought of Olivia. At least for tonight.
THE following morning, Olivia tucked the last of her belongings—her mother’s painted box containing Saxton’s ten pounds—in her old valise. She’d also stuffed her sewing basket and tattered bag, but she’d still have to leave a few things behind and perhaps come back for them later.
She’d spent the night tossing fitfully. The heat in her tiny, airless room was more than enough to keep sleep away, but coupled with tormenting thoughts of Lord Saxton’s kisses and the way she’d deceived him, she’d been helpless to do anything but stare at her ceiling. A ceiling she must now bid farewell. At least she could afford a decent place to stay for the short term.
