Otherwise Engaged (23 page)

S
oft, rustling sounds and the scrape of wood on wood brought her out of a fitful sleep. She opened her eyes and watched Benedict add another log to the low-burning fire. He had removed his boots, coat and tie before wrapping himself in the quilt and stretching out on the floor. She could not help but notice that at some point after she had settled down on the lumpy mattress, he had also taken off his shirt. The garment hung over the back of a chair.

She held herself very still, pretending to be asleep, and contemplated Benedict with a sense of wonder and deep, feminine pleasure. The flames illuminated the lean, sleekly muscled lines of his body. His shoulders were broad and strong. He handled the firewood with easy competence and an economy of motion that was at once graceful and masculine. She remembered the feel of his hands on her skin. A rush of longing swept through her. She yearned for him to touch her again.

At that moment he turned toward her. Firelight revealed the scar just below his rib cage. The wound had healed but he was marked for life.

“You’re awake, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to disturb you. Just putting another log on the fire.”

She sat up slowly. Earlier she had removed her cumbersome petticoats and unfastened several of the hooks at the throat of her traveling gown. But even though she was not wearing a corset, the stiffened bodice of the dress did not allow for any degree of genuine comfort or relaxation.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I wasn’t getting much sleep. I keep seeing Mrs. Dunning’s body and hearing that click that we heard just before the fuse on the explosive ignited.”

“What a coincidence. I’m having the same visions, except mine include the sight of you struggling to run in that cumbersome gown and cloak you wore today.”

She made a face. “I can only be grateful that as a member of the Rational Dress Society, I don’t wear a corset and I limit my underclothing to no more than seven pounds.”

“Good lord. Seven pounds of undergarments?”

She shrugged. “A lady dressed in the first stare of fashion can find herself wearing over thirty pounds of clothing. Fabric is heavy when it is gathered into a great many drapes and pleats. To say nothing of boots and cloaks.”

He smiled. “You don’t dress like that when you travel abroad.”

“No. Only when I am home in London.”

She could see the stark hunger in his eyes. Like some psychic power it elicited a response deep within her. There was a palpable
tension in the atmosphere between them. Her pulse beat a little faster. She knew he would not make the first move, not unless she let him know that she would welcome it.

She got to her feet. The skirts of her dress, no longer reinforced with the petticoats, collapsed around her legs.

“You saved us today, Benedict,” she said. “If you had not understood what that click meant when you stepped on the carpet . . .”

“I’ve spent years designing and experimenting with various types of mechanical devices. I know the click of a switch when I hear it.”

“Yes.” She took a few steps toward him and then stopped, uncertain how to proceed. “Definitely something to be said for your knowledge of engineering and . . . other matters, as well.”

He frowned. “You refer to mathematics?”

His genuine bewilderment gave her some confidence. She took a steadying breath and went to stand directly in front of him. She was aware of the warmth of the fire and another kind of heat, as well.

“Not mathematics,” she said. She drew her fingertip along the hard edge of his jaw. “I was referring to your expertise in the art of kissing.”

He raised his hands slowly and cupped her face between his rough palms. “If I am any good at kissing you it is because it comes naturally to me, as naturally as breathing. There is nothing I want to do more at this moment.”

She caught her breath. “There is nothing I want more at this moment than to be kissed by you.”

“Are you certain?” His voice was ragged now.

She flattened her palms on the fire-warmed skin of his chest and thought about the nights when she had touched him to see if he was feverish. She had been so worried those first few days on the ship. There were certainly other things to concern her now, but she did
not want to think about them until morning. She remembered the question that had been in his eyes earlier when she had gone to the room’s only bed and he had spread the quilt on the floor. She had not known how to answer him then. But now she did.

“We have tonight,” she said.

She stood on tiptoe and brushed her mouth against his.

And that was all the answer he needed.

He pulled her to him and took her mouth with a fierce tenderness that thrilled her senses. She gripped his shoulders and hung on for dear life.

He deepened the kiss until she was breathless; until she could not think about anything else except the deep, aching urgency that was building inside her.

He unhooked the rest of the fastenings on the bodice of her gown. The dress fell away, pooling at her feet. She was left in her stockings, drawers and chemise.

“At least tonight we have a bed,” he said against her throat. “Not a pile of straw.”

“Yes.” She sank her nails into the muscles of his broad shoulders. “Yes.”

He lifted her, cradling her in his arms, and carried her the short distance to the bed. He set her down on top of the blanket and straightened long enough to strip off his trousers and drawers.

The rigid length of his erection fascinated her even as it made her wary. She remembered how uncomfortable it had been to take him inside her that first time in the stable. She reassured herself that it would be easier this time.

“We will go slowly tonight,” he promised.

He put one knee on the bed, testing to make sure it would take
his weight. Her nerves were in such a jangled state that she actually giggled.

“The bed seems sturdy enough,” she said. “I don’t think you will send us crashing to the floor.”

He smiled in the shadows. “I hope you are right.”

Cautiously he lowered himself along the length of her, cloaking her in the heat of his body. He braced himself on his elbows to keep from crushing her into the mattress and bent his head to kiss her.

Everything inside her quickened. She gave herself up to the embrace. The sense of urgency coiled and tightened into a demanding ache. Impulsively she lifted her hips against the rigid thrust of Benedict’s erection.

He wrenched his mouth away from hers and kissed her throat.

“I love the smell of you,” he whispered.

She gripped his shoulders. He caught hold of the hem of her chemise and pushed the garment up to her waist. He slipped one hand inside the open center seam of her drawers and found the part of her that was melting.

“So warm,” he said. “And so ready.” He kissed her breast through the fabric of the chemise. “For me.”

“Yes,” she managed, her throat constricting with the sheer, overwhelming force of the whirlwind threatening to sweep her away. “For you.”

He kissed her mouth again—not in a sensual manner this time but rather as if sealing a solemn vow. She was still struggling to comprehend the meaning of the kiss when he eased two fingers inside her.

She flinched, but not from pain. Instinctively she tightened herself around his gently probing fingers. She was so sensitive now that every touch sent little shocks through her.

Benedict stilled and raised his head. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” She pulled him back to her. “No, please. Whatever you do, don’t stop.”

“I have to stop.”

“Why?”

“Because your sister warned me that if I got you pregnant she would have my head on a platter.”

“
What?
Penny said that? I don’t believe it.”

“Those may not have been her exact words, but as I recall it was something along those lines. The point was to make certain that I used a condom.” He paused. “But given your lack of experience, you may not understand what I am talking about.”

“I may lack experience, but I do not lack medical knowledge,” she said primly. “My father explained the use of condoms to me.”

“Of course he did.” Benedict sounded torn between amusement and chagrin. “I don’t suppose you carry a spare in one of the pockets of your cloak?”

She flushed. “Now you are teasing me.”

“Yes, I am.” He shifted his weight. “Hold on. I’ll be right back.”

He got up off the bed and went to where his overcoat hung on the wall. She levered herself up on one elbow to see what he was doing. In the firelight she watched him take a small leather case out of one pocket.

“Do you mean to say that you brought one with you?” she asked, dumbfounded. “On a journey to investigate a murder?”

He froze, evidently uncertain of the correct answer.

“Ah,” he said. He stopped and then came to a decision. “I have been carrying it everywhere since I bought it.”

“That would have been when, precisely?”

“Shortly after your sister gave me the lecture.”

“Good heavens.” She realized that she was not sure what to say. After a moment’s reflection, she smiled slowly. “It would appear that I am not the only one who travels prepared for any eventuality.”

He laughed—a husky rumble that was clearly fueled by relief—and came back to the bed. He opened the leather case and took out the condom. Amity watched, fascinated, as he sheathed himself in the little sack.

He leaned down to kiss her.

“This time you will enjoy the experience, I promise,” he said against her mouth.

“I believe you.”

He did not enter her immediately. Instead, he stroked her until she was once again throbbing and desperate. He found the exquisitely sensitive place just inside her and the nubbin at the top of her sex. He focused his attentions on those regions until she could not think of anything else.

When her release pulsed through her, she gasped, cried out and gripped Benedict’s shoulders tightly.

He pushed into her slowly, deliberately, riding the hot currents of her climax. There was no pain this time but the too-full, too-tight sensation set off another series of rippling little pulses. She was utterly breathless now.

She heard his hoarse groan. His back was a solid wall of muscle beneath her hands.

He reached down between their bodies. She realized that he was using one hand to secure the condom while he thrust into her. At the last possible instant he pulled out of her. She held him close while he spent himself into the condom.

He shuddered and collapsed beside her.

A
long time later Benedict stirred and sat up on the side of the cot. He removed the condom and dropped it into the chamber pot under the bed. The things were so expensive many men rinsed them out and reused them. Fortunately, he could afford the luxury of a fresh device each time one was required.

He looked at Amity. In the fading light of the fire, she looked soft and warm and delicious. He realized he was getting hard again. He reminded himself that he had just discarded the only condom he had brought with him.

“You did not use the device as it was intended,” she said. “Even though you wore it you still pulled away at the last moment, just as you did the first time in the barn.”

“Neither the skin nor the rubber version are entirely reliable,” he said. He leaned down and kissed her. “It’s best to take extra precautions.”

She stretched like a cat. “Always planning for disaster.”

“I have been told that I am rather boring,” he said before he could give himself time to think about the wisdom of bringing up the subject.

She blinked, startled. Then she laughed. “That’s absolutely ridiculous. Since I met you my life has been anything but dull. Indeed, it seems to me that we have gone from one adventure to another with very little time to relax in between.”

“Yes, but that is because things have been quite extraordinary lately. Under ordinary conditions, life might prove quite monotonous with a man of my temperament.”

She smiled a slow, provocative smile. “I sincerely doubt that. However, should boredom ever threaten, we can always resort to the sort of experiment that we just carried out a short time ago.”

The tension inside him eased.

“I believe you likened the first experience to the sensation of riding a camel,” he said.

“It was much better this time,” she said. “Rather like riding a wild stallion into a storm. Somewhat dangerous, perhaps, but that is no doubt part of the lure. It was all quite exhilarating.”

For a moment he allowed himself to simply enjoy the sight of her in the firelight. She almost glowed, he decided. No, he was quite certain that she actually did glow. There was a luminous quality about her that riveted his senses.

“Rest assured that I stand ready to relieve any tedium in your life with such methods at any time, Miss Doncaster,” he said.

“Very kind of you to offer, sir.”

He got to his feet, pulled on his drawers and crossed the room to throw another log on the fire.

When the flames leaped high again he turned back toward the bed. Amity watched him, waiting for him. A rush of satisfaction crashed through him.
She was waiting for him.

And just like that, the missing piece of the puzzle fell into place.

He stopped in the center of the room.

“It’s all connected,” he said.

Amity sat up slowly on the edge of the bed. “What are you talking about?”

“Everything. We’ve been dealing with Virgil Warwick’s attack on you as if it were a separate issue from the theft of Foxcroft’s notebook. But there is a link between them. There must be.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The explosion at Hawthorne Hall.” He crossed the room to where his coat hung on the peg. He took his small notebook out of the pocket and flipped it open. “Don’t you see? It clarifies a number of things.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the fact that Virgil Warwick most likely did not murder Mrs. Dunning.”