by Amy Sandas
Lily turned in place. She slipped her arms around his naked torso and tipped her head back to look into his face. Her smile was so wide her cheeks ached, but she did not hold back. Her joy in the past few months had grown by leaps and bounds, and only because of how much she had seen her happiness reflected in the man she loved.
Love flowed freely between them as he lowered his head to take her mouth in a kiss that was slow and deep.
“I should really be getting home.” Lily sighed when he lifted his head, though she did nothing to remove herself from the circle of his arms.
A frown creased his brow. “Let me obtain a special license. We can be married by month’s end.”
Lily smiled. “No. You promised a long engagement, and I shall hold you to it.”
A growl rumbled through his chest. “I want you as my wife.”
“And you shall have me. After a public and lengthy courtship.”
“You are killing me.”
Lily slipped from his embrace. She crossed to her clothes and began to dress.
“I daresay you will survive the delay, Avenell,” she answered through the smile she could not seem to wipe away.
As she sat and began to roll her stockings up her bare legs, she spared a swift glance at him from beneath her lashes. He had pulled on his breeches and stood beautiful and resolute against the lightening sky. His body, so firmly muscled, was not quite as rigid as it used to be, yet it still held all the strength and fortitude of his character.
“It is not as though you are being forced to abstain from all contact,” she added cheekily. “I am simply not ready to share our relationship with the world.”
He chuckled, and the sound warmed her heart. “Sweetheart, the world is well aware of my pursuit of you. How can they not be when I dance with you and only you at every ball and visit your great-aunt’s house several times a week?”
Lily laughed as she stood to step into her gown. “Indeed, you are a very persistent suitor. Emma has nearly accepted the inevitable match.”
Before she could reach around to try to fasten the buttons running up the back of her gown, he was there to assist. She turned to allow him access and was reminded of the first night she had found herself in this room, frightened and confused.
“The gossips are saying you have melted the ice of my heart,” he said.
His voice was smooth and rich as he patiently worked the buttons on the back of her gown. She bit her lip to hold back the unexpected rush of desire through her system.
She shook her head. “Your heart was never frozen. In fact, it was the fire inside you that lured me.” She smiled. “Like a moth to your flame.”
He finished the last button and paused to brush his lips across the back of her neck.
“Marry me, Lily,” he whispered. “Today.”
“I will, but not yet,” she replied, though her voice was unsteady. “I rather enjoy the excitement of sneaking off to be with my secret lover,” she whispered in confession.
Turning in place, she met his gaze. “Soon you will become part of my family. You shall have to endure Emma’s overbearing but well-intentioned nature, and Portia’s irreverent impudence. Angelique will flirt even more shamelessly with you. The friendship I have noticed forming between you and Bentley will grow. But for now, you are only mine,” she said a bit more fiercely than she had intended. “And I am not ready to share you with them all just yet.”
His low laugh, which had been coming more easily lately, rolled freely from his throat as he brought her back into his arms.
“Yet, you force me to share you,” he stated. “You realize that once we are married, I will be able to take you away on a grand honeymoon. It will be just the two of us. Not only for the darkest hours of night,” he murmured suggestively as his hands began to roam up and down the length of her back, inciting delicious shivers. He lowered his head beside hers to tease the sensitive skin of her neck with his lips and breath. “But all day, as well. Through sunrise, midday, and dusk. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
Lily sighed, melting into him. Her hands reached around to grasp his buttocks, and she pressed her lips to his bare shoulder before asking, “Can we take all of our meals in bed?”
His laughter was deep, rolling, and infectious as he stepped away.
“I had better get you home, or I shall make another meal of you.”
Lily’s insides tingled as she watched him stride across the room to finish dressing. She had been well and truly liberated. The hollow ache that had resided in her center for so long had been completely eradicated.
Love had filled every empty space and continued to stretch out farther than she could have imagined.
Read on for a look at the next book in the Fallen Ladies Series
Coming soon from Sourcebooks Casablanca
One
London, June 1817
Portia Chadwick was terrified. And furious.
And terrified.
Perched on the edge of her seat in the racing carriage, her legs braced for action, Portia clenched fistfuls of her skirts in a vain attempt to contain her panic.
Not twenty minutes ago, her sister, Lily, had been abducted right off the street in front of their great-aunt’s house in Mayfair. They had just arrived home after an evening out when the assailant had come out of nowhere, knocking their driver to the ground with one blow and hauling Lily off her feet. Portia had scrambled from the carriage in time to see her sister being tossed into a waiting vehicle that took off as soon as the kidnapper climbed in after her.
Portia’s immediate instinct had been to chase after the carriage with her skirts lifted to her knees, but Angelique had insisted there was another way.
And now here they were, driving at breakneck speed to the East End to search the streets for a boy wearing a red cap. Her aunt had clearly gone mad.
“We should have contacted the authorities,” she said, fear making her combative.
“The authorities will do nothing but write up a report,” Angelique replied. “Word of this will spread like a disease through the gossip mills. We need to save your sister, and quickly, but the authorities will be more harm than help.”
Portia wasn’t sure she agreed with the dowager countess’s assessment, but she had followed Angelique’s lead on impulse and now had no choice but to follow it through.
She hated feeling so ineffectual, so bloody useless.
“How in hell is a boy in a red cap going to help us?” Portia pressed.
“The boy knows how to get in touch with a man of great proficiency with this sort of thing,” Angelique answered. “Trust me, darling. It is our very best chance to save your sister.”
Portia’s stomach twisted. “What kind of man?” she asked. “Who is he? How do you know he will help us?”
“He is known to do many things…for the proper incentive,” Angelique replied evasively.
“Incentive?” Portia’s anxiety spiked. “But we have little money.”
“We have enough to bluff, ma petite. Now, stop arguing.” The elderly lady leaned forward to peer out the window. “We are almost there. Keep your eyes alert for the boy. Remember to look for a red cap.”
Portia shivered. From fear, anxiety, and the effort it took to suppress the urgent impulse to take action. She was desperate to be moving, running, talking. Something to produce progress. While they rolled through the narrow, twisting lanes, Lily was being taken farther away from them.
She focused all of her energy on scanning the streets through the window. Streetlamps were sparse, casting deep shadows through which anonymous figures moved about. It was near midnight and the East End was rife with activity.
Questionable activity.
The carriage slowed as they wound their way along the darkened lanes. Portia saw various characters moving about in the night. Men, women, and far more
children than she would have expected, but not a single red cap.
And then, as they turned another corner—there!
A boy strolled casually with a chimney sweep’s broom. One hand stuffed deep in the pocket of his oversize woolen trousers, a red cap sitting jauntily on his head.
“Is that him?” Portia asked, a flash of hope making her chest tight.
Her great-aunt leaned across Portia to peer out the window. “Let us hope so.” She knocked on the roof, signaling for the carriage to stop. A moment later, Charles appeared in the doorway. A heavy bruise had already formed above his temple where he had been struck by Lily’s attacker.
“Go fetch that boy there,” Angelique said.
“Yes, m’lady.”
While the loyal servant did as requested, the ladies waited in tense silence. Several moments later, the carriage door opened again.
“Wot do you fancy pieces want?”
The boy peered in through the open door of the carriage while Charles stood stiffly behind his shoulder. His young face was smeared with soot, making it hard to discern his age. But judging by his size, Portia guessed him to be about eleven or twelve. A bit old for a chimney sweep.
He stood warily, scanning the interior of the carriage, expertly assessing what danger they might represent. He dismissed Angelique quickly enough but took a few extra seconds studying Portia. When he gave her a jaunty little grin and tipped the brim of his hat, Portia realized with a touch of shock that the child was flirting with her.
“We are looking for nightshade.” Angelique spoke in a dramatic whisper, though there was no one beyond Portia and the boy near enough to hear her.
The child snorted. “I ain’t no apothecary,” he said.
Angelique flashed a coin in the palm of her gloved hand. “You know who I seek, boy. We haven’t the time for games and subterfuge.”
A shadow of respect crossed the boy’s face and he reached to take the coin, testing it between his teeth before shrugging his shoulders. “Can’t take you to ’im. Not how it works. I deliver a message, an’ his man’ll contact you.”
“No, please,” Portia said, drawing the boy’s eyes back to her. “We don’t have time for messages.” Based on the cryptic conversation, she finally had some hope her great-aunt had not led them astray and she was not going to let the opportunity slide away. “You must take us to this man directly. Immediately.”
The boy narrowed his sharp gaze and flashed another grin. “Fer another coin an’ a kiss, I may change me mind.”
Angelique made a sound that could have been a scoff. But she reached back into her purse. “Here is your coin.” She waved a hand toward Portia. “Give him a kiss so we can move this along.”
The coin quickly disappeared into the child’s pocket before he swept his hat off his head and turned his face to Portia. Feeling more than a little silly, Portia leaned forward to briefly brush her lips across the child’s cheek.
He gave a quick whoop, then smashed his hat back on his head.
Turning to Charles, who still stood beside him, he said, “Head down the street a-ways, swing right after the butcher’s place. Keep going till you pass the park. There’ll be a row of houses that all look the same. Go to the one nearest the broken streetlamp. That’s where you’ll find Nightshade’s man.” He looked back to Portia and Angelique. “And I’d be grateful if you don’t tell him it was me who sent ya. He’d have me hide fer not following the rules.” The boy tossed a jaunty wink at Portia. “I like me hide.”
The boy was ridiculously charming and Portia smiled despite her anxiety. “Thank you. We do appreciate your help.”
The boy tipped the brim of his cap, then backed away. Charles quickly closed the carriage door, and a minute later, they were off again.
Portia stared across the carriage at her great-aunt with a dose of newfound respect. “Who is Nightshade?”
The lady’s expression was vague as she replied, “No one knows, ma petite chérie.”
“What do you mean?”
“He never meets his clients face-to-face.” The old lady gestured toward the window. “There is a strict process to getting in touch with the man. We are fortunate your kiss is so highly regarded,” she added with a sly glance.
Portia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Among young boys, maybe. “Can this Nightshade be trusted?”
“He would not have gained the reputation he has if he were untrustworthy or incompetent. They say his insistence on remaining anonymous allows him to move through any environment undetected, that he is capable of infiltrating even the most elite social groups.”
Portia leaned forward, captivated by the idea such a man existed. “How do you know of him?”
“Word gets around when there is someone willing to do what others cannot. Or will not.” Angelique paused and looked down at the ring on her left hand. “A few years ago, I hired him to help me with a certain personal matter. If anyone can find Lily, it is Nightshade.”
Portia fell silent, hoping her great-aunt was right. In spite of her ever-increasing worry for Lily, she couldn’t help but wonder what the mysterious man had done for Angelique.
After several minutes, the carriage reached the area the boy had mentioned. It was a more residential neighborhood where both sides of the street were lined with brick row houses two stories high with narrow fronts and identical entrances. Portia peered through the window, straining to locate the broken streetlamp that would mark the correct house.
There. The moment she saw it, the carriage pulled to the side of the street. Charles must have seen it as well.
Portia took her great-aunt’s arm in silence as they made their way up the walk to the darkened front door. She swept her gaze in all directions, trying to pierce the darkness surrounding them, alert for any threat. The shadows were deep in front of the house and no number marked the address. Two small windows bracketed the door, but no light shone from them. Portia tipped her head to look at the windows on the upper level. All was dark.
Blast. What if no one was home?
Angelique lifted the tarnished brass knocker and issued a loud echoing announcement of their presence.
Silence followed. And then a soft noise.
The door opened unexpectedly on well-oiled hinges, revealing a petite man in his later years with a smallish head and iron-gray hair worn back in an old-fashioned queue. Despite the man’s diminutive height, he somehow managed to look at them down the length of a hawklike nose.
“Wot?”
His one word, uttered with none of the graces assigned to even a poorly trained butler, threw Portia off. She stiffened in affront, then prepared to respond to the discourteous greeting with a bit of insolence herself.
Angelique saved her the trouble as the lady pushed through the door, past the little man who was helpless to stop her, and into the hall, saying as she went, “We have a matter of vital importance that requires Nightshade’s immediate attention.” She swung around to cast the little man a narrow-eyed look. “Where shall we wait?”
“Don’t know who yer talking ’bout.”
“Yes, you do. Now fetch your master or I will seek him out myself.”
The little man pinched his face into a sour expression as he glanced toward the door, then back to Angelique as though debating the benefits of tossing them both back onto street. He cast a critical gaze over their appearances, seeming to take mental note of the quality in their clothing. Then he snorted and turned to amble into the shadows at the back of the hall.
Angelique turned to Portia. “Come. Let us find somewhere comfortable to wait.”
The front hall was dark and narrow. Stairs rose up along the left side and three doors opened to the right. The hall itself contained nothing but a small table set near the door. Portia wandered toward the first door to peek into the room beyond.
It was a small parlor
.
“This way,” she said as she strode forward into the room.
The room was also quite dark, the only light being a dim glow from the street outside, which did not reach far. But it was enough to see the outline of the furniture and a small candelabra set on a table near the sofa. Angelique took a seat in an armchair while Portia went directly to the cold fireplace looking for something to light the candles.
It felt good to finally have something to do. It kept her thoughts from flying in all sorts of wild directions. Once the candles were lit, she found herself unable to sit still. Though she tried several times to take a seat, she inevitably jumped to her feet again in a matter of minutes as fretful energy continued to rush unheeded through her body.
She began to pace.
Two
It felt like they waited for hours in the dimly lit parlor. Angelique sat quietly, her eyelids dropping in the semidarkness. Portia almost envied the old woman her drowsiness as her own disquiet steadily grew. The longer they sat unattended, the harder it was going to be to track Lily down.
Portia wondered if perhaps the rude little butler had simply gone to bed rather than informing his master of his guests. After making her hundredth turn at the fireplace, she took off toward the door at the opposite end of the room with purposeful strides, determined to go in search of someone herself.
Just as she neared the door, a figure appeared in the darkened frame. The man made such a sudden and silent appearance that Portia was nearly startled from her skin. As it was, she barely managed to stop herself from colliding with the man by bracing her hand hard on the doorframe.
She looked at the newcomer sharply. Her worry and impatience coalesced into anger now that he had finally appeared.
He was a rather nondescript man in his later years, perhaps in his fifties somewhere, with light hair that was going to gray, a pale almost sickly complexion, a beard that had grown a bit bushy, and small wire-rimmed spectacles. He was dressed in a brown suit with matching waistcoat and stood with sloped shoulders, his hands stuffed into the front pockets of his coat.
