The Veiled Heart (The Velvet Basement Book 1) (11 page)

The street teamed with the start of night trade. It was Whitechapel yet less the dirge than he had anticipated after their last venture here. Night stalls lined the main street, and side streets hid all manner of trades.

He watched Lily straighten her obscenely strong back, wander the part of the street that was under shadow, and then turn left into a side street. The gas lighting was minimal and interspersed by long strips of shadowed segments of the street. Smoke was pushed down in bursts by the wind. Women were in singles or doubles down the alley. There was one on her knees further away. Another with her leg hitched over a man’s hip and the side of her breast exposed, a white flash amongst the brown soot colors of the poor.

“Lily. Perhaps we can look for women on the main thoroughfare.”

“Nonsense.” And off she marched, right by the acts of passionless consummation.

He followed; of course, he would. He had seen it all before. Nevertheless, he was irked that she was seeing this. Irked that she didn’t even hesitate, blink an eye. A woman of her station should have been protected. Should have led a life that would have shielded her from even the knowledge that this was what the street looked like.

Lily stopped at a couple of women whose guard was up higher than the walls of Buckingham Palace.

“Good evening. I’d like to talk with you.”

“We don’ want no bibles here, miss.”

“No, but if you have some of them bread rolls, we’ll take ‘um.”

It took her aback for a second only and then she was off. She pulled out the box of sheaths. Pulled one out for each of them. The girls stepped forward. Looked. They had heard of them but not used them. Lily, in a most practical way explained how they were used.

Meanwhile, he leaned against the opposite wall and eyed the process of sale negotiations and delivery around them. He had nothing against anyone finding their pleasure; but Lily, here with this around her, made his jaw ache.

Lily stepped over to him.

“I had to give them more than one. They don’t leave between customers and, well, the practicality of servicing a few men with the same sheath seems unpalatable. They will need a few for the night and can clean them at night’s end.”

The clincher came after seven more exchanges, when her box was almost empty.

“What is she doing?” Lily’s voice rose.

He looked over to where she was pointing. One of the women was selling the sheaths to a man at the corner, pocketing the coin and walking off.

Lily was off and on her way before he realized that she was going to retrieve the sheath.

“Lily!” His hand hooked through her arm and pulled her to a stop. “Lily, you can’t just go up and take it from him.”

“But I gave it to her; it’s hers.”

“Yes, and she sold it.”

“She can’t do that!”

“Lily, sweetheart, she didn’t want it.”

He turned her around to face him. The look on her face was a mixture of pain and anger.

“They don’t want them.” He reached out to stroke her, to find some way to make this easier for her to see. To accept.

Her hand pushed his away.

“That’s not true. They talked to me. They took them.”

“Come, sit down, Lily.” She was stubborn but he moved them over to the side, found some sturdy packing cases, and spread his handkerchief over one for her to sit on. He stood next to her.

“Just have a look. Let the night and their actions unfold.”

Women and men were walking in all directions. Some hurrying to get to wherever they lived. Others were marching into the night as if the day was just beginning. As in previous places, carts rolled by to take care of the business the day didn’t allow.

After a while, another of the girls came out of the alley. She had her arm around a man, kissed him as he slipped coin in her hand. As the man walked away and the woman started to look over the pedestrians for her next customer, Lily wriggled off the crate.

“I am going to ask her if she used the sheath.”

His hand hooked into her elbow again and pulled her back.

“We’ll go and I’ll ask.”

“I don’t see why I can’t ask.”

“If I fail, you can try next. How about that?”

“Don’t patronize me.” But she hung back.

Worthington walked over and received a most enticing smile and come-hither shimmy as he approached.

“Madam, I have a rather indelicate question.”

Lily’s skirts brushed his leg.

“Did you use the sheaths I gave you?” Lily’s voice demanded at his side. There really was no holding her back. He shook his head at her as the alluring smile disappeared off the woman’s face.

“Here, this gentleman has business with me,” the woman said.

“No, he was just asking you a question.” Lily shuffled closer to him. He stopped the grin from spreading across his face.

“Well, how’d you know?”

“Because he’s mine.” Her hand threaded through his and suddenly, the night was a success.

Because he’s mine.

The words rippled through him, a wash of pure pleasure. He’d get it tattooed somewhere.

Would she have ever said he was hers in any other setting? He didn’t think so.

His hand slid over Lily’s as he addressed the woman. “I’m afraid she’s right.”

“We were wondering why you aren’t using the sheaths.” Her voice was all business as her arm kept him tight against her.

“No one will use them ’ere. Cause no man will pay if he has to wear one. That’s for hob knobs not for us down here.”

Lily stepped forward. “But what about disease? Have you any idea what could happen if you continue to do what you are doing with no protection?”

The lady looked at Lily as if she had three heads.

“Oh, we know, love. Didn’t want to make you feel bad, and we all can sell them, but that’s not how it works down here. And we, none of us is going to start. The first one to use them will be the first to lose business. Regulars we have, miss. It looks all random like. Them are all regulars. It’s safe enough.”

“Thank you,” he said as he stepped back and indicated to Lily they should leave.

Lily was still gazing at the woman, her face reflecting confusion again.

“I just don’t understand.”

Her face was so disappointed.

“You know about slumming, Lily. These people see all kinds of people coming from better lives. People like yourself motivated by all kinds of reasons; moral, religious, altruistic. People who are curious and those that seek pleasures and amusement.” He guided her through the crowd. But she walked with a lack of focus. She shook her head, a crease tight between her brows.

“But this meant something to me, Max. I didn’t just want to help. I could have gone to a charity and helped. I needed to do this for me as much them.”

Back near the crates, their original vantage point, she stood with an unfathomable mix of emotions in her stance.

“So, that’s the way of it.” Lily opened the box of sheaths; there were a few left in the box. She walked over to the crates, picked up the handkerchief, and put the box down and turned her back on it.

“Max, I want to go home.”

The small of her back was suddenly very small as he guided her to the cab.

The carriage rocked and she sat stiffly beside him.

He helped her out at her garden gate, told the cabbie to wait, and walked in silence to her terrace gate.

“Would you like me to come in?”

She looked up. She still had the wisteria lace on. It, in fact, had managed to stay intact. She was achingly beautiful.

Worthington slipped the pins out of her hat and unwrapped the lace from her face, all the while she stood motionless, looking at him.

This was not easy for her. Whatever her motivation, it had meant a great deal to her.

Her hands came up, clutched the side of his coat, and leaned against him. She arched up and kissed him. A hard clumsy kiss that made his chest hurt.

Her teeth nipped his lips and he stepped forward in the role she needed of him. He kissed her sweet, delicious mouth back. Wrapped her in his arms and sent her all the warmth, all the protection he could in their embrace.

“I’ll go up now.” She turned and entered her garden, clicking the gate closed behind her. She didn’t look back.

This purpose, this role she had set for herself was the basis on which they met. The basis of her contacting him and his connection with her. He would help her see other areas they had in common. He would help her find something else to focus her passion on.

A park bench sat a little way back. Far enough away not to be seen but close enough to watch the lights of the house. For now, he would give her some time to process this.

No notes came over the next couple of days, but each night he came, sat on the bench, and watched the light in her bedroom. Staff said she was sick, but no doctor was called. They said it was the old sickness. Said she had stayed in bed after her husband had died. That it was natural for her to fall back into that grief after such a great love. Three years she’d been broken by grief, they said. A year in the dark under the covers in pining. He’d sliced at the hydrangeas with his cane on his afternoon walk. He knew it wasn’t the case, but it irked him. Bit into his heart that she was curled under the covers and not coming out. Why had she done it after Freddy died? There was something about a grieving woman. It unsettled him. Kept him awake. He’d thought Freddy had behaved. Was sure he had. Now. Now, he wasn’t at all sure.

There was movement in her room. Miriam rolled onto her back.

“Mary, is that you?”

Her whole body felt like two winter comforters lay on top of her and her mouth was dry.

“I’m not getting up.”

The usual practical steps of Mary walking to the window to draw the curtains were absent. No litany of where breakfast was at nor the list of the day’s to-dos. A list she was still not ready to face. Instead, there was just silence.

“Mary?”

Opening her eyes, she saw it was much too dark for the morning routine.

Her heart pushed forward and started to pound hard at the anomalies. Her eyes darted around the darkness.

Then she saw his shape. Even in the unlit room, she knew who it was.

Max.

He was kneeling by the grate and building a fire from the banked up coals. Although it wasn’t very cold, the flames were comforting, and after the absolute disaster of her plans, she’d lit one in her room and kept it alight. A vigil of sorts.

A bath drawn in front of it tonight had soaked away the tensions of failure. A little old-fashioned given that they had a bathroom installed. However, sometimes you just have to hunker down into what made you feel good.

Freddy had liked to play in the bathroom. He’d said learning to hold your breath was the symbol of a wife who knew how to hold her tongue.

The copper bath in front of the fire had been perfect.

“I waited for your notes.”

She huffed at that.

Whatever she said, it would say too much.

It had been a long time since staying in bed with the covers drawn was better than getting up and facing the world.

She’d told Aunt D that she’d caught a cold. But there was a limit to how long she could stay up here and not have the doctor fetched.

“You know I still don’t know anything about you, what you do or where you live. You could be married.” Her voice was a throaty sexy sound. All soft and sleepy. If she were a man, she would have liked it. No accusation, no scold, just a sound that said all the barriers were down, and staying that way.

“Not tonight, Lily. Tonight you can imagine me anyway you like.”

He walked over to the curtains and pulled them open. The light from the moon shone in. It wasn’t much, but enough to make the room glow in a grayish-silver hue.

She struggled out of the tangle of sheets, sat up, and watched as he stared out at the night.

“How did you get in?”

He turned. That wonderful face of his was etched with shadowed crevices.

“I sat out there wondering what you were doing up here. Imagined you in your room. Remembered the smell of you, the taste of you on my tongue. Wondered what your breasts would feel like naked and free in my hands.”

He tugged at his necktie and pulled the hem of his shirt out of his trousers.

“I took you as a survivor. I still think you are, so I reached the conclusion that you were sulking.”

She crossed her hands over her chest. She wasn’t sulking.

“Girls who sulk, Lily, are waiting for life to make it all better. Are you waiting for that, Lily? Someone to make it all better for you?”

Heat rose in her face. She moved a little higher in the bed.

“No. No, I’m not. I think you should leave.”

He sat on the chair by her dresser and took off his shoes.

“Take off your nightgown.”

His coat was already removed.

“I don’t believe I invited you in.”

He stood and started on his waistcoat.

“Nightgown, Lily.”

There wasn’t really anything to say. Every look, every movement, every defiant word that she gave him, came in a voice full of invitation.

She needed him. What he gave her. What he made her feel. An empty hollow sat in her chest and she felt too full of heaviness even to speak.

The sleepy mood was gone; her skin tingled with awareness, a thoroughbred lathered down with the promise of a good brushing.

She tugged her nightdress over her head, dropping it on the floor yet making sure, she was still under her comforter.

Max walked over to the bed. His pants and shirt still on, the tie removed and some buttons undone.

He sat down on the bed next to her, then leaned down and kissed her. He gently pushed her back down. His lips were soft, coaching as he hovered above her.

“Are you cold?”

“No.” They spoke in hushed whispers. No one slept on her floor, but staff slept in the attic above.

He pulled back and tugged the sheet and comforter from her shoulders. He continued over the top of her chest and then her breasts. Her fingers curled on the edge and stopped it.

His head tilted to the side.

“I can hardly see, Lily.”

“I can’t.” She wanted to. Desperately but… this… sex… had never gone well until recently. Until him. Lying exposed in front of him would just bring up too much.

“I feel terribly exposed….”

His face softened, smiled, and then he stood up and went to his coat pocket. He retrieved something and came back to the bed.

“I have just the thing.”

Theatrically, he flicked open a large piece of lace.

“Are you still buying me lace?” Warmth spread over her chest. It looked as though it had sparrows and feathers as the design.

“Shh, close your eyes.”

She did and he laid the lace over her face. Just laid it, not tied, or fixed to anything, just there as a shield to her vulnerability. No sooner was it in place and the covers started to move down again and stop. She looked at him through the lace. It was impossible to know if he could see her through the weave in this light. Most likely not. But when she didn’t grab the covers to stop him, he continued to pull it down slowly.

He uncovered her breasts. The air as it passed over them was cool despite the fire he’d built.

Max pulled the covers down further, down her stomach, over her belly, and the top of her hips. He left it there at the top of her mound. A weight where the rest of her was bare.

His hand moved slowly over her belly tracing the shape of her, her hips, the indents of her waist, the dip of her belly button, the softness of him against her skin. His full attention was on what he was doing; his gaze followed his hands as they made a path of burning want over her flesh.

Her breathing got faster.

She wanted him to go either direction, up or down. Either would be exactly what she wanted. Instead, this delicious wandering over her belly and abdomen was a torture.

Miriam arched her back as his hand moved to just under her breasts and stopped.

“Max, please…” Her skin was alive with the promise of how he woke her body, of the pure pleasure his touches brought.

“Put your hands under your pillow behind your head, Lily.”

Miriam put her hands where he asked. The position of vulnerability made her heart beat harder, caused hard thumps in her chest bordering on the uncomfortable.

He was not Freddy. Freddy, was long gone. This was Max.

Yet her chest grew tighter.

She’d been so good keeping Freddy at bay, but the days under the covers seemed to beckon him back.

Her hands curled under the pillow.

“I am not sure I can keep them there.”

He reached over to her dresser, pulled the unlit candle out of the candlestick, and slipped it under the pillow into her hands.

“You are the one armed, Lily. I guarantee a good whack with that and I will not be undertaking anything you don’t want.”

Heat pricked in her eyes as the solid beat in her chest slowed. How did he know? How had he known that time in the carriage? It was as if he was inside her. As if he could sense her thoughts, know what was there without her even having to say.

“Seems like you’ve forgotten that there are things worth getting up for. That there are things worth fighting for, even if your path toward them didn’t work.”

She twisted her head away from him. Blast him.

“You have no idea.” No one knew what she’d been through, how hard she had fought to get to right here and now.

The bed dipped as he climbed on, straddled her, leaned down, and licked her nipple. Then he bit, sending a hot heat pulsing through her.

“No idea? Are you sure?”

He shifted, licked, and bit her other nipple. They stood upright and hungrily alert in the air. But he didn’t go back to them; instead, he slowly kissed his way down her ribs.

“Here’s what I want you to do. If you’re ready to get out of bed, you can touch me, you can move, and I’ll be compelled to open my trousers. If you are going to stay in bed, keep your hands where they are, and we’ll keep this up until I’ve had enough and stop.” His head dipped back down to her remarkably sensitive nipple.

He moved between them licking, sucking, and biting as her legs moved restlessly under him. They burned with sensitivity and awareness. Every scrape of his teeth, every slide of his tongue sent shattering messages down through her body, under her skin and between her legs.

He pulled back, dragged the comforter off her then slipped a pillow under her hips.

Max moved down between her legs, and then ran his tongue along her folds. A hot, damp touch that made her thrust her pelvis up toward him. His tongue slid over her in light warm strokes. And his mouth sucking and nipping a spot that made her hips wriggle and push toward him. He held her hips down as she tried to push into his face, all the while moaning out her hungry need.

In pure frustration, her hand slipped from under the pillow and into his hair.

Strong fingers wrapped around her wrist and lifted it away.

“Under the pillow, Lily. I had hoped I was worth getting up for, but it seems I was wrong.”

Max worked her until she felt herself start to quiver, felt the muscles in her thighs tighten. This was it. She was going over, going to that place he sent her, to where feathers flew all around her.

Then he stopped. Just stopped. Blew on her swollen needy flesh and pulled away from her.

“Max!” Her cry of frustration filled the room with indignation. How could he do that? How could he just stop like that? She glared at him.

“You”—he pointed at her with his finger—”have to get out of bed tomorrow.”

She slapped that damn finger away.

He laughed, and she reared up at him; he just pressed her back down, his chest pushing her into the bedding. But his fingers slid back down to her. Slipped into her aching flesh exactly where she wanted him to touch her, needed his touch, to move over the edge. Like some laudanum-addicted governess, she wanted that next wave of pleasure; the waves of sensation coursing through every part of her body, to have all of that wipe her mind clear for just a few moments so the world felt like a place where she wanted to be.

He pulled his fingers out and ran the dampness over her nipple, and then sucked it hard into his mouth as his tongue flicked at her engorged flesh.

His hand went between her legs again. Came back up and smeared her dampness on her other nipple.

“Are you getting up tomorrow, Lily?”

Desire flushed over her skin at the focused way he was looking at her.

She nodded.

“Yes… yes, Max.”

His hand moved between them, slipped between her legs. He groaned and then she felt him push his fingers deep inside her. They were solid, thick, the kind of hands you imagined on a hard working man. Max had worked with those hands; he had not been pampered by soft living.

She ran her palms over the softness of his hair. Fine dark tresses.

He lifted. Looked down at her, his eyes moving over her breasts, down her belly, and between her legs with his hand moving there.

Her whole body quivered with need.

“I want to watch you peak.”

A rush of nerves flushed through her.

She wanted him to see her. See her in all her nakedness. She would give him her pleasure. Wanted him to see it.

Her hands slid up her sides and over her breasts. His breath hitched.

“Show me, Lily.”

His hand moved in her and that aching tension built again, rippling through her body in tighter and tighter coils.

Her body sang. Found a note and resonated with it in all its overtones.

She pinched her nipples. Both of them, hard, as her hips bucked up against his hand. His face was all harsh lines as he watched.

Intensity radiated out of him, a rawness as if he had never seen her, seen this. The control she always had, always needed, shredded under his watchful gaze.

The muscles in her legs, her abdomen and down her back all tightened. Her skin burned and she panted to get the air in.

Something connected; a sudden lift of sensation and she clenched her thighs around his hand. Her hands squeezed her breasts. She tilted her head back and cried out, her eyes shut tight as hot, warm, pleasure shot out to every square inch of her skin, her muscles, even her bones felt the ripples of pleasure, as they seemed to turn to liquid inside her.

Every time. Every time it was like she flew out into a different part of the heavens, clutched on to those damn angel wings and held on for as long as she could before she fell back down to earth.

After a few moments, she felt him move between her thighs, lift her legs over his shoulders, and lean over her. Her eyes opened slowly, lazily as his thick shaft slipped into her and started to move. Each thrust rocked her. She clutched at him from the inside, squeezed as he withdrew, felt the brush of his shirt as it moved over her chest, and the tickle of his hair as he leaned down. He put his mouth over hers. The hot thrust of his tongue as it moved in her mouth made the pleasure start to build all over again, build with each stroke of his tongue, each thrust of his hips until she called out again. Then Max stiffened,  and then held still.