Nuzzling her neck, he whispered, “I want you. I want to taste you, every part of your soft skin. I want to be inside you with my cock surrounded and embraced by your warmth. I want to move in out of you, make love to you for hours on end.” Harrison couldn’t stay quiet. With Lydia wrapped in his arms like this, the confession spilled out of him. Will she recoil and pull away? Harrison wouldn’t blame her if she did.
A soft moan escaped her as she writhed against his stiff shaft. God, he was in blissful agony.
“But it will be on your terms—if you decide you even want me at all,” Harrison whispered. “All will be well. I will see to it.”
Exhaling shakily, Lydia rubbed her cheek against his arm. There was no reply to his impassioned declaration, but her being in his bed like this was enough. They lay together for a long time; he even drifted off to sleep once again. Harrison awakened when she pulled from his arms and sat upright.
“Heavens, I fell asleep as well. It’s past one in the morning. I’ll be heading to my bed. Thank you, Harrison, for understanding. Will we share breakfast?”
“If you wish. Eight o’clock?”
“Yes. May I accompany you to the terminus in the afternoon? To assist? Please. I am stronger, my voice has all but returned, the cough has diminished greatly. I need to be useful.”
Harrison laid his hand gently against her back. “It is damp below ground. The air is humid and not altogether fresh. It could exacerbate your lung condition. However, you’re a nurse, and if you believe you’re recovered enough, then accompany me for a few hours by all means.”
Turning, Lydia kissed his forehead, picked up her slippers, then scurried from his room, softly closing the door. An innocent kiss and his insides were aflame. There was no doubt whatsoever that he’d give her the time that she needed. In the interim, he was in absolute anguish. For he was falling for her, no use denying it. Harrison will have to keep his emotions in check and not overwhelm her.
As for protecting his heart—too blasted late.
* * *
For three days Lydia accompanied Harrison to the terminus. They spent part of the late afternoon and early evening, and she hadn’t done much more than serve bowls of soup and assist the nuns with various duties. On the third day, Harrison tasked her with sorting the newcomers according to medical priority. How pleased she was to be given this important duty.
Sister Monica watched her interaction with Harrison. Obviously the nun suspected something; for they arrived and departed at nearly the same time. But she was polite, and still knew her as Miss Best.
Sitting along the far wall near the entrance were the recent arrivals. Lydia spent time with each one, their stories more heartbreaking than the last. Thankfully none seemed to be suffering from any serious maladies, mostly dehydration and malnutrition—conditions of the poor. And excessive weariness.
She stopped before a man wearing patched and torn trousers. He sat on the ground, legs bent, his arms resting on his knees, his head hanging low. He’d placed the blanket over his head as if hiding.
Lydia crouched down. “How may I help you, sir?” she asked kindly.
His hand shot out from under the blanket and gripped her wrist tight. “Do not make a sound.”
She recognized that voice. It dripped with menace. Huntsford. Oh, God,—how did he find her? Her heart raced, but Lydia admonished herself for feeling anxiety.
Get control. Do not allow this man to frighten or intimidate you any longer.
He squeezed tighter. “I know what you’re thinking, how did I find you? It’s an interesting tale,” he murmured. “Did it have anything to do with the fact I am being followed?”
Oh, blast it.
Mr. Robins was correct. Huntsford knew. Harrison told her of the conversation in the pub two nights past. Frankly, she wouldn’t have given John Huntsford that much credit for brains. Since he was so self-absorbed, she imagined he wouldn’t notice if anyone was watching him. But he had. Lydia struggled to pull her arm from his tight grip, but he held her firmly. She met his gaze. He wore a false beard. Why had she not seen the cruel gleam in his eyes before now? Misplaced and misguided love can hide a multitude of warnings.
“It took me wearing a disguise, but I followed the careless bloke to an investigative agency. The tall bastard with the limp and cane—the owner— recently met a couple of men at a pub. One of them, I later discovered, is a marquess. Was it he who hired the agency? I decided to keep watch. Then you emerge from his town house. You’ve landed on your feet, puss. An heir to a duke?” His mouth twisted into a lascivious grin. “Have you spread those luscious thighs for him as yet? Used your talented mouth on him? Have you shown him all your wicked ways?”
Lydia’s blood boiled. “I’ll not be made to feel ashamed of the fact that I enjoy sex. I just wish my introduction to it was with any man but you,” she snapped, keeping her voice low.
He growled in response, his lips curling. “You lie. You still want me. You’re mine. No one else will ever have you. I’ll make sure of it, one way or another.”
How tempting to throw at him that she was aware of Miss Slickson, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, nor give away how much they knew of Huntsford and his activities.
“I will never be yours. Not ever again. You are a vile, selfish excuse of a man. Let me go. At. Once.” Lydia kept her voice firm, her tone sharp. Despite the circumstances, it was gratifying to tell him what she thought of him. Any lingering vestiges of feelings for Huntsford dissipated. She felt nothing for him. In truth, she fell out of love with him some months ago.
Not afraid any longer.
“If you don’t come with me now, I’ll tell the coppers it was you who stole the drugs. I’ll inform the head nurse of your debauched ways. How you seduced me to do your will. Made me take opium. That your story of an ‘illness’ is false at its core, unless you’re speaking of a sickness of the soul.”
“You’re speaking of yourself.” Lydia stopped struggling. “How did you know of an illness?”
“I heard a letter was personally delivered to the head nurse. Curious, I broke into the locked drawer in her desk and read it. It was from you. Quite the tale. It won’t hold once I tell all of your true nature.”
Lydia yanked his arm toward her and bit into his hand until he yelped and released her arm. She screamed at the top of her lungs, “Huntsford is here!”
John’s eyes widened, then narrowed as he jumped to his feet. “Miserable bitch,” he seethed. He knocked her flat and vaulted past her, heading for the short tunnel and the exit. He wasn’t that far away from it and could easily escape. Lydia scrambled to her feet. Already he was becoming lost in the crowd. “Stop him! Huntsford is here!”
Alas, since most of the people in terminus were probably hiding for one reason or another, whether it was from authorities or life itself, no one intervened. In fact, they turned away. Lydia scanned the mass of humanity trying to locate Harrison. All in white, he was easy to spot. But he worked at the opposite end of the cavernous underground area. Waving her arm to gain his attention, she then pointed toward the tunnel. “He’s in there!”
Harrison sprinted in that direction, and she lifted her skirt and did the same. Lydia reached it first, stopping when she found a trail of the tattered trousers, coat, and beard on the ground. Huntsford was shedding his disguise as he ran. Underneath he’d worn his regular clothes. Sly indeed.
A terrible thought entered her mind. He knew of her connection to Harrison.
A cold fear gripped her tight.
* * *
John Huntsford reached the boarded entranceway and stopped short. He would have to exit as nonchalantly as possible in case someone from that damned detective agency was watching the place. Exhaling, he stepped outside onto Stepney High Street. A small smile curved about the corner of his mouth when he saw how crowded the streets were. A change in shifts at the nearby boot and shoe factory would act as adequate cover. Pulling his peaked cap out of the pocket of his jacket, h
e then placed it on his head and pulled it low over his eyes.
He didn’t dare look behind him to see if anyone was in pursuit.
Damn that bitch.
Yelling for help—to whom exactly? Once he found out it was the Marquess of Tennington meeting the ex-copper with the cane, he made the decision to observe the man’s town house. But today was the first time he was free to do so because of his recent shifts at the hospital. When Lydia had stepped out of the front entrance and into a carriage, he couldn’t believe his eyes.
He’d flagged a cab, and the driver nearly refused to take him as a customer due to his tattered clothing disguise, but once John thrust a handful of shillings at him, the man followed Lydia’s carriage to the East End to the underground shelter.
Was she Tennington’s mistress? Fury tore through him at the thought of his Lydia pleasuring some pampered peer. He furtively glanced about the street, and spotting a cab, waved it down.
“Head to the West End, then back here,” he commanded the driver.
“That’s a fair piece; I’ll need half the fair.”
John thrust a pound note in the man’s gloved hand. “Drive where I say to drive.”
“Yes, sir.”
John settled inside and slammed the door. Once the coach lurched forward, he scanned the street, looking for anyone suspicious. Taking this sightseeing route would give him time to work out a plan, and see if he were being followed. Damn his pride, he shouldn’t have revealed himself to Lydia, but he couldn’t help it. In hindsight, he also shouldn’t have told her of his plans to rob the hospital pharmacy. It was not as if he were addicted to the wretched stuff. Often he went days without touching it, especially when he worked several shifts in a row. But John did enjoy wallowing in his vices on his days off. Foolishly, he believed Lydia felt the same as him. Until the night of their terrible row.
The stubborn woman had defied him on many fronts. First by running off without a word, then moments ago in the underground soup kitchen when he commanded her to stay quiet. How dare she question his authority? His ownership of her?
Yes, he occasionally sought out Fannie Slickson for a quick tumble, and he was temporarily staying with her until he could make other arrangements, but she meant nothing to him. Less than nothing.
But Lydia.
Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the seat cushion. Memories of their erotic adventures flooded his mind. She’d been game for anything. Maybe she had to be coaxed to try the morphine-cocaine mixture—or forced. What did it matter? Lydia was his to do as he pleased. Though, John reflected, he shouldn’t have hit her that night of the row or forced the needle into her arm against her wishes. He overplayed his hand, perhaps. But he had to make her aware of his authority. It was not to be questioned or denied. The only way to make her understand was to show his domination over her.
Regardless, she would be in his possession once again, if he had to follow her to the ends of the earth. No man would touch her or he would suffer the consequences. A marquess? Heir to a duke? John would be playing with fire. Especially with a detective agency involved.
To hell with it, he would burn it all down.
As long as after all turned to ash—Lydia was his.
Chapter 15
Harrison reached the tunnel to find Lydia standing near a pile of clothes. She turned to face him, holding a fake beard.
“He shed his disguise as he ran,” she whispered miserably, “I couldn’t catch him.”
Sprinting to the entrance, Harrison then moved aside the loose boards and stepped onto the sidewalk. He was immediately swallowed up into a crowd of laborers. God, he’d never find him in this throng, besides the fact he had no idea what the blackguard looked like except for a vague description from Robins. It could fit any number of men here.
A man in a long coat and a bowler hat walked up to him. “Is there a problem, my lord?”
“Robins’ man?” Well, he would give Robins his due, he figured out he was Dr. Damian. But then he’d given the man leave to follow him, told him of the shelter though not of the fact he toiled there. Since the terminus was a daily stop in his busy schedule it wouldn’t be difficult to figure out.
“Yes, my lord. My name is Taylor. Mr. Robins said to keep watch.”
“Did you see anyone leave here moments ago?”
“Yes, there were two, both men.”
A sprig of hope bloomed. “Did you get a good look at them? What direction they took?”
Taylor tugged on his earlobe. “Well, only a fleeting glimpse, my lord. One was older, gray hair, the other brown hair, a little above average height. Wore a laborers jacket. And he put on a peaked cap. He wasn’t acting suspicious, so I continued my surveillance on the entrance.”
Harrison exhaled in frustration. “Keep watch. We’ll be departing shortly.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Frustrated and more than a little annoyed, Harrison returned to Lydia, taking the beard from her hand. Was this the man who watched them so intently at the Red Lion pub? The facial hair was certainly similar.
Damnation. Hell.
“He spoke to you?” Harrison asked.
She nodded. “He told me plenty. None of it good.”
“We will finish up here immediately and return home. We’ll talk there.” Harrison caressed her pale cheek. “You were very brave, bellowing out a warning.”
Lydia laughed shakily. “A lot of good it did, no one stopped him.”
“The people in here are worn and weary, many are hiding. Becoming involved is not an alternative for them.”
Lydia nestled her cheek against his palm. “I know, I lived it. I hoped someone would step in.”
Forty minutes later, they were sitting in the dining room alone, having just finished a light meal of roast chicken. Lydia relayed to him everything Huntsford had said to her. The audacity of the man. And completely reckless.
“I am sorry now Sam ever recommended William Robins and his merry band of ex-coppers.” He pushed away his near-empty plate in disgust.
“I don’t blame Mr. Robins. Huntsford is sly, and far more clever than I’d give credit for. But why focus attention on me? Why can’t he leave me be?”
“His narcissistic and twisted personality will not allow it. He is obsessed with you, and receives a decided thrill out of controlling you. He misses that. He needs it. It feeds him, gives him power.”
Lydia’s eyes widened. “My, you’re well informed on the subject.”
“I assure you I hold none of the same attributes, outside of occasionally slipping into my ‘I am an heir to a duke’ mask. I studied the German psychiatrist Carl Wilhelm Ideler in university, his thesis is still controversial. He believed passions are important in the origins of mental illness, the fact certain drives are in a constant state of imbalance. Not all physicians or scientists subscribe to their being actual diseases of the mind.”
“You think Huntsford is insane?”
Harrison blew out a breath of frustration. “The imbalance may have always been there, the drug use no doubt exacerbated it.” Which made him all the more dangerous. During their trip home an idea had taken root. He might as well mention it to gauge her reaction. “You’re not out of harm’s way, not as long as you’re here. Why not come with me to Hastings? There would be no safer place than at the estate of a duke.”
“But the double wedding—”
“You will be attending as my guest.”
Lydia shook her head furiously. “Absolutely not. You mentioned it was family only. My presence there would upset those plans, and raise speculation as to our relationship.”
“There will be a few family friends there as well. As I told you, my family is unaware of my secret life. Perhaps I need you as a witness for I intend to reveal all to them.” Harrison grasped his water goblet and took a drink. “I’m teasing, perhaps a little. I’ve had enough with secrets and lies.”
He pushed the glass away. “As to our relationship, I will tell my family
the truth—for once. I will tell them that you have captured my attention as no woman ever before. That you are under my protection. That we are friends. That I’m completely smitten, and hopeful there will be more when you’re ready. And that you have a firm hold of my heart.” He met her gaze. “I relinquish it to your care. For I am falling for you, Lydia. I will not deny it any longer.”
Lydia blinked rapidly, her lower lip quivered. “Oh, Harrison.”
“I assure you I’m not as dull as I outwardly project.”
“At this stage, I wouldn’t mind a little dull. You are far from that,” Lydia whispered. “I’ve had my fill of arrogant, brooding, possessive men. A generous man of honor? One who selflessly serves his fellowman? Loves his family? Respects women? Oh, I could give my heart to a man such as that.”
“If you were to ask it of me,” he said in a low, husky tone, “I would tear down the sky.”
“What is happening between us?” Lydia whispered.
Harrison smiled wistfully. “Something quite—wonderful. I want to kiss you.”
“You do?”
“Yes, standing, facing each other. I’ll caress your flushed cheeks, nibble on the pulse point on your neck, slowly move upward and capture your lips, kiss you, take complete possession, taste every inch of your mouth—”
The soft moan that emitted from her was all the invitation he needed. Harrison was out of his chair and bringing her up into his crushing embrace, and she softened in his arms. Then he did exactly as he described, he cupped her face, caressing her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. He looked into her beautiful blue-green eyes and held nothing back. No more hiding his emotions. Leaning in, he located that enticing pulse on her neck, and nibbled and kissed it until she moaned once again.
The Marquess of Secrets (The Hornsby Brothers Book 3) Page 12
