The Hellion is Tamed

by Tracy Sumner

  Emma awoke, wrapped in him.

  Her head pillowed on his shoulder, tucked into an intimate nook on his long body. His breathing steady, measured exhaustion. They lay in hushed familiarity in a natty chamber in the Blue Moon that Simon had described well enough for her to transport them there. A week into the future, maybe two, she’d guess, not so far as to cause undue angst within his family. When they’d landed, she’d struggled to lead him to the bed before he’d collapsed, fully clothed, boots and all.

  Time travel, to those unaccustomed, was a ghastly physical strain.

  She’d settled next to him because she’d feared leaving him in such a weakened state.

  Then fallen asleep herself, only to wake in his arms.

  Blinking in the drowsy sunlight streaming in the window, she lay quietly, pulling the tranquil tenderness of the moment over her body like a counterpane. The muscular ridges of his belly beneath her hand. His heartbeat, steady and solid, vibrating against her cheek. His firm thighs trapped beneath the leg she’d thrown across them. Tangled silk sheets and the faint scent of lavender drifting from them. The tick of a clock. The rumble of an establishment coming to life belowstairs. The flickering glow of the Soul Catcher on the bedside table.

  Before she could stop herself, she’d raised to her elbow and gazed down at him. His face is a bloody wonder, she reflected with a weary exhalation. Not to mention the lean, hard body laid out there for her exhaustive perusal. Her blood began to thump, her breath streaking from her lips as she imagined turning his head and kissing him. Letting him roll over her like a wave, hauling her under in forgiveness and hunger.

  He was the only man her restless body had ever burned for, pacing its cage, ready to pounce. Lifting her hand, she dusted her fingers over the hair lying limply on his brow, the strands matted from their encounter with Hargrave. His face was relaxed in sleep, youthful, the harshness mislaid. The gentleness in such contrast to his enduring reserve.

  The wall he’d built about himself, holding everyone except his family beyond it.

  She desperately wanted to be allowed inside that boundary. Too desperately. Dropping her chin to his shoulder, she dragged in his scent. Into her soul, where it smoldered, seeking victory or downfall. Because of the want, the horrible yearning, and Simon’s rejection, she slid from the bed on shaky limbs, sunlight a slash across her bare feet, her silver slippers lost somewhere during their journey. Her beautiful gown had a tear in the sleeve, and her delicate kidskin gloves were long gone. Ripping the dance card that had somehow survived the crossing from her wrist, she watched it flutter to the floor.

  “A gorgeous woman in my bed, and she thinks to flee,” Simon whispered. “Typical dilemma for a bloke, I suppose. Although this sprite looks like she ran a ragged race across London to get to me. A reputation for disappearing from balls because she can’t be bothered with them.”

  Emma released a weak laugh, shook her head woefully and turned to face him. His eyes were open, but just barely, disorientation and fatigue coloring them near black. For a moment, they could do naught but stare, passion a visceral presence, as tangible as the pulse in her fingertips, hands that wanted to explore. Wrapping her arm around the bedpost, she gave it a hard hug. Better that than the man sending her a sleepy grin from the warmth of his big bed. “A woman absconding. How about that for a word the duchess taught me? Not the usual game for Simon of the magical hands, from what I’ve read.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, wondering in what day between the one they’d left and the one they’d landed she’d lost her hairclips. “The one time I accidently popped into your bedchamber, what I saw…”

  “My mother was spirited like you. Full of opinions she didn’t mind sharing. The fishmonger used to wilt when she showed up, a flower losing petals. She got the best deal in the rookery on cod, she did. And negotiated for a fair price for anyone in line with her.” Simon gave the stubble lining his jaw a buffing rub and folded his arm beneath his head, his muscles flexing attractively. He cast his gaze to the ceiling with a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “She did the best she could. I realize that now. I was mischievous, gifted with a talent for thievery and talking to dead people. Gifts I didn’t hide in any way until Julian, for my protection, made me hide them. I brought more burden to her labored life than any youngster should.” He sighed into the vast space, his lids fluttering. “She chose to leave this earth, leave me, and for a long time, I was furious about that. But now, I…” He shrugged a broad shoulder, diminishing his pain. “She did the best she could.”

  “And maybe, just maybe, Simon, so did you.”

  His arm tensed beneath his head, his fingers curling into a tight fist.

  Emma’s heart wrenched. As if she needed a naked display of vulnerability to love him more. Perching her hip on the bed, she settled out of reach in the event he thought to touch her. “You were whispering in your sleep. I couldn’t hear, exactly, but you seemed shaken.”

  His head turned, his tormented gaze catching hers. “Night terrors. Poverty, desperation, dread. Those sum up what visits my twilight. Likely the same things that visit yours.”

  Emma scooted until she rested against the bedpost, stretching her legs and giving her toes an inadvisable wiggle. His gaze shot to her feet, then did a leisurely slither up her body. “You look like you’ve been pulled through a keyhole,” he finally murmured. But when his eyes met hers, his fiery expression said he liked what he saw. “The duchess will perish when she sees the state of your gown. You’re going through dresses quicker than the modiste can create them.”

  “Time travel is hard on the body, the mind. Especially for those new to it.” She fluttered her hand down her disaster of a bodice. “And it appears to be hard on my clothing.”

  He threw a sharp glance at the window. “Where did we land? My family is going to be frantic. Julian and Finn will scour London until they find us.”

  “A week later, maybe two. I’d know if I was off by more.”

  Simon propped an elbow on the mattress and settled on his side, head in hand, his other coming to a nonchalant rest beside her right foot. “What looks the same? In my time?”

  She tried very diligently not to imagine Simon’s index finger, currently tracing a gold thread in the counterpane, sliding the paltry distance that separated them and writing words on her skin instead of silk. Cheeks flushing, she shifted her gaze high, focusing on the elaborate ceiling medallion surrounding the pendant light. This one, a leaf design with bumps, like a strand of pearls, bounding the edge. She’d never seen such a luxurious architectural feature before arriving in 1882. “What looks the same? Clouds, those fat, fluffy ones you think you could grab hold of and be carried away. Stars jammed like raisins in a pudding. Rain hitting my cheeks. The cheery laughter of children.” Her gaze tumbled back to him, her belly twisting at the penetrating look on his face. He listened to her as no one in her life had. “The duke’s brood runs wild through his house. It makes me happy and sad. Reminds me of my little cranny down on Milk Yard. Lots of children there, scrappy darlings.” She lifted her hand to her mouth, chewing on her thumbnail as she sometimes did when she was flustered. A revolting habit, according to Piper, who hypocritically chewed on her nails herself. “Despite all this luxury, I miss that hovel, which I know defies intelligence and good sense.”

  He pressed his hand to the counterpane, fingers spreading wide. “It’s not crazy. I miss St Giles to the point that I find myself back there once a month, sometimes more. Helping Josie with her mission, which gives me a reason to go. My only reason. Even with dreadful memories, horrendous ones, sitting like a famished mongrel on every corner, I long for those dirty alleys. The haunts following along for the ride. My brothers…” He twisted his fingers into a fist, taking a wad of a counterpane that had cost more than all of the furnishings in her Milk Yard dwelling with him. “They don’t understand my need to keep a piece of that boy, keep a piece of that place.” His gaze, which had wandered off like one of his corner mon
grels, refocused on her. “But you do.”

  She took a shallow breath, understanding his comment. This conversation meant more to him than it appeared on the surface. “I reckon I do.”

  He gestured to the ceiling, knowing how fascinated she was by gas lighting. “Something called electricity has arrived in England.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Electricity?”

  His smile was deliberate, and sweet. As glorious as champagne bubbles erupting on her tongue, the first she’d ever tasted at the ball this evening. “There’s a station on Holborn Viaduct powered by coal. Which, in turn, powers a carbon-filament bulb, what they’re calling a light bulb. Sixteen lamps along Holborn Circus to St Martin’s Le Grand glowing every night.” His lips tilted, his coffee eyes sparking. Then, unbelievably, he blushed. “I could show you.”

  Simon was a nurturer, she realized, astounded. His haunts came to him for safeguarding, which she believed he was only beginning to comprehend. He guarded them, and they guarded him in return. Too, he cared greatly for his family, made an effort to rescue women from a sordid life in the slums, had traveled through time to save a girl he’d never actually spoken to—only felt a connection, as she had.

  He had a temper. He thought he knew what was best for her. He was conceited. Arrogant. Entirely too male. Argumentative.

  Handsome, charming, courageous.

  A thief, and possibly, with good cause, a liar.

  Verdict? He wasn’t perfect.

  But he was perfect for her—and she wanted him.

  Making her decision, Emma shifted until her ankle bumped his wrists, her gaze never leaving his. A blatant invitation if he chose to take it. “The rumors go that you have talented hands.”

  His chest hitched, his lids fluttering to cover the heat flaring in his eyes. Then, with a sigh of defeat, making his own decision, he trailed his crooked knuckle up the sole of her foot and over the arch of each toe. “You shouldn’t be here. Should have left the second we arrived, and you steered me to this bed. But we both know that, don’t we? So no use, really, belaboring the point.”

  Emma anchored her hand against the mattress, her body lighting from within. An absolute blaze. Goosebumps raced down her arms as a fierce beat started tripping between her thighs. Head swimming, alive with sensation, arousal torching any effort she might make to leave. “Is this your bedchamber? Did I get the right one?”

  “You got the right one,” he said as he sketched each bone in her ankle.

  “Are we…alone? No haunts?”

  Teasing the newfound, sensitive arch of her foot, he blew a taunting breath across it. “We’re alone.”

  “This is where Mackey says you bring—”

  “No, Emma.” He halted his seduction, his hand stilling. “This is my private chamber. It used to be Finn’s years ago before he got married. Not a place I bring anyone. Ever.” He chucked his hair from his eyes with a self-deprecating snort and toss of his head. “Look around you. This room is filled with pieces of me I don’t share with the world. My flaws line the walls.”

  While he skimmed his thumb over the ball of her foot in a purposeful rhythm, she did as he’d suggested and examined the space. Books with cracked leather spines in a spill on the floor; a scuffed desk shoved in a dark corner, surface littered with all manner of writing utensils and sheets held in place beneath a paperweight shaped like a ship. Shelves lining the walls, teeming with scraps of life he’d stolen from another’s and brought to his. Cufflinks, earbobs, coins, cigarette cases, hair clips.

  “Quite the collection,” she murmured, with his touch, her mind only half on his treasures.

  “It’s a problem. At least, I realize that.” Then he destroyed her by pressing his lips to the hollow below her ankle. “I sell the items after a time, give the funds to Josie for her efforts.”

  Closing her eyes, she hummed, caught between the desire to demand he stop and the desire to beg him to continue.

  As if he’d heard the latter plea, his teeth caught her skin in a gentle nip, his tongue laving the spot just after. Her body erupted, heat rolling through her.

  Her gasp was uncontrolled and shattered the silence.

  “Stop me now,” he commanded in a rusty voice. “Because my resistance is leaking away like tea from a cracked cup. When you and I should be figuring out what to do about this mess with your time tracker, not rolling around in my bed. But I’m helpless when it comes to you.”

  The mattress shifted, and when she opened her eyes, he was there, on his knees, before her. Through the open curtains, a dreamy band of sunlight washed over him, highlighting the raw vulnerability on his face, an emotion she knew he’d rather hide should he know she’d seen it.

  Lifting his arm, he trailed his fingers along her jaw and into her hair. A searching yet resolute touch. “But you’re not going to stop me, are you?”

  She mouthed the word—no—caught his neck and brought his lips to hers, sealing their destiny.

  Chapter 12

  Simon had sampled his fair share of women.

  Often, in what felt like a gamble against himself, against life. A dare. To see how much and how little he could feel at the same time. See how fucking lonely sharing his body with another person could be without love added to the mix.

  But this…

  Enchantment, obsession, greed.

  Emma. Her soft, sweet lips opening beneath his. Her fingertips marking his cheek, guiding him to her when he needed no guide. Her hair a lemon-scented enticement, a velvet shroud flowing about them, the silky ends dancing across his collarbone, his shoulders. A few paltry layers—silk, buckskin, cotton, linen—standing between them.

  Between glory and doom.

  Between what he desired more than all was holy and what he feared straight to his core.

  In a place, in a way, he’d never let himself be seen.

  “Show me,” she whispered against the side of his mouth, drawing him into a deeper kiss, “show me.”

  With that simple appeal, he was lost.

  Bending, he looped his arm around her waist and brought her, kneeling, against him, his cock hard, throbbing beneath his trouser close, a fact he could no longer hide from her.

  Surrendering, he shifted his hips until his rigid length met her warm essence, a tattered groan rolling out of his mouth and into hers. Letting her know, perhaps, what she was getting into. Life on the streets didn’t afford impoverished women ignorance of the ways of the world, not as it did for society misses, but he imagined, from the shy way she’d touched him, that Emma didn’t have actual experience.

  A fact that made him so goddamn ecstatic it scared him.

  Her hands went to his coat, tugging until, with one arm yank, then another, he was free of it. His waistcoat buttons were her next project, her murmur of complaint causing him to loosen his hold and assist with the disrobing. Their tongues tangled, clashing, a chaotic kiss, the contact as feral as his thoughts.

  He wanted them naked, and he wanted them naked now.

  “Hurry,” she implored against a sensitive spot beneath his ear, taking his skin between her teeth as he’d done to her ankle and biting. Harder than he had, the minx.

  Ripping two buttons off his shirt in his haste to rid himself of the garment, he pressed a chortle into the crown of her head. “Emma, darling, I’ve never divested myself of my clothing with such rapidity. Even with talented hands, the practice takes time.”

  She took hold of his shirt cuffs, snatching one arm free, then the other. Her gaze slithered up his body. Lingering for a long, arousing moment on the smattering of hair on his chest. The hunger reflected in her eyes when they met his took him by surprise. “I want you,” she said, her voice layered with amazement. Resolve. Desire. “I want you.”

  His remembrance of the episode was fragmented after that artless declaration.

  Recollections colored by piercing moans, moist skin, fevered kisses, questing hands. Impassioned commands, frenzied avowals. His boots hitting the floor, her gown rip
ping down the back. Breaking the kiss, he rolled to his feet and removed his trousers and drawers, not once considering slowing the pace. Not when Emma was biting and licking, touching him everywhere. His stomach, his thighs, his cock. His earlobe between her teeth, his nipple beneath her searching fingertips. Disclosing luscious desires he was thinking but feared saying.

  Her passion echoed off his bedchamber walls, surrounding him in a cage of yearning.

  She followed without a hint of shame, slipping from the bed, whipping her disaster of a gown over her head and tossing it to the floor. Then presenting her slim, lightly freckled back—assistance with her corset. He worked the hook and eye closures with skill he knew he should conceal but didn’t once strive to do. Chemise, drawers, petticoat, the duchess’s priceless choker, all gone in a matter of seconds…

  Until they stood before each other clothed in nothing but uncertainty.

  Or, as Simon watched Emma take him in with a sweeping glance and a wicked grin, maybe that was just him.

  A shimmer of unease rolled through him. The kind that made him wish frantically for a coin to spin between his fingers. One of the stolen cufflinks sitting on a shelf across the way.

  He was too far gone, too mad for her.

  Desperate in a way he’d never been, never imagined.

  Lifting her hand, she traced a crescent scar on his shoulder. “Where did you get this? Looks like someone took a blade to you.”

  He shrugged beneath her fingers. “Fighting with the duke’s men. Training since I was a boy.” His gaze shifted to her adorable toes in apparent avoidance. “So we can protect those we love from men like Hargrave.”

  “Oh, no, don’t think to go running away from me. Don’t drag him into this.” Clicking her tongue against her teeth, she stepped in until his arms could only surround her. Her body was hot, trembling when he powerlessly pulled her against him. “Don’t think to back out now, Simon. Not when I’ve waited years for you.” Then she buried her hands in his hair, walked him back until the mattress hit his thighs, tumbling them to the bed.