“Look at me,” he ordered gruffly, working in and out of her, harder and harder, until his own breaths came in puffs in an effort to keep calm.
She opened her eyes upon command and gasped beneath him.
He slammed into her, making those full breasts sway against the impact. It tightened every inch of his skin. He couldn’t stop. He wanted to pour seed into her. Slamming into her again and again and again, he savagely held that beautiful gaze as she half moaned in an effort to keep her eyes open.
Her fingers dug into his waist, keeping him in place against her.
Unable to remain calm, and feeling as if his body and soul were about to detonate, he pumped, intent on ramming every last inch into her.
She cried out and shuddered beneath him.
That cry and shudder was his undoing.
Waves of ecstasy raked the last of his tense body as his cock pulsed out seed into her wet warmth. He groaned, stilling against her, wanting and needing his seed to penetrate her womb so that she could change his life by allowing him to become the father he’d always wanted to be. “Bernadette.”
He collapsed against her softness. Closing his eyes, he pressed himself against her, desperately trying to regain his mind and his breath. He’d never spilled seed into a woman before. And that is how he knew she was indeed the one. For his body and soul wanted and needed her to carry his child.
He slowly pulled out and staggered to sit up, rebuttoning his trousers. He wedged in beside her on the small mattress. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he tugged her softness against his side and positioned her to look up at him.
He searched those dark eyes, his chest tightening. “You are giving me far too much. And I keep taking far too much. I have yet to prove myself to you. I have yet to—”
A pounding came against the door, rattling it against its latches and bolts.
Matthew scrambled up and out of her arms, his pulse roaring. Dearest God. He’d forgotten his duty to Bernadette. A duty to protect her from the world he’d dragged her into. A world she was still trapped in because of his stupidity and his inability to resist everything she was. He had to get her out.
He lowered his voice. “Get dressed. Now.”
Her eyes widened. Tossing the corset aside, she scrambled toward the rest of her clothing and commenced frantically yanking on her chemise and everything else she could.
He strode over to his crate of weapons and froze. He’d given Smock his last pistol and Andrews hadn’t returned his other one. Shite. He grabbed up the butcher knife that was angled downward in the crate.
Glancing toward Bernadette, who was now scrambling to get all the remaining hooks on her gown into place, he pointed at her and then tapped his lips.
She nodded, acknowledging his request, and quickly returned to rehooking the bodice of her gown.
Heading toward the door, he set his shoulder against it and yelled out, “Who is it?”
“Marshal Royce. Open the goddamn door. Now.”
Matthew froze. The man didn’t sound pleased. But then again, when did he ever? “What do you want?”
“Would you rather I come back at a more convenient time so you can grab a few more weapons? Is that it?”
Matthew tightened his hold on the blade. “As always, Royce, you seem to think that I’ll answer to a tone that is anything but civil. You’re not dealing with a felon here. You’re dealing with a man who has helped you for years. So give me the respect I deserve or I’m not opening shite.”
There was a huff of a breath beyond the door. “I want Lady Burton. Is she with you?”
He tried to remain calm. “Yes.”
“Good. Now, I suggest you not only put down whatever weapon I know you’re holding, but open the door.”
Gritting his teeth, Matthew tossed the butcher knife, letting it clatter to the floor, and unlatched all the bolts. He pulled open the door, letting its weight swing it wide, and stepped aside. “Shall I set the table for tea? Or do you prefer quail and caviar?”
“I prefer respect, cooperation and, above all, silence.” Royce loomed, garbed in his usual blue military regalia with a sword at his side whose tip extended to the top of his black boots. Royce’s dark eyes pierced the short distance between them, his rain-soaked black hair clinging to his forehead.
“Silence,” Royce repeated tonelessly. “Don’t speak unless I tell you to. Right now, you and the rest of this godforsaken ward are beyond redemption after what happened to Lady Burton last night. We’ve already made over fifteen arrests and the Astors have placed an astounding reward of a hundred thousand for her return. So I suggest we get her the hell out of Five Points before people make a grab for her for the money alone.”
Matthew’s gut clenched.
The man strode in, a black-leather-gloved hand on his sword. His muddied boots echoed menacingly as he scanned the room beyond Matthew, where the hearth was. “Where is she?” His gaze swept over to the low closet, brows rising.
Snapping back toward Matthew, Royce swept out his sword, the metal clanging, and whipped the sword’s tip toward Matthew’s chest, pointing it. “What the hell did you do?”
Matthew stared, feeling his face prickling with heat. There were many, many times throughout the years when people on the streets of New York had passed him, clutching their wives and children, all due to a patch and his inability to afford good clothes. He’d learned to swallow that humiliation for years, but this was where it ended.
Matthew stalked toward the man. “Get that sword out of my face, you—”
Royce jumped at him, angling the edge of the blade just below Matthew’s throat. He grabbed him by the collar hard.
“Cease!” Bernadette skidded into the doorway of the low closet, her disheveled evening gown and unraveled long black hair swaying around her panicked stance. “Sir! Cease this! I will have you know that Matthew is my lover and has been for some time. Now release him!”
Royce’s hands loosened as he drew away the sword and released him with a push. Turning back to Bernadette, he resheathed his weapon with a sweep. “Milton is your—” He paused, his tone hardening. “Did he threaten you to say this?”
Matthew wanted to fist the bastard into the floor, but doubted it would help the situation.
“I beg your pardon,” Bernadette coolly retorted. “Do you doubt our association, sir?”
“’Tis my duty to doubt, Lady Burton. People lie to me all the time. And if I believed everyone, the prisons would all be empty, wouldn’t they?”
“I see.” Bernadette set her chin and swept past Royce with a strut. Leveling Matthew with a heated stare that made him pause, she approached, reached up and grabbed Matthew’s face, pulling him down and toward her.
Startled, Matthew stiffened.
And that was when she kissed him. In front of Royce. And she not only kissed him, but tongued him so deep in the mouth, he felt like he was going to stagger and fall over.
Heart pounding, Matthew grabbed for her and yanked her hard against himself, not only because he was enjoying the hell out of this, but because he wanted to let Royce know that this was his. And he was damn proud of it.
Royce cleared his throat. “A full demonstration wasn’t really necessary.”
Bernadette broke away from their kiss, the heat of her hands still holding the sides of his face with the determination her kiss had established.
Matthew opened his eyes, trying to catch breaths, and held her intent gaze in awe of everything that she was. God, how he loved her.
He was in love with the way she fought for him. He was in love with how she’d been able to see past the patch, the clothes and the broken windows of his life that had kept so many people away. She was everything he had ever wanted in a woman and more.
Thank God Miss Drake had let him go nine years ago and he hadn’t found anyone since. Or he wouldn’t have had this.
She released him, her features tight, and regally turned back to Royce. “I expect an apology issued to Mr.
Milton, sir. Or I will address this with your superiors within the hour. How dare you enter his home and put a sword to his throat whilst slapping his honor and mine, insinuating that because of my status, I could never associate with a man like this? Now, apologize to him. He has more than earned it.”
Matthew blinked, an astonished gruff laugh escaping him. Damn.
Adjusting his vest with a satisfaction he hadn’t felt in years, Matthew slowly strode over to Royce until he was able to angle himself toward the marshal, face-to-face. He stared the man down. The same man who had always thought himself better than he. “Make it heartfelt, Royce. I may be blind in one eye, but the ears are still pretty damn good.”
Royce shifted his jaw, his hand tightening on the hilt of the sword hanging by his side. After a long moment of silence, he genuinely offered, “I should have never drawn my sword or grabbed you without having had an understanding of the situation. And for that, I apologize.”
It was good enough. Matthew nodded. “Not bad. Now. I want her the hell out of here, given there’s a hundred-thousand-dollar reward hanging over her head. Have the Astors cut the strings on that shite right quick, lest we have mobs hunting her down in an effort to claim it. I also suggest you keep an eye on Cassidy and whoever else was in on this. I’ll give you a list of the ones who weren’t in on it. All I have to say is that if you aren’t going to arrest Cassidy and the rest for what happened to her last night, I will damn well let the state know. Because attempted mass rape is no different than accomplished mass rape. That said, by the end of this week, I’m dismantling the Forty Thieves. I’m on a different path now. One that will get me out of this hole I’ve been in for years.”
Royce shook his head, swiping away rain-soaked hair from his forehead. “Everyone in my division is working on this, Milton, and we’re still making arrests. Cassidy, as well as four others, are already in manacles.”
Matthew felt a whoosh of relief knowing those bastards were already in custody. “Good. There is one other thing, however. The man who instigated this, Lord Dunmore, is requesting that I meet him at Kill Hill tonight at nine. Apparently, he wants me to arrive alone, but I’m not stupid. I need you and other marshals there.”
“We’ll be there. Don’t you worry in that.” Heaving out a breath, Royce gestured toward the open door. “I have a carriage outside you can both make use of. I still have to conduct a number of investigations here in the ward, so take Lady Burton to the Astors’ before taking her home. They are beside themselves and need assurance.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Wealth and privilege does mean insinuate Communion and God.
—The Truth Teller, a New York Newspaper for Gentlemen
The Astor Home—Hudson Square
IN LESS THAN SEVEN hours, when the sun long sank into the horizon, he’d be at Kill Hill, but for some reason the thought of that didn’t unnerve him quite as much as...this.
Matthew awkwardly lingered in his patched great coat behind Bernadette in the pristine vast foyer whose gleaming floors were all made of white, reflective marble. A massive chandelier made of at least a thousand crystals lit the expanse of the entryway. Honey-colored silk-brocaded walls clothed the expanse of not only the foyer but the adjoining large rooms that seemed to stretch endlessly beyond it.
A servant in livery stiffly rounded him and cleared his throat, holding out white gloved hands. “Your coat, sir?”
Matthew patted his great coat into place and tried to playfully push off the awkwardness he felt. “Perhaps another time. When I’m wearing my fur coat and top hat.”
Bernadette reached out and smacked his arm.
“Bernadette,” a male, timbered voice choked out.
Matthew snapped his gaze up toward a young, dashing-looking man of about twenty standing at the top of the sweeping staircase, dressed in expensive morning clothes and black leather riding boots. His blond hair had been swept back with tonic, making him look more debonair than Matthew, as a man, wanted to acknowledge or admit.
The young man quickly descended the staircase, a gold-and-emerald ring on his finger glinting as he jumped down the remaining stairs. “Grandmother and Grandfather are still resting. It’s been a wretched night for all of us. The moment they rise, I’ll be sure to let them know you are here. Thank God for you being back with us. Thank God.”
Matthew lowered his chin. Back with us?
Bernadette hurried toward the man, her long unbound hair swaying against her movements. “Jacob.” She flung herself into those lean, muscled arms and buried herself against him.
“Bernadette,” Jacob murmured against the curve of her shoulder. His ungloved hands slowly dragged and traveled up the length of her back and into her hair.
Matthew’s breath burned watching those hands caress Bernadette’s unbound hair as if the man were about to ride her right there in front of him. Matthew fought to remain rational and indifferent. He was overreacting.
Maybe they were distant cousins.
Very distant cousins.
Or friends.
Very good friends.
Jacob grabbed Bernadette’s face with both hands and leaned his forehead against hers, the bridge of their noses touching. “I’m so damn glad you’re safe. So glad.”
Jacob lowered his voice and added something Matthew couldn’t quite hear.
She choked out a laugh.
Matthew’s breaths now came in ragged takes, sensing whatever had been said was about as intimate as any touch. And he sure as hell wasn’t about to stand for it.
Stalking toward them, Matthew yanked Bernadette out of those arms. Dragging in more breaths that were anything but calm, he towered over the youth and ground out, “You’re really not all that intelligent if you think I’m going to watch this.”
“Mattthew—” Bernadette softly insisted.
Jacob’s green eyes held Matthew’s. “And who are you?”
“Do I really need to say it?” Matthew flung back. “Or is my displeasure enough for you to figure it out?”
Those blond brows rose. The youth stepped back and scanned Matthew’s appearance from boot to patch. “Surely, this must be some sort of... I didn’t realize her taste in men was so...anarchist.”
It was damn bold for someone who was almost a head shorter than he. Grabbing the lapels of that expensive gray morning coat, Matthew jerked the youth toward himself. “Say that again, golden boy. Me and my fists didn’t quite hear you.”
“Matthew!” Bernadette wedged and shoved her way between them, breaking Matthew’s hold on the youth. “For heaven’s sake. Cease.” Her hands popped up, landing firmly on not only his chest but Jacob’s.
Jacob’s hand slowly came up and clasped Bernadette’s. He tightened his hold and stared Matthew down.
This was war. Matthew popped up a rigid fist, holding it in midair beside his head. “You’ve got two measly breaths to let her hand go.”
“Matthew!” Bernadette glanced up at him, her face not only flushed but astounded. “Enough.” Both of her hands jumped up to Matthew’s own chest, breaking that hold on her hand. She shook him. “Jacob is a dear friend and all but twenty. Surely you don’t intend on making a fool and a brute of yourself.”
Matthew lowered his clamped fist and set his shoulders, stepping back. A youth of twenty was hardly a threat. And yet...the way this Jacob still held his gaze in an unspoken challenge of “May the best man win” didn’t sit all that well with him. It silently clung to the air like the soot of gunpowder. And though Bernadette didn’t see it, he sure the hell did.
This boy, this Jacob, was in love with his Bernadette.
He attempted to steady himself. It was very difficult to remain calm and rational knowing that when he, Matthew, who had nothing to offer save the heart beating in his chest, was faced with a dashing young man who appeared to have everything, including two seeing eyes and a face untouched by the woes of life.
This golden boy personified everything Matthew had once been. Though not near
ly as wealthy, Matthew had also once been well dressed, well respected and had more than just Miss Drake twirling her parasol. And then Mr. Richard fecking Rawson had the gall to pilfer everything and toss Matthew and his father into the pits of an inferno known as the Five Points, bringing a quick end to not only his poor father’s life, but turning Matthew into a one-eyed, poverty-stricken freak, whose sense of morals, which he’d once prided himself on, had sunken straight into the mud.
In that moment, in meeting this boy, Matthew knew that he could never compete for Bernadette’s affection with the likes of men in her realm. Which was why his plans were about to go beyond the resurrection of his father’s paper. Once the loan Bernadette was so generously bestowing upon him was executed, she would not see him again until he had a home, furnishings, horses, a carriage and was dressed and looking better than golden boy himself. And when he was ready, and outright owned the paper and his life as a man, that’s when he would make Bernadette his. By the time he was done, she’d do more than fall upon her knee. She’d marry him.
Quickly turning to Bernadette, Matthew seized her hands, kissing each and squeezed them assuredly. “Forgive me. I’ll never act like that again.”
She smiled and nodded. “Thank you.”
Releasing her hands, Matthew stepped back toward this Jacob and set his shoulders. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you or treated you with such disdain, sir. It won’t happen again.”
Jacob’s face and jaw tightened. But he said nothing.
Because the boy knew there was no doubt whatsoever who the best man really was.
* * *
BERNADETTE QUIETLY LINGERED on the doorstep of her home, watching Matthew re-enter Marshal Royce’s carriage, which would take him back to his tenement.
Damn the man. He wouldn’t even enter her home when she had invited him in. All he did was offer her one searing long kiss goodbye. One clearly meant to last them both. He then endearingly thanked her for the ten-thousand-dollar loan that would be in his hands by the end of the week and asked that once a contract was drawn and signed, they not see each other until the debt had been paid. Fortunately, he insisted they remain in touch through letters during their time apart.
Forever a Lady Page 17
