Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage 05] (16 page)

“Not now, not ever!” she demanded.

Gritting his teeth, he realized once more that this lady was no fool. He understood that it was do or die, and there was no way he could walk away from this encounter. Not now when his body was thrumming with need and he knew that his obstinacy was the only thing standing between him and bedding this fiery woman.

“I promise that I will not try to learn your identity…ever.”

Slowly she released his hand, but her body was still tense, her breath tight. She shook her head, her body still locked as if trying to decide if she should remain with him.

I should never have tried to change the rules of the game
,
especially in mid-play.

“I’m sorry,” he offered. Odd, normally he had a terrible time admitting when he’d done something wrong. Yet the apology came easily to his tongue. He supposed it was the very personal stakes that drove his act of contrition. “I shouldn’t have, and I won’t do it again. It was wrong of me.” It was astonishingly easy, in fact.

She let out a long breath as if relenting.

“All right if we…continue?” he asked.

She paused. “Yes.”

Worried she might change her mind, he caressed her curves, relishing the soft contours that made her a flesh-and-blood woman.

Slowly her hand inside his coat roved down his back, continuing her exploration.

Greedily he reached for the hem of her gown. Drawing up her skirts, his fingers raced across the warm flesh of her calves. Her legs were curved, smooth, fantastic to the touch.

She let out a breathy sigh of anticipation.

His hand reached higher.

He caressed her thighs, and her hips began to move to a rhythm he longed to dance. With his fingers sliding higher, he sought that incredible place he yearned to touch.

The scent of woman and desire overwhelmed.

His fingers found their prize.

She gasped, her flesh hot and moist.

He parted her flesh, opening her to his eager exploration. She moaned, clutching his shoulders as if to never let him go.

With each of her moans, his desire spiked, and he didn’t know how long he could wait to take her. Her body’s writhing called to him, but he wanted to please her, in part, he understood, to make up for challenging her trust.

He didn’t want her to have any regrets.

Suddenly she gasped, her back arched, and her hands gripped at the rug beneath her.

He smiled beneath his mask, satisfied with his efforts, and pleased that she responded so well.

After a long, shuddering breath, her body went slack.

Rising, Steele yanked at his breeches, impatient with the clothing and desperate to feed his hunger.

She opened herself to him, wet and ready.

Thrusting deep inside her, he heard a thunderous moan and knew it belonged to him. Nothing in this world felt as fantastic as the fiery woman gripping him deep into her womb.

They moved as one, clutching, grinding, panting. He was enthralled. Time was lost. There was only the rhythm, the feeling, the urge to mate.

He pounded into her and she groaned with pleasure at every deep thrust. Suddenly she tensed, gripping his shoulders and holding her breath tight. He increased his pace, aching for her. She shuddered deep within.

He couldn’t wait much longer. “Hold me!”

She hugged his shoulders, holding him tight.

He exploded deep inside the widow, the perfect stranger.

A
bigail felt as if she’d been brought back from the dead. Her chest ached with the piercing need for air, and stars danced before her closed eyes. Her body pulsed beneath the masked stranger’s, every spot of exposed skin burning with his touch.

The moist juncture between her thighs throbbed, feeling full and stretched with his member still deep inside of her. She felt his every intake of breath as a reminder of the passion they’d just shared.

Swallowing, she tried to gather her wits, while at the same time she yearned for this experience never to end. When she was with the masked gentleman, every worry escaped from her mind and she did nothing but
feel
.

A little voice inside her head chided her to respect the fact that she shouldn’t be here with this man. That any proper young lady wouldn’t stoop to such damnation. But if this was what being damned felt like, she’d be hell-bent for sure—and not worry overmuch about it. For the moment at least.

She sighed.

“Hmm,” he hummed, sending vibrations streaming through her. “You feel incredible,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by the mask and the fact that his mouth was pressed into her neck.

A sense of euphoria swept over her, along with feelings of goodwill toward the man lying on top of her.

“You do, too,” she murmured. “Better than…” Her voice trailed off.

He moved away an inch, his face so close to hers, yet concealed by his mask and the darkness. “Better than what?”

“Actually, better than I’ve ever felt before.”

He made a small, satisfied grunt.

She added, “Not that I have so much experience. I’ve only been with one man in my life.” Beneath her veil she made a face. “And that wasn’t too many times, either.”

“I am not a raging stallion, by any means,” he confessed. “I prefer…solitude to…complications.”

She smiled. “Women can be very complicating, I know.”

“I don’t mean to insult—”

“Oh, you haven’t. I was simply speaking the truth; women tend to make things quite thorny.”

“But not you.”

“No, I have no interest in making things any more complicated than they are.” The costs were too high. Her reputation, her job…Guilt stabbed her middle, but she pushed it away.

The masked rescuer was breathing heavily, his body relaxed on top of hers. He made her feel good. Secure. Yet at the same time he inspired an astonish
ing excitement within her. The sensations reminded her of Lord Steele.

She blinked, shocked. Thinking of Lord Steele with this bold masked stranger deep inside her felt like an abomination. The two men had absolutely
nothing
in common, and just the idea of Lord Steele even knowing what she was doing was enough to make her stomach twist with anxiety and guilt.

“Are you all right?” he inquired.

“Why do you ask?”

“You tensed. Am I hurting you?”

She realized that she was no longer comfortable, her euphoria replaced by the notion that she’d better get home before her employer started asking questions. And she had to find time for a quick bath, too. Between the odor of passion and the wetness between her thighs, she knew that she couldn’t make it through an entire day without bathing.

Abigail put her hand on his shoulder. “Actually, I need you to get up. I have to go.” He didn’t move.

“Please?”

She couldn’t see his face, but could tell that he was displeased.

Removing himself from her, he adjusted his clothing. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

She could hardly see in the darkness of the small stall, not much larger than her usual governess’s chamber. As opposed to her current rooms, which were far too grand.

Under her veil she frowned. Why did she keep thinking about Lord Steele and the house? Probably, she supposed, because she knew that she needed to be back to her duties, posthaste.

Straightening, she lowered her skirts and fixed her clothing as best as she could.

“I asked where you are off to in such a hurry?” he demanded, an edge having entered his voice.

Recalling how the fear had clutched her heart when he’d tried to raise her veil, she frowned. “I thought we’d been over this ground already.”

“I didn’t ask to see your face, just where you’re off to.”

“A fine legalistic distinction, don’t you think?”

His fists curled as if she’d insulted him. “I think we need to talk.”

“I don’t have time for talking. I must go.” She stood, and he rose as well, adjusting his clothing in the small space. Their bodies were so close, it was hard not to grab on to each other for balance, but somehow they managed, an invisible wall having been erected between them within the last two minutes.

His tone was crisp. “I confess it’s rare for the lady to be so cavalier.”

“Cavalier? Hardly. Just late.”

“For what? Or should I say for whom?”

“Tenacious, aren’t you?”

“Perhaps if you’d answer my question…”

“I already gave you my answer—faces, names, and lives do not fit into this…” She waved her hand, at a loss for words.

“
Affaire
?” Steele couldn’t believe that he’d said the word. The man who wanted no complications, no engagements, and certainly no mistress had just voiced the notion that he and this woman were engaged in an
affaire
. It didn’t surprise him that he couldn’t
shake his natural curiosity about her identity. He’d never been able to pass up a puzzle or a mystery.

She straightened. “
Affaire
? I wouldn’t call it that.”

“Then what is it?”

Adjusting her veil as if to make certain that nothing showed, she replied, “Anonymous.”

“Anonymous?”

“Yes. You go your way and I go mine. There is no ‘thing’ between us.”

Despite himself, he couldn’t quite let it go at that.

Twisting around, Steele sat on the pile of rugs where they’d just been. What made this woman tick? Why was she so different from any woman he’d encountered before? And why did she stir his blood in a way he hadn’t felt in years? He knew that he’d given his word about her identity, but this woman inflamed his already robust curiosity to overpowering proportions.

Then there was the matter of her safety. Somehow she was involved with Lucifer Laverty and the circuit. He feared that she might not grasp the danger, and he couldn’t in good conscience simply walk away.

He stood. “Why were you meeting with Jumper?”

She stiffened. “What?”

“Why were you meeting Jumper?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She turned away curtly.

He leaned forward. “I saw you speaking with Jumper. What is your business with him?”

Lifting her skirts, she wove her way through the various piles, knocking over two stacks in a clatter of crockery. “I must go.”

He jumped up and followed her, grabbing her arm just as she made it outside the door. “Don’t you walk away from me!”

She stopped, her body tense with irritation. “Look, we had a fine time. Now I must go.”

“I asked you a question! Answer me!”

“No.”

“No?” The answer struck him dumb. No one ever refused to answer him. He frowned. “What’s your business with the circuit?”

Shrugging off his arm, she turned and strode down the alleyway, heading in the wrong direction, back toward where she’d met Jumper.

“I’m talking to you!” He was right at her heels.

“And I’m ignoring you,” she retorted over her shoulder.

He grabbed her, swung her around.

“Unhand me!”

“Not until you answer me!”

“Let me go!” She yanked at her arm, hard.

He wrapped his arms around her in a hug quite dissimilar from the embrace they’d shared moments before. “I want answers!”

She was stiff as whalebone, nothing like the softly sensual woman a short while ago. “Then ask someone else!”

“What do you want with Lucifer Laverty? Tell me!”

Suddenly a hard object was pressed into his gut.

“If you don’t unhand me, I’ll be forced to shoot.” Her voice was cool, with just a hint of a tremor.

“I don’t believe you,” he scoffed. It would take a coldhearted woman to bed him one minute and shoot
him the next. A small voice in his head warned that he didn’t know that this woman wasn’t deranged; he had no idea what drove her. But his instincts told him that she wouldn’t shoot him. When he’d spoken with her, he’d felt a natural affinity. Yes, she met in alleyways with less-than-noble characters, but he sensed that she had some kind of reason. His gut feeling was that she was in trouble but unwilling to ask for help.

“Let me go,” she bit out, her voice harsh with anger.

“What’s your business with Lucifer Laverty?”

“Do you want to die?” she demanded. “For I’ll give you your wish.”

“Go ahead.”

A loud boom resounded.

I can’t believe she did it
, Steele thought.

Then all went black.

W
incing, Abigail caught the masked man, trying to break his fall as he sagged to the ground like a rag doll. He was so heavy that she wound up partially on the ground herself. She looked over at Jumper. “Please tell me that you didn’t kill him.”

Jumper leaned on the post he’d just used to knock out the masked man, looking very proud of himself. “Naw. Not even close.”

“He’ll be all right?”

“Oh, ’e’ll have a blazing good ’eadache in the morning. I’ll tell ya that. But ’e’ll be fine.”

Wanting desperately to believe him, Abigail extricated herself from the arms that felt like the weighty lines on a ship, and stood. But she immediately crouched down, checking the man’s pulse at the base of his neck. She counted the steady beats of his heart and exhaled, reassured. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him. But he’d been so insistent, so demandingly belligerent, and Jumper had come along. She could have stopped it. She had one moment when she could have called out a warning and stopped Jumper from
dropping that post upon his head. But she’d wanted to escape, hadn’t wanted to give any answers, and she knew that she never would have shot the masked rescuer. She’d just given herself to the man; she could hardly pull the trigger and end his life.

But they’d
agreed
and he’d tried to maneuver around that agreement. Staring down at his still form, she realized that she felt vulnerable, raw, and uncertain of her feelings about herself, how she’d responded to this stranger, and the astonishing effect he seemed to have on her.

“So who is ’e?” Jumper asked, leaning forward.

Shaking her head, she wished the masked man could have let things be. Jumper’s interference was opportune, she told herself. Then why did she suddenly wish that it was the masked man standing conscious beside her?

“So who is ’e?” Jumper repeated, pulling her from her guilty musings.

She blinked. “Pardon?”

“Aren’t ya gonna pull off ’is mask?”

“Ah…” Her hand hovered near the bottom of the cloth masking his features. It was so tempting. He was unconscious; he’d never know. Recalling the exchange of promises between them, she tried to tell herself that he’d broken their agreement with his questions, and now she was free of any obligations. But it was an argument based on web-thin premises.
She’d
made a promise and
she
would keep it. He might not know, but she would. “No. I will not unmask him.”

“Then I will.” Jumper reached down.

“No!” She grabbed his wrist.

“Why the ’ell not? ’E was attacking you! What the ’ell do you owe ’im?”

“He saved my life.” Besides, she’d made a promise, and the man was vulnerable. She couldn’t allow him to be exploited that way.

Jumper snorted; she could tell his features were dubious even in the dim light.

“Really.” She rose. “I fell into a trap. I was being attacked…If it weren’t for him…” Her mind veered away from memory. “I owe him my life; I will not take advantage of him when he’s down. And I can’t let you, either. It’s not right.”

Frowning, Jumper blew out a loud gust of air. “Bloody ’ell.”

“Promise me you won’t try to learn his identity, Jumper.”

“’E couldna lent ya blunt or something. ’E ’ad to ’ave saved yer life. That’s the one favor ya gotta respect.”

“Will you respect it?”

Grimacing, he waved a hand. “Fine. Fine. I promise I won’t peek.”

“Or have anyone else peek.”

“Or ’ave anyone else peek.” Jumper jerked a thumb. “Ya best be off now, Leo the Butcher comes round early, and soon everyone else’ll be about, too.”

Abigail’s eyes moved to the man, guilt twisting like a maggot in her heart. “We can’t leave him here.”

Scratching his head, Jumper sniffed. “I know a good place.”

“He’ll be safe?”

“Safe as a babe in a bed.”

“Show me.”

Light pierced Steele’s eyelids, but he refused to wake. The pain in his head was excruciating, like a nail being driven through his crown.

He must have gotten riotously soused last night. But his mouth wasn’t dry as sand, as it usually was after a night of revelry. And instead of the smell of brandy, the scent greeting his nose was…dung.

Dung?

He sat up. Sharp pain sliced through his head like a scythe. He groaned, raising his fingers to a lump the size of a plum. “What the…?”

Bright golden light hurt his eyes as he blinked them open.

Golden. No, not golden, but straw bathed in sunlight.

Hay. He was surrounded by mounds of hay. And the odor of dung was so powerful, he almost gagged.

A pig squealed. A cow mooed.

A barn. He was in a bloody barn.

Swallowing back his bile, Steele looked around. The loft of a barn, he corrected, eyeing the wooden beams overhead. Golden wisps of light broke through the cracks in the wood, hailing the dawn.

The sounds of animals moving below. A door creaking open, footsteps shuffling around.

How the blazes did I get here?

He forced his mind to remember.

The widow! They were arguing…and then she shot him!

With his heart racing, Steele planted his hands all over his torso, feeling for blood, or pain. But all he felt were the buttons of his coat, the wool of his
cloak. No pain, no blood, no injury of any kind. Relief flooded through him. He wasn’t shot.

But the sound. And all had gone black.

His head.

He must have been hit from behind.

He didn’t know if he was pleased that he hadn’t been felled by the widow’s hand or frightened that someone else had come upon them.

But wait a minute. She was facing his attacker. She must have seen the person, must have known it was going to happen.

And she hadn’t warned him.

His fingers curled and his teeth clenched with impotent rage. Did she have a collaborator? Had he been played?

His fury was quick and hot as he recalled her moans and how she’d led him along like a dog in heat.
Had her partner been waiting in the shadows and
—his gut twisted—
watching?

Slowly he shook his head. Somehow he knew that they hadn’t been watched. After all his training, all his years of vigilance, he knew the feel of eyes upon him. He would have known. And even more compelling, the widow had not behaved like a woman acting a part or performing for another. There had been no awareness to her actions. No sense that another had been witnessing their act.

Rubbing his temple, he forced his aching mind to
work
.

So the other person had come after.

But that person and the widow clearly had been in league together. Or else she would have warned him.

Why was he assuming that she was rational? Why was he presuming that she wasn’t deranged?

Because every encounter, everything he’d witnessed told him that she was sane, yet driven to a purpose that he did not understand.

Peering over the side of the loft and noting the many rungs on the ladder leading down, he doubted she’d have been able to get him up to the loft by herself.

No, it had likely been a man, and a strong one, to carry him up that ladder.

The first time he’d encountered her, she’d been cornered by that nasty pair. Then the next she’d been with Jumper, talking about Lucifer Laverty. The circuit.

Jumper!

He had been nearby. And although they hadn’t been acting like lovers, they’d certainly exchanged words on some pretty clandestine topics.

The logic of the idea settled upon him, and he suspected that Jumper was the man who had struck him.

Exhaling, he scowled, anger and frustration making his belly roil.

Jumper was going to have a few questions to answer tonight.

Suddenly Steele’s heart lurched. Jumper’s currency was information! The man’s every act was predicated on knowing everything he could about everyone around him.

His hand flew to his mask. It was secure. But had Jumper looked? Did Jumper know who he was?

But Jumper wouldn’t recognize his face. The man
didn’t run in his circles, even as solicitor-general. And Steele’s likeness had never appeared in the broadsheets, since in every criminal case it had been the defendant’s picture that had been displayed. For once he appreciated that anonymity.

But what of the widow? Had she broken the very promise she’d demanded of him? Could she know his face? Could they have met before at a ball or musicale or society event?

The agony of the betrayal, his humiliation and anger were too great. He ran his hand over his eyes, feeling ill. What had he done? Had he well and truly been compromised?

A strangled laugh broke through his lips.

Compromised. Like a lily white miss at the hands of a lecherous rake. In all his thirty-odd years, he never would have considered the possibility of being compromised.

But in truth, she might not know him. And even if she did recognize him, whom would she tell without first explaining how she knew of his nocturnal activities? She could not let his secret be known without conceding her own behavior. But more importantly, who in his right mind would believe that the Viscount Steele roamed the streets of London at night in a mask? He felt reassured.

The bigger question that begged to be answered was whether he could now seek out her identity if she’d breached her vow. The barrister in him cried out that all obligations toward her were dissolved by her actions. The gentleman in him knew that no matter what she’d done, he’d given his word and he could not break his vow.

“So you’re safe for the moment, my little witch,” he muttered.

“Who’s there?” a voice cried in alarm from below. It was male, and young.

Rising on unsteady legs, Steele called out, “Have no fear. I mean no harm. I was just sleeping off a wild night.”

“Who are you?” the voice demanded with a quiver of indignation.

Steele brushed off the stray sticks of hay clinging to his breeches. “Never fear, there’s coin in it for your hospitality.” Adjusting his mask, he exhaled and moved toward the ladder. He would find out if anyone had been seen bringing him here. “And extra coin for some information.”