Steam & Sorcery (16 page)

“No.” The word started as a rumble deep in his chest and burst out with explosive force.

Caroline didn’t draw back, just held his gaze with her own. “I will be attending.”

He glowered. “You work for me, remember? I said no.”

“I’ll resign, if that’s what it takes.” She wouldn’t of course. Leaving those children was unthinkable.

“If you resign, I won’t be your employer.”

“So?”

Triumph sang in his slow, smug smile. “So then I can do this.” His action was so swift she barely saw him move before he’d dragged her up onto the desk, scattering books and papers left and right as her skirts slid across the polished surface. At the end, she knelt at the far edge of the desk with him standing in front of her, so close she could hear his heartbeat.

Caroline squeaked. That was all the sound she could get out before his lips came down on hers. Immediately, she stopped fighting him and wound her arms around his neck, kissing him back. When he slipped his tongue along her lips, she opened for him. She’d read about this, imagined it, but neither had done justice to the sensation of being crushed against Merrick’s chest while his mouth plundered hers.

Her entire body responded to his touch—even her stomach cramped with some kind of need. His hair slid through her fingers, thick and silky, while her other hand pressed against the broad strength of his back. Even through waistcoat and shirt, he radiated warmth. Sliding her hand down his back, feeling the shape of his muscular form, was too much temptation to resist.

His hands weren’t idle either. One cupped the back of her head, holding her in place. The other roamed up and down her spine, then around to settle on her hip before slipping inside her dressing gown to caress her through nothing more than the thin cotton of her nightgown. Instinctively she shifted to the side, allowing him more room to explore, even as she trailed her own fingers down past his belt. The muscles of his bum were every bit as solid as those of his shoulders, and she dug her fingers into the firm flesh through his woolen trousers.

Merrick’s gasp urged her on, even as his hand moved up under her robe to the side of her breast, which felt heavy and tender, almost bruised, but somehow soothed by the glide of his palm. He nibbled at her lips, then slid his mouth down to the column of her throat, and she instinctively arched her neck. The movement put her breast more firmly into his hand and he squeezed lightly, which only made her yearn for more. When his thumb rasped along her nipple and he nipped the tendon at the base of her neck, she let out a broken cry.

Caroline wasn’t a fool—she knew where this was leading. She simply didn’t want it to end. For the first time in her life, she was willing to go where her emotions led. Her fingers trembled as she opened the buttons on his waistcoat and pulled his shirt free of his waistband. Then her hands were there, under his shirt, touching bare, warm flesh, even as he rolled her nipple between fingers and thumb.

She needed to be closer. Scooting forward on the desk, she sat back on her heels so she could widen her knees, allowing Merrick to stand with his hips between them, so she effectively straddled his thighs. When had he untied her dressing gown and pushed it open? Now only his trousers and her flimsy nightgown separated them, making his desire more than obvious where it pressed into her stomach. One of his hands still tormented her breast, while the other made quick work of the buttons at the neck of her nightgown. As soon as it was open, his lips trailed downward, skating across her collarbone, then down into the valley of her sternum before he ran the tip of his tongue around her breast. Finally, he lightly licked her aching nipple.

“Oh!” She arched her back, pressing herself even closer, as if begging for more—embarrassing, but probably true.

Merrick seemed to understand. His lips closed around the sensitive bud and he drew it into the wet heat of his mouth, dragging a moan from deep in Caroline’s throat.

Then she felt his other hand sliding up her thigh—under the hem of her nightgown. His fingertips were callused and rasped slightly on her skin, but his touch was exquisitely gentle. She could do little more than grip what part of him she could reach—his waist with one hand, a shoulder with the other, and spread her knees just a little wider as his hand approached her core.

“Christ, Caro,” he muttered. He pulled his mouth away from her nipple and kissed a line to the center of her chest, speaking a word or two between each kiss. “So lovely. So responsive. So bloody damn tempting.”

She almost cried out with the loss as he stopped suckling her, but he merely moved his head to her other breast, treating it to the same tender attentions.

A moment later, his fingers reached the juncture of her thighs, lightly skimming across the curls there, teasing the skin below. She shifted, leaning back on her elbows, her legs splayed on either side of his, her head thrown back and her center pressed against his hand. He cupped her there with one big hand while he continued to suckle at her breast, now pulling more strongly as his fingers pushed inward, sliding through her damp folds.

“Merrick.” It came out somewhere between a sigh and a whimper.

“Lovely, Caro,” he murmured against her skin, before resuming the glorious suction.

He found the knot of nerves at the top of her sex and massaged it softly, rendering her incapable of speech altogether. She arched into his touch, eyes squeezed shut, and just focused on her other senses. The wet sound of his hand on her quim, the gasps of her own ragged breathing, the scent of his sweat and her own arousal, and oh, heavens, the feel of his mouth and hand, doing things she’d never thought to experience. Pressure built, low in her belly and seemed to be striving toward…something.

“Let go,” Merrick muttered. He switched back to her other breast, allowing the cool air to caress the damp tip he’d just abandoned. “Come for me, Caro.”

Let go.
Wasn’t that what she’d been doing? But some part of her understood, and she relaxed her control over her body, letting her hips rise and fall as they wanted to against his hand.

Stars exploded behind her eyelids. Ripples of pleasure coursed from her womb out to every inch of her skin, and her body seemed briefly to be suspended midair—touching nothing but Merrick, anchored only by his strength. He stroked her slowly and kissed his way back to her mouth, taking her lips tenderly as her shudders subsided.

As soon as she could move, she tentatively reached for the buttons on his trousers.

“No.” He dropped one last kiss on her lips, and then stood, pulling her back up to sit on the edge of the desk. His chest heaved with his ragged breathing and his face was sheened with perspiration. With an odd smile, he tucked her dressing gown back around her and tied the sash. “We need to stop now, darling, difficult though it is for both of us.”

“But you…” She glanced down at the extremely prominent bulge beneath his trouser buttons. When she brushed her hand along that rather intimidating ridge, he groaned.

“I’ll survive, I promise.” His wry laugh sounded forced.

“You don’t want me?” His actions seemed at odds with his physical reaction.

“More than anything. But I’ll not take your maidenhead here on my desk, with an unlocked door and a houseful of curious relatives and children.” He smoothed a strand of hair that had escaped from her braid. “What just happened was nothing to be ashamed of, Caro. But if we’d kept on, there could have been…irrevocable consequences.”

“Of course.” Consequences like herself—exactly what she’d always planned to avoid. She gripped his upper arms and inhaled deeply. “Thank you. You’ve more willpower than I do, and I do appreciate it.”

“Whereas I’m already calling myself all kinds of fool.” He dropped a kiss on her nose. “Go to bed, Caro, before my willpower fails completely.”

“Very well.” She leaned her face into his chest for just a second before she pulled back and fastened the buttons on her nightgown. “So does this mean I’m no longer employed?”

“I would take it as a great personal favor if you wouldn’t resign.” He tipped up her chin so she was forced to look into his eyes rather than at his chest. “I’d like to promise this won’t happen again, but we’ve already seen how well that works out.”

“And I’ll remind you again. Everything that just occurred was fully consensual.” Even if that did make her as wanton as her mother. “I don’t want to leave, Merrick. The children need me, and I especially can’t run away when they might be in danger.”

“Then it’s settled. This—whatever the hell this is—has no bearing on your position as governess.” His shoulders relaxed a little, as if he was actually relieved.

“And I
am
going to that ball tomorrow night. Is that settled as well? I’d rather go with you than with Gideon MacKay.”

He winced, but nodded. “I’ll procure two tickets. Your task will be to find us dominoes and masks. I’m sure there’s something in the attic somewhere. The children will love rummaging around in the old trunks.”

“I’m sure they will.”

“Oh—and in case I forgot to tell you, we have a dinner engagement at Trowbridge’s before the ball. You and Edwin were specifically invited, along with Dorothy and myself. We’ll go directly from there to the ball, so it will have to be dominoes, not regular fancy-dress.”

Caroline blinked in shock. “I’m to go to dinner? A governess, dining with a
duke?
”

“He is my superior, and you are part of my household. Besides, you liked him well enough to dance with him the other night.” Now he was teasing her, the rat.

She tossed her head and grinned back. “Yes, I did. I promise to behave myself and not to use the wrong fork.”

“Good night, Caroline.”

After giving her clothing one last check, she made her way back to her room. Lying back on her bed, she stared through the dark at the ceiling. Dinner with a duke and duchess. A masked ball. An intimate interlude with Merrick. Caroline wasn’t sure she could ever read a gothic romance again—it seemed she’d fallen head-first into one.

Merrick watched her leave, his body still primed and yearning, though he’d damn near come in his trousers like an untried lad. What the hell was he going to do about Caro?

He locked his study door behind her and poured himself a stiff drink before plopping back into his chair. His desk was a mess, and the scent of lavender and roses still filled the air. Thankfully, he hadn’t had any pens or open ink bottles about. Explaining that to the servants would have been awkward.

He began to reorder his desk with half his mind still on Caroline. She was a puzzle, to be sure, prim and proper one moment, writhing in passion the next. He could barely recall the calm, well-ordered haven his home had been before she’d come into it. Certainly, most of the chaos was due to the children, but the havoc in his mind and soul? That was on her.

The woman was strong, resilient and far too intelligent for her own safety. What was he going to do about her? Clearly he couldn’t trust himself to be alone with her. It would be difficult to face her the next day without remembering the sight and feel of her falling apart in his arms. And yet, he had a promise to keep, if only because he knew she’d stick to her vow to get MacKay to take her to the ball instead.

Merrick jotted off a note to Albert Bingley, asking him to meet at White’s the following morning, and set the missive on the hall table. Mountjoy would see it sent off first thing, probably before Merrick was even awake.

Drink in hand, he made his way upstairs. Again, the refrain echoed through his brain. What the hell was he going to do about Caro?

Butterflies tumbled in Caroline’s stomach as she curtseyed to the Duke and Duchess of Trowbridge. Their townhouse—mere blocks from Buckingham Palace—glittered with candlelight from gilded chandeliers along with gas-powered wall sconces. The pink marble floor of the foyer was veined with gold, and burgundy velvet chairs with gilded legs were scattered about invitingly. Her host and hostess welcomed her warmly as she stood between Dorothy and Mr. Berry in the receiving line.

“We’re so glad you could make it, Miss Bristol.” Her grace squeezed Caroline’s hand warmly.

“You’ll be sure to save me a dance, now, won’t you dear?” The duke gave her a friendly smile. “I’ll try not to step on your toes this time.”

“I’m sure you’ve never done such a thing in your life.” Caroline smiled back, put at ease. “I’d be delighted, your grace.”

“Except, we have another engagement right after dinner, so can’t stay for the dancing,” Merrick reminded her, from his place ahead of Dorothy. “Next time, sir.”

“Ah, thrown over for a younger man.” The duke winked. “Take care of her, Hadrian. She owes me a dance.”

They moved into the ballroom, where the guests were gathering before the meal. Caroline felt the curious gazes of strangers as she entered on Merrick’s arm. In her daringly cut, bronze-and-ivory evening gown, held wide over hoops, ivory kid gloves and satin dancing slippers, she felt like a princess. Sally had piled Caroline’s hair in an intricate arrangement, decked with ivory silk roses and bronze ribbons to match the gown. Her only jewelry was her mother’s seed pearl necklace and earrings, and she carried an ivory fan, borrowed from Dorothy, at her insistence.

The hairs on the back of her neck twitched as Mr. Berry glared at her. They hadn’t informed him or Dorothy of their foray to the Sorcery ball—just that they had a trail to follow regarding the case, which was why they’d come in two separate carriages.

Merrick went off to fetch beverages, while Dorothy introduced Caroline to a number of friends. She’d met a few at the library, and more at the MacKays’ dinner party, but dread still curled in her stomach. What if she ran into a former employer?

A mechanical servant glided through the room on soundless wheels, offering canapés to the guests, and Caroline instinctively shrank back from the machine, lest she inadvertently damage it. She tripped on a flounce of her trailing skirt and stumbled, knocking herself into the gentleman standing behind her.

Caroline whirled, her face warm with embarrassment. “How clumsy of me. I’m so terribly sorry, sir.”

“It’s nothing,” the gentleman said absently. He was perhaps five years older than Caroline, already balding and with a notable paunch. He turned back to his companion—a pinch-faced woman of maybe twenty-five, who glared down her nose at Caroline. A tendril of fear slithered down Caroline’s spine. It couldn’t be.

“Ah, Buckley,” Dorothy said with a small laugh. “Have you met my dear friend Caroline Bristol? Caro, this is the Viscount and Lady Buckley.”

Caroline dropped her face and curtseyed. “Pleased to meet you, my lady, my lord. Again, I apologize for my clumsy feet.”

“You!”

Oh, gracious, he’d recognized her. Caroline straightened and looked her cousin in the eye. “Good evening, Cousin Victor.” Victor Buckman, Viscount Buckley, heir to the Earl of Woodmere. Caroline’s first cousin and the bane of her childhood.

She felt, rather than saw, Merrick skid to a stop beside her. He must have passed the glasses off to someone else, for his hand settled on the small of her back. “Buckley,” he said through his teeth. “Of course.” He gave the barest hint of a nod at Victor and his wife.

Lady Buckley sniffed and turned aside to speak with someone else.

Victor just sneered. “Hadrian. Knew you were a barbarian, but I never thought you’d try to pass off that kind of trash as a lady,” Victor sneered. “Bringing your fancy piece to the ducal residence? How crass.”

Dorothy stood staunchly on Caroline’s other side and raised one eyebrow. “As crass as causing a scene in someone else’s ballroom? How odd.”

“The lady is my aunt’s friend and a guest in my home,” Merrick said coldly enough to make Caroline shiver. “And as such, she is under my protection. You will treat her accordingly.”

Oh, that’s going to happen.
Victor would pluck the wings off flies, just for fun. Being remotely civil to Caroline was outside the realm of his abilities.

“Bet she didn’t even tell you her real name. Bristol, indeed.” Victor sniffed loudly, playing to the gawking crowd that had gathered around them. “Chit’s name is Buckman, to the family’s shame. Nothing but my
dear
aunt’s shiftless bastard.”

“I took the name Bristol because your beloved father made it clear I wasn’t allowed to sully the glorious Buckman family name.” Nobody paid a whit of attention to her, though Merrick’s fingers may have tightened a little against her stays. Gideon MacKay and his parents, along with Mr. Gavin, joined the group surrounding her and Merrick, lending her their silent support.

“Oh, I suspect most of our noble houses have a pillar or two born on the wrong side of the blanket.” The duke had appeared at Dorothy’s elbow, his duchess on his arm. “It’s always seemed to me that there’s no shame to the child in such situations—only to the family for how they treat them.”

Victor sputtered. “Breeding shows. My
cousin
is certainly no better than her harlot of a mother.”

“Yet she isn’t the one misbehaving in my home,” the duchess chimed in gently. “Now gather your wits, Lord Buckley, and cease causing a scene. We’re about to be seated for dinner.”

“If she’s staying, I certainly am not.” Victor lifted his chin. “I do have some standards regarding my dinner companions.”

Caroline felt the weight of every stare in the ballroom, some pitying, more censorious. Merrick’s hand at her spine gave her the courage to hold her head high as she turned to the duchess. “Your grace, I’d be happy to leave if you’d prefer it. It was never my intention to disrupt your lovely evening.”

“Nonsense.” The duchess nodded sharply. “Now come along. I’ve seated you right near me so we can chat. Dorothy tells me you’re a connoisseur of literature. I’d love to hear your thoughts on Mrs. Browning’s latest collection. There are some who argue her husband is the better poet, but you’ll never convince me of that.” She took her husband’s arm and turned toward an open archway that revealed an enormous dining table. “Merrick, bring her along if you please.” The sound of her heels clacking on the inlaid wooden floor galvanized the rest of the room into motion. The others lined up in order of rank, except for Merrick and Caroline, who took their place directly behind their host and hostess at her insistence.

Several couples did leave, but not many. Footmen hurriedly removed place settings and chairs, creating more elbow room for those remaining. The meal was awkward for everyone. Caroline barely touched her food and many of the diners pointedly ignored her, though their hostess chatted with her and Merrick throughout the six-course repast. When the ladies retired, Merrick went to collect their cloaks, while Caroline took her leave of the duchess.

“We’ll see you again soon, dear. Thank you so much for coming.” Then the older woman placed a quick kiss on Caroline’s cheek. The duke himself saw them out the door.

By the time they reached the carriage, Caroline’s head was spinning.

“Do you want to go home?” As soon as the carriage rolled away from the ducal gates, Merrick took Caroline’s hand and turned to face her. “Are you all right?”

Caroline paused to consider, then looked up at him and nodded. The tingle was there, but she was learning to ignore it from time to time and maintain some dignity. “I’m fine. You’re not getting out of taking me to that ball. And now you know my real name is Buckman.”

“Yes, well, Bristol has a much nicer sound to it. I hope you know how difficult it was not to smash the weasel’s face in.” He sounded for all the world like a sulky ten-year-old, and Caroline laughed for the first time all night.

“My hero,” she teased. “Would you really have hit him for me?”

“Can you doubt it?” With that, he tugged her into his arms and kissed her. There was no gentleness this time, just hunger and possession which was even more exciting.

What happened last night had been the single most glorious, erotic moment of her life, if a little embarrassing in retrospect. She’d lain awake all last night, reliving it over and over again. Never once in her life had she lost control of herself like that. Caroline was very afraid that she’d utterly forfeited her battle against falling in love with her employer. Kissing him now brought back all those sensations, making her crave him all over again, and it was clear that she wouldn’t resist. If Merrick continued trying to seduce her, sooner or later she would be his, and Caroline doubted her heart would ever be whole again.

When they finally stopped, both were breathing heavily and Caroline’s heart pounded in her chest, and she had to fight just to speak with a semblance of equanimity. “Very well. I promise not to doubt your protective instincts again. Now, we need to get into our dominoes and masks.” She reached for the box that had been stowed beneath the seat.

“Rather than getting out of the rest of our clothing,” he grumbled.

“In a carriage? Surely not.” Her heart raced at the idea, but she forced herself to breathe normally while she pulled two black silk masks off the top of the pile and set them aside. Beneath them was a pair of the voluminous black hooded cloaks called dominoes, which would function as disguises for the ball. Merrick helped her fasten the smaller of the two around her shoulders, and then she clasped the other around his, which he took as an opportunity to pull her down for another kiss.

“You really need to stop doing that.” She only wished she meant what she said. What she wanted to say was closer to,
never stop doing that.

“Right.” Should she be glad he didn’t sound as though he believed it either? Instead they picked up their masks and tied them on, then lifted the hoods of their dominoes.

When they reached the assembly room where the ball was being held, Merrick handed her down from the carriage and they made a few last minute adjustments. Caroline’s skirts showed, as the lace-trimmed lady’s cloak was cut waist-length, concealing her shoulders, but showing off the quality of her bodice and skirts. Merrick’s domino, though fell to his knees, baring nothing but his dark evening trousers, identical to those of almost every man in society. Conversely, his mask only covered his eyes and nose, revealing his strong chin, while hers had lace veiling suspended down to cover her entire face. Once everything was in place, Merrick took her arm and led her up the stairs to the door, tickets prominently carried in his other hand.

“Remember,” he murmured in her ear. “Stay close. We’ve no idea what we’re likely to find in here.”

“I will.”

With a smile and a nod, the doorman took their tickets and motioned them inside where they discovered the ball already in full swing. Costumed ladies and gentlemen whirled about the dimly lit dance floor while others stood on the sidelines sipping champagne and chattering. The orchestra was a human one, playing in a minor key, casting an eerie note over the ballroom, in conjunction with the flickering light of candles. Not a single gas lamp burned, except for those outside the front door.

“It’s certainly…atmospheric,” Caroline noted as they made their way toward the refreshments table. Since that was located on the opposite side of the room, it gave them an excuse to circle the dancers.

“Yes, but I’m not feeling any genuine magick.” He leaned down so close she could feel his breath, even through the hood of her domino. “I recognize a few of the men and one or two women, but no one with half the power of a pocket watch.”

“You can tell?” There was so much about magick, and about Merrick, that she didn’t know.

He nodded. “It’s one of the gifts inherent to the Knights—also how I knew Tommy had Order potential, and that some of the other children were gifted—and you as well.”

Gifted
. Not how she’d ever thought of herself.
Cursed
would have been more like it.

They reached the other side of the room without being spoken to by anyone, though a few of the men looked at Merrick as if they recognized him. When they reached the champagne fountain, however, a gentleman approached Merrick and held out his hand.

“Sir Merrick, I’m so glad to see you could make it.” Dressed as a court jester, the man wore a minimal mask, leaving most of his face visible. He appeared young, thinner and shorter than Merrick, with the refined drawl of an aristocrat.

“Wouldn’t miss it. Apparently it’s all the ladies are talking about these days.” Merrick shook the other man’s hand, then turned to Caroline. “Miss Bristol is a friend of Aunt Dorothy’s here to help us adjust to having my new wards in the household. Caro, this is Mr. Albert Bingley—youngest son of Baron Rothburn. He arranged for our admissions this evening.”

Caroline dropped into a minor curtsey—suitable for someone of noble breeding but untitled himself. “My thanks, then, Mr. Bingley. It was I who begged Sir Merrick to obtain tickets. All the ladies I’ve met are atwitter about your Society.” She did her best to sound vapid and excitable.

“Well, all things occult are in vogue, aren’t they? One of the musicians is a werewolf, if you can believe it. Handles himself like a gentleman, of course, or we wouldn’t let him in. You may even meet an actual vampyre on the dance floor.” He winked suggestively. “I wouldn’t suggest a walk in the moonlight with one of those.”

She was glad her mask hid her smirk, even while she fluttered her lashes. “Oh, my, how terrifying.” She thought she heard Merrick snort.

The music stopped, then began again in the opening strains of a
Schottische
, and Caroline allowed Mr. Bingley to lead her out to the dance floor.

Merrick watched Caroline with Bingley and had to work to keep his eyes and ears on the gathering as a whole rather than on where the young fop put his hands. He’d told her to stick with him, but he was convinced now there was no need. So far, nothing in this room registered as genuine power. There were fortune tellers in another chamber and he wandered through that, noting the palmists and card readers. One or two might have a trace of genuine talent, but not many, and not much. Nothing here indicated a serious threat, much less any connection to his case. With that in mind, he moved back to Caro and motioned that he was leaving the ballroom.