An Extraordinary Lord

by Anna Harrington

  “A thief-taker helped a criminal in court?” And pigs flew. “I’ve witnessed more trials than I can count, and I’ve never once seen a thief-taker work to prove someone innocent.”

  She mumbled into the shadows, “Who said he was trying to prove me innocent?”

  She tugged her arm free, flipped up her hood, and started down the steps before he could stop her again.

  Oh no. That little minx was going nowhere until he had answers.

  He darted down in front of her and blocked her path on the stairs. “What do you mean by that?”

  Now level with his, her eyes gleamed in the darkness from beneath her hood. He could practically see the thoughts spinning through that sharp mind of hers as she tried to come up with an explanation he would believe. He didn’t doubt for one moment that the little minx wouldn’t lie to him to keep her—

  She cupped his face between her hands and kissed him.

  Surprised, he caught his breath as her warm lips touched his. The kiss was nothing more than a feathery tickle, a soft whisper so light that he found himself leaning toward her to increase the pressure beyond this mere teasing. Sweet Lucifer. She tasted of wine and adventure, spiced oranges and exotic places…danger. And he drank her in.

  Her lips were soft and supple as they caressed his. Amazement swept through him that she should be so delicate beneath the hard surface she showed to the world, that he could taste an uncertainty in her that suggested a deeper vulnerability. The intrigue of her simply captivated him.

  She was kissing him merely to distract him. No other reason. He wasn’t arrogant enough to believe otherwise. Yet that didn’t stop his blood from heating as the pressure of her lips increased, as the kiss turned hungrier and more demanding. Nor did it stop the faint groan that rose from his throat when she brushed one hand down his chest while the other slipped behind his head. She sifted her fingers through the hair at his nape in long, slow caresses that scraped her fingertips provocatively into his scalp.

  His heartbeat jumped at that unwittingly erotic touch. She might be vulnerable down deep, yet the hellcat in her was never far from the surface.

  As if to prove that, she took his bottom lip between her teeth and bit. The sharp nip pulsed straight to the tip of his cock and shocked all sense from his mind, just long enough for her to slip past him and glide down the steps to the safety of the wherry. She smiled brightly at the waterman as he gave her his hand to help her into the boat and onto the front bench as if she were a helpless miss.

  Merritt felt like a damned fool.

  But she wasn’t getting away that easily. With a grin, he sauntered down the steps after her.

  She refused to look up at him as he stepped into the rocking wherry and sat close to her on the bench. Very close. Nor did she look at him when he slipped his left arm behind her to grasp the edge of the seat and bring himself even closer. But he heard the hitch of her breath, as soft as the water lapping against the wooden boat.

  Aware of the waterman at the rear of the boat as he pushed them away from the steps and took up the oars, Merritt lowered his mouth to her shoulder and murmured through the fabric of her hood, “That was a pleasant kiss.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  His lips curled into a half grin. “I wasn’t thanking you.”

  “You should.” She kept her face straight ahead, her attention riveted on the dark ribbon of river stretching before them. She didn’t dare to dart him even half a glance from beneath her hood as she added, “Obviously, being kissed by a woman isn’t a common occurrence for you.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  She sighed heavily. “Very much so.”

  He refused to rise to her bait. “And you often go about kissing men on watermen’s stairs, do you?”

  “Doesn’t every woman?”

  “None I’ve ever known.”

  “Then you’ve been spending time with the wrong women.”

  “Very much so,” he repeated her words with the same mocking sigh. “As I said, that was a pleasant kiss, but not pleasant enough to make me forget about Fernsby.”

  “You were thinking of Fernsby while kissing me?” Her brows shot upward. “I don’t know whether to be offended or shocked.”

  “Believe me.” He reached up to push back the side of her hood, then brought his mouth to her bare ear and purred, “When you were kissing me, I was definitely thinking about you.”

  She gave a short laugh. “Why on earth would you do that?”

  “Because you’re beautiful.”

  She turned her head sideways to stare at him, for once stunned into silence. Instead of the cutting reply he expected, she stiffened, and he could almost feel the speeding of her pulse. Apparently he wasn’t the only one affected by that kiss.

  He took advantage of the moment by caressing her bottom lip with his thumb. His gaze fell to her mouth as he outlined her lips with his fingertip. She quivered in response.

  “That copper-colored hair of yours that you let fall wild and untamed, those piercing green eyes…that creamy smooth skin…”

  He wasn’t lying. Not one word. She was beautiful, and tonight she glowed brighter than moonlight in the soft halo of the waterman’s lamp. Even knowing who she was and why they were together, he couldn’t resist touching her and caressed his knuckles over her cheek. She was simply too addictive to ignore, too tempting to resist.

  She inhaled sharply but made no move to stop him. “The way I wield a sword?” she added sardonically. Tonight, she was waging battle with words, but the facetious tone she’d clearly aimed for died beneath her breathlessness.

  “Especially that.” He touched her lips. “You are beautiful, Veronica. And you know it, too.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Her warm breath tickled his fingertips in an almost-kiss to his fingers. “A woman should use every weapon at her disposal.”

  “Not with me.”

  “Especially with you.”

  She’d meant that as nothing more than a declaration that battle lines had been drawn, yet the seductive murmur heated his loins and made him ache.

  “Not with me,” he repeated firmly, although more as a reminder to himself of who they really were, why they’d been forced together. A reminder that fell on deaf ears when he trailed his fingers down her throat and had to stop himself from letting them drift even lower. “What favor did Fernsby do for you?”

  She swallowed, and that gentle undulation moved deliciously beneath his fingertips. “I wasn’t hanged or transported.”

  “I’m to believe a thief-taker convinced the court that you’re a criminal with a heart of gold?”

  “There are far—” She choked off when he strummed his thumb over the hollow at the base of her throat where her pulse beat wildly. She pulled in a jerking breath to find the strength to ignore his touch as she began again, “There are far more unusual things.”

  “Hmm…unicorns, mermaids, fairies…”

  “Barristers who prowl the city streets at night.”

  He froze, his thumb halting in midcaress.

  “You’ve seen my world. You know who I am.” Her voice emerged as a low and throaty purr that vibrated into him as she pressed, “But who are you in the daylight, Merritt?”

  “No one important.”

  Her eyes gleamed as she brought her mouth to his ear and gave his earlobe a sharp nip in punishment. “Liar.”

  The pleasure-pain of that bite reverberated through him. Merciful God, he wanted nothing more at that moment than to have her mouth on him. Everywhere.

  When she edged herself away and flipped her hood back into place, he realized the bite wasn’t his punishment—the loss of her was.

  But he wasn’t ready to surrender the moment just yet. “I’m only a barrister, day and night.” He once more slid back her hood and brought his mouth to her ear, allowing n
othing between his lips and her skin. “But you find barristers attractive, don’t you?” When she parted her lips to give that absurd question the putdown it deserved, he interjected with forced sobriety, “It’s the gown and wig. Drives all the women wild.”

  She kept her gaze straight ahead at the river and the few lights that began to dot the wharves as they drew closer to their destination at Blackfriars. Only a slight twitch of her lips gave away that she was fighting down laughter. “Well, you know what they say…”

  For a million pounds, he couldn’t have resisted asking. “No, what?”

  “It’s not the size of a man’s gavel that matters.” She turned her head to look at him, bringing her lips tantalizingly close to his. “It’s how he pounds it.”

  Sweet Lucifer. Longing sizzled through him so fiercely that his toes curled in his boots. He’d never wanted a woman more in his life than he wanted Veronica at that moment, even knowing she represented everything he’d sworn to fight against. Thank God the waterman stood only a dozen feet behind them, or he would have made love to her right there in the wherry, taking her twice before they reached the opposite bank.

  “But barristers don’t have gavels, do they?” She slid a glance between his legs that made his cock jump. Feigning acute disappointment, she sighed. “Pity.”

  He grimaced, chagrined. But before he could volley back a barb of his own, she reached up to touch his chin and keep him turned toward her. He froze beneath her touch.

  “Who are you, Merritt Rivers?” she murmured. Her eyes narrowed on his face in unfettered curiosity. “I don’t believe for one second that you’re nothing more than an ordinary barrister.”

  This was not the conversation he wanted to have with her. Although, to be honest, it wasn’t talking that occupied his thoughts. “I told you. I’m a peer of the realm.”

  Her lips twisted. “Are you indeed, Mrs. Fitzherbert?”

  He grinned. Perhaps a secret identity had its benefits after all.

  As if knowing she’d not gain any more information from him on that score, she dropped her hand and scooted away. Only a foot of distance separated them on the bench, but damnation, it gaped like a chasm.

  So he moved closer. He simply couldn’t help himself and slid his hand down the rear edge of the bench behind her until her shoulder nestled against his chest.

  “By day, I truly am a barrister, complete with silks and peruke, poring over my law books and winning in court,” he admitted.

  She scoffed softly at that but couldn’t move away. She’d reached the side of the boat, with nowhere else to go but into the drink. “You can’t always win.”

  “But I do. I’m a very good lawyer.” He dared to nuzzle his lips against the tender flesh behind her ear. “My father is a barrister, too, like his father before him.”

  “An entire family of corruption and vice, I see.” But her mocking emerged as little more than a breathless whisper.

  He smiled against her ear. “A herd of criminals. You’d fit right in.”

  “Thank you,” she muttered. When her cheeks flushed, he didn’t know if it was from his teasing or from the way his warm breath tickled the side of her face. Not that he truly cared which.

  “I’m also a former soldier, terrible card player, and bad dancer.” He followed that confession with a soft kiss to her neck. “Painfully ordinary, I’m afraid.”

  “No, you’re not. I’ve seen you fight. You’re—”

  “Boring.” This time when he kissed her neck, he followed it with a light lick across her soft flesh. A shiver trembled through her. “Dreadfully boring.”

  “And at night,” she panted out as he traced his tongue along the outer curl of her ear, “you prowl the streets…dressed head to toe in black…armed to the teeth… Why?”

  “To help people.”

  Surprise flitted across her desire-flushed face.

  He bit back a groan at the spicy-sweet taste of her as he brought his lips to the corner of her mouth, knowing the ambrosia waiting to be claimed within. He somehow found the clarity to ask, “You find it hard to believe that I want to help people?”

  “Yes.” Her lips tickled against his as she answered, “I do.”

  “Because I’m a barrister,” he murmured, sliding his mouth along her jaw to suck at her earlobe. “And you don’t trust barristers.”

  “I don’t trust anyone,” she admitted yet tilted her head to give him access to her neck. “Especially you.”

  Instead of being insulted, Merritt smiled. Even now, he could feel her arousal beneath the waves of shivers that passed through her, could feel her growing desire in the quickening of her breath and the parting of her lips. She might not trust him, but she ached for him as much as he ached for her.

  “Liar,” he scolded and bit her ear just as she’d done to his. The soft gasp of pleasure that tore from her jolted through him like lightning, straight down to the tip of his cock. Jesus. He sucked in a deep breath to steady himself. “If you weren’t a criminal and I weren’t a barrister…”

  “What?” she challenged breathlessly. “What would you do?”

  The temptation was too much, and he brought his mouth to her ear. “Before or after I stripped your clothes off?” he asked. “With my teeth.”

  Her hand tightened on his arm. “After.”

  That single word spun through him with a streak of liquid heat. If he hadn’t already wanted her… “Before or after I licked my tongue over every deliciously bare inch of you?”

  “After,” she breathed and dug her fingertips into his sleeve and the muscle beneath.

  “After I laid you down and feasted my fill of you?” He swirled his tongue in her ear, mimicking what he would do between her legs.

  She bit back a whimper. “Yes.”

  “I’d simply ravish you.”

  She lost her breath, and as her sharp inhalation shuddered into her lungs, she pulled back, wide-eyed and lips parted, as if she simply couldn’t fathom him or the effect he had on her. God knew he didn’t understand it himself. She was a confessed criminal, and when this mission was over, she’d be given a pardon and set free—an insult to everything he’d dedicated his life to.

  Yet he inexplicably yearned for her, in a way he hadn’t wanted a woman since Joanna.

  “What would you do, Veronica?” he prompted when she continued to stare at him, searching his face but not finding any answers. But of course she wouldn’t. He had none to give.

  “I—I’d—”

  She cut herself off, despite the way she stared hungrily at his mouth. What he’d wanted to hear, desperately, with every aching inch of him… I’d let you.

  “I’d rather not,” she whispered.

  The bow of the wherry tapped the watermen’s stairs, and they came to a sudden stop, jolting him with barely a fraction of the force that her soft words had just punched into his gut. Merritt tore his eyes away from her haunted face to glance up—Puddle Dock. They’d arrived.

  She scrambled out of the boat and onto the steps before he could stop her. But then, he was in no condition to stand up and help her without embarrassing both of them. Biting back a frustrated curse, he had to let her go.

  Seven

  Veronica lifted the tankard of ale to her mouth as she once more swept her gaze around the crowded tavern. And took a passing glimpse at Merritt.

  Ah, the lovely Mrs. Fitzherbert, exactly as expected.

  He sat on the other side of the Ship’s Bell from her, attempting to blend in with the crowd of dockworkers and porters that filled the seedy and dank tavern fronting the river. Well, as much as he could, she supposed, given how striking he was. Even wearing stained and torn workman’s clothes, he clearly stood apart. He was simply too tall, muscular, and downright dashing not to.

  When he took a bored perusal around the tavern, his gaze slid right past her with no flick
er of recognition.

  She’d have been surprised if he’d spotted her, dressed as she was tonight as a man, right down to the shaggy facial hair she’d affixed to her upper lip and cheeks with actors’ gum. She’d bound her breasts beneath a man’s worsted waistcoat and donned men’s trousers, too, along with a workman’s shirt, braces, and plain neckcloth. She’d even rolled up a flannel and stuffed it into her trousers to resemble a cock.

  But the knives she wore up both sleeves were real.

  She knew Merritt would be here tonight, chasing down the man Danker had told them about. Just as she was. But after the way they’d parted last night, she wasn’t yet ready to face him again. That was why she’d disguised herself, going so far as to flirt with the bar wenches for good measure.

  Cowardly, she supposed. But he’d rocked her to her core last night with his heated murmurs and kisses. She needed time and distance to clear from her head the wicked—and utterly tempting—images he’d put there and set her focus back where it belonged. On her pardon.

  But sweet heavens if her lips didn’t tingle at the sight of him!

  Her own fault, really. She’d started the kissing, only to startle him into forgetting about Fernsby, but then he’d repaid her in kind—no, his reprisal was worse, fogging her mind of everything except how wonderful his kisses were, how strong and solid his body against hers. For a moment, she’d nearly surrendered and floated away with him into the darkness, to let him do to her all the wanton things he’d suggested…until her sanity returned and she remembered exactly why the two of them were together.

  It certainly wasn’t for bedsport.

  Yet even now she wanted to spread herself beneath him and let him satisfy the insistent ache he’d put between her thighs, which had begun to throb faintly at the thought of his body covering hers.

  Idiot. She scowled at herself and gulped down a healthy swallow of ale. The need arising inside her wasn’t because she’d been too long without a man. Wasn’t because she wanted a few hours of distraction from the mess her life had become. Wasn’t even just simple lust or curiosity about how it would feel to have him moving inside her. No, it was so much worse than that!