Until his groan echoed in her ears, and she remembered the moans of pleasure coming from the private rooms at the King of Spades. Her cheeks flamed. She knew exactly what that stiff member was for.
“I oughta go,” Charlie stammered, his hold on her slackening.
No. Absolutely not.
She knew him well enough—knew him better than she knew her own capricious moods—to know that if he left now, he wouldn’t come back. His cursed ideas of chivalry had convinced him she was better off as Mrs. Donaldson.
But she didn’t want Nigel Donaldson, and she never would. She wanted Charlie.
She feared the changes taking place between them. She feared losing him. But more than all of that, she feared not living to the fullest. Being put in that small box her family had designed for her, never experiencing the truly amazing adventures life had to offer.
Charlie claimed she could determine her own fate. So when he went to draw back from her, Mina raised herself up on her tiptoes, and she brought her lips down atop his. It was a quick kiss, an experimentation, the slightest brush of mouth to mouth, because despite her boasts of secondhand knowledge, she’d never kissed a man.
In this, as in so many things before, she relied on Charlie to show her the way.
His eyelids fluttered open in surprise at first, but then he leaned into her, his hand coming up to cradle her chin in his palm. This gave him some sort of wonderful angle—because he was kissing her again, deeper now, his lips against hers with utmost urgency. And it was delightful, absolutely delightful, how his mouth slotted over hers to cover completely.
One kiss turned into two which turned into three and Mina lost count after that, for the warmth that had licked at her belly now became a rollicking, devouring flame. She tasted blood on his lips, and that somehow made everything hotter, because he’d earned those wounds defending her honor.
Then his tongue darted out to caress the edges of her mouth, urging her to open to him. She acquiesced immediately—of course she did, she’d do anything he asked if he just kept kissing her like this—and his tongue thrust into her mouth, doing all sorts of reckless, magnificent things.
At some point, she reached up, knotting her hands behind his neck, clinging to him. Distractedly, she registered the cold press of the iron gate against her back, but it was immaterial. For there was Charlie, and then there was more Charlie, and that was all that was important.
She did not know how much time passed, only that when he finally broke the kiss, her knees suddenly didn’t want to support her weight. She buckled, but he caught her, holding onto her until she was steady.
“That was…” She searched for the proper word. Good? Not strong enough. Great? Still lacking. Grand? That sounded too false. “Marvelous—”
“A mistake,” he said, at the same time.
Her mouth fell open in slack-jawed shock. “A mistake? You kiss me like that and call it a mistake? I may not have kissed many men, but I know devilishly well you enjoyed that.”
She conveniently left out that he was the only man she’d kissed. He didn’t get to know that, not now.
“Of course I bloody well enjoyed it. It’s all I can think about when I’m around you, Minnie!” Charlie’s voice rose, his words pouring forth with tremendous speed. “From the time I figured out what this bloody pecker between my legs was good for, I’ve dreamed of kissin’ you. Tuppin’ you. Do you understand how damnably beautiful you are? How smart you are? How much I’ve been wantin’ you?”
She blinked. “I…no?” She was probably supposed to be appalled by his language, yet…there was that familiar heat again, licking at her core as he described what he longed to do to her.
He wanted her.
“Well, I do,” he retorted. “And it’s damn near impossible to be around you. Which is why I can’t be. Not now. Not anymore.”
“Well, that doesn’t make any sense—” She threw up her hands in frustration, glaring at him. “If you want me so badly, then why haven’t you ever said anything?”
“Because I’m not good enough.”
She wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly, for this admission was so much quieter than the rest. He took a wide step away from her, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He didn’t meet her gaze anymore. “Because you deserve better.”
“That’s stuff and nonsense, and you ought to know it,” she shot back.
“It’s the truth.” His dark, soulful eyes met hers now, and she saw the pain that had been there in the carriage.
“You can’t think that—” Her reply was cut short by a shuffling behind the gate.
“Miss Mason?” One of the guards called. “Miss Mason, are you out there? God, I hope not. It’ll be my head on a pike—”
She turned to assure the guard that she wouldn’t tell Joaquin if he wouldn’t, but when she spun back around to reply to Charlie, he was gone.
She’d kissed him.
A bottle of gin in his hand, Charlie leaned back in his chair until the rungs rested against the wall, maintaining the precarious balance for a minute as he tried to make sense of the night’s occurrences. He closed his eyes, remembering the softness of Mina’s lips, the sweetness of her scent and the lushness of her curves up against his hard body. The pain from his split lip had somehow made their kisses fiercer, more raw. His cock stirred at the mere thought, ready to finish what they’d started against that damn gate.
“Down, boy,” he muttered sardonically, setting the chair back to rights.
He placed the bottle down on top of the wooden crate he used as a table and scowled. Passionate, dream-come-to-life kiss or not, how could a man like him ever deserve a woman like Mina? He couldn’t even afford an actual table! She was accustomed to a certain style of living—she had no idea how to live poor like he did, nor should she. He wouldn’t have wished the abject poverty of Ratcliffe on his worst enemy, let alone the woman he loved.
Loved.
He scrubbed his hand through his short hair, his frown deepening into a full-fledged grimace. He shouldn’t be so damned surprised at how easily the thought had come to him. Any fool could see he loved Mina. Hell, Jane had been yelling at him for years to tell Mina how he felt.
“If you don’t say something soon, she’s going to marry another,” Jane had said the night before last. She too had heard the rumors that Joaquin was pushing his sister to marry one of his associates.
He tried to lie—to the rest of Chapman, to Jane, to himself—that he was happy for Mina. That it made no difference to him who she married. Charlie picked up the bottle again, raising it to his lips. The burn of blue ruin gliding down his throat, and the hurt of his split lip, made it impossible to think for a second. A blissful, wonderful second in which all his cares were replaced by the simple knowledge that he loved a good woman. Then the sting lessened, the bite faded, and reality swarmed him.
His head ached something fierce; his chest felt as though someone had reached in, grabbed his heart, and twisted. It didn’t matter how much he knew, intellectually, that Mina would be better off with whomever Joaquin picked.
Because it wouldn’t be him.
It’d never be him.
He knew that, too.
But it didn’t make it hurt any less. Sighing, he dragged himself up and out of the chair, and with the bottle in hand, he went to the small bowl he used to wash up. He’d dillydallied long enough—time to fix himself up for the next round of fights that were sure to come. Though tonight he’d managed to slip in the back door and sneak up the steps to his flat unnoticed, he didn’t expect his luck to last through tomorrow. Surely, Zacharias would be paying him a visit to dispense his own special brand of justice.
He grabbed an old rag, holding it over the open bottle as he upended it. With his bruised, bloodied right hand over the bowl, he began to clean his wounds. He hissed as the alcohol pierced through his foggy senses, yet he kept on, moving the cloth against his wounds. Once he’d dried off his hands, he reapplied the spirits and dabbed
the cloth to the scratch along his eye. Sharp pain stabbed through him, but he ignored it, reminding himself that he’d had far worse. Then came his split lip, worsened by the fervent kisses with Mina.
He swallowed a yelp as the gin sizzled against his bloodied lip. This was what he deserved, he supposed, for not making the lines clearer years ago. For thinking he could stay close to Mina and remain Chapman. For daring to hope he could ever be worthy of her.
He glared at his reflection in the dingy shard of glass he used as a mirror. Swollen eye, bruised cheek, banged-up lip. He’d lost count of the number of times over the years he’d had similar injuries. As an adolescent, he’d thought his scars were badges of honor, proof of his reputation on the streets. Now he saw them for what they really were—harbingers of a violent man.
Perhaps the tattoo he bore over his left breast, declaring him as part of Chapman, meant the same thing. He’d never thought about the similarities between his past and present, choosing to believe that he’d found family and purpose in the gang. But now—after tonight, with those base, vile insults hurled at Mina—he wasn’t so sure there was any difference in the ornery brawler he’d once been and the man he was now.
He laid the cloth against the side of the bowl and staggered back to the straw pallet he slept upon. With a sheet over top it, and a blanket to pull over him, it wasn’t all that bad. He sunk down onto the mat, flopping over on his side, his head on the lumpy pillow.
He’d pretended long enough that he could be a decent, honest man in a gang of thieves. Men like him didn’t move up in social class. They plateaued from birth. All he could ever hope to become was a belligerent drunk like his old man.
Mina Mason had been his first friend, but that was all she’d ever to be him.
He owed her too much to let her take up with a rogue like him.
Chapter 5
Mina received a temporary reprieve the next morning, for Joaquin worked late at the King of Spades and then spent the evening with his mistress. He didn’t return until well into the afternoon. Cyrus wasn’t at breakfast either, as he’d fought in a mill the night before, so he’d spend half the day sleeping off the worst of his injuries.
Thus Mina was at least able to enjoy one meal alone, free to reexamine every sensual detail of her kiss with Charlie. And reexamine she did, over and over again until every last second was imprinted upon her memory. That reckless feeling of his calloused hands roving her body; his solid, muscular frame against her own, making her feel safe and protected, yet at the same time daring and beautiful. She heard his groan in her ears again, smelled his familiar manly scent. Tasted his blood on her tongue, blood spilled in her name.
In Charlie’s arms, Mina had finally understood what all the sensational novels meant by rapturous passion. Now she knew why Joaquin had banned such books from the house—not that she’d listened; she’d simply found more inventive ways to hide them. Between those pages, she’d first learned what love was supposed to be, the meeting of two minds and the joining of bodies into one. A union forged by mutual desire and appreciation, not bank accounts and overzealous brothers who thought they controlled the world. It had seemed impossible to ever have such a relationship.
But now…Mina had hope. Charlie might have said goodbye to her last night as if it was the last time he’d ever see her, but she knew better. She couldn’t fathom life without Charlie—never had been able to, from that very first day when she’d found him shivering on the steps, his pensive coffee eyes begging for her to take notice.
And now that she’d seen those expressive eyes darken with want as he let his gaze wander down her body, she couldn’t let him go. She’d been raised by men who worshiped hedonism as saints practiced virtue, and she was far too much a product of that upbringing to give Charlie up.
No matter what hell it rained down onto Joaquin’s orderly life, or the preexisting notions of the Chapman boys about Charlie’s loyalty.
Because Mina knew exactly where Charlie belonged—with her.
Unfortunately, neither Cyrus nor Joaquin agreed. The summons came at approximately four in the afternoon, interrupting her usual teatime. Cyrus trudged into the parlor, sporting an angry purple ring around one eye, a split lip much like Charlie’s, and a gaping wound across his forehead, held together by new stitches so tight and precise she knew he’d gone to see Jane, even though she claimed she wanted nothing to do with him.
“Joaquin says to come to the study,” he said, his words slightly slurred, for he couldn’t open his mouth all the way without risking reopening the slash across his mouth.
“But I just poured my tea,” Mina protested half-heartedly, knowing it wouldn’t do any good but wishing to forestall the inevitable. She held up the teapot as a peace offering. “Care for a cup? You look a fright.”
Cyrus’s lip twitched as he tried to hold back a chuckle. “Might as well take the pot with you. Gonna be a long one this time.”
With great effort, Mina stifled the groan before it reached her lips. “I had hoped Mirabella had worn him out.” Joaquin’s new mistress was as melodramatic as he was domineering.
Cyrus tried to raise his brows, but gave up when his bruised face would not fully cooperate. “What do you know of such things, little miss?”
“Far more than you’d think,” she sniffed, his disbelieving tone making her feel like she had something to prove.
“Ah-ha,” he pronounced, his dark eyes lighting up in comprehension.
She’d fallen straight into his trap, as she always did. Cyrus relied on such underestimation—it was how he enforced Joaquin’s deals when their eldest brother insisted on a nonviolent approach. The greater part of society thought Cyrus dumb because of his brute strength, and he made no attempts to correct them.
“Please, Cy,” she pleaded, picking up the silver teapot and following him out the door. “You’ve got to take my side. I’m not the only Mason to have loved a Chapman, you know.”
Cyrus spun around, swift on his feet despite his bulky frame. His voice dropped low, a guttural growl that only she could hear. “You best be leaving Janey out of this, you hear? This is your problem. Don’t you go getting Joaquin mad at my girl.”
“She’s not your girl, and she hasn’t been for a long time,” Mina hissed back, hackles raised by his confrontational stance.
Cyrus’s mouth set into a thin line, made more vicious by the furious crimson of his wound. “And Charlie’s your gent? You’re a lot of things, Min, but I never took you for a damned fool.”
“The two of you are both bacon-brained jackanapes. Let’s not waste time determining which one of you is more idiotic.” Joaquin’s voice carried down the hall from his study, snapping Cyrus to attention and making Mina clutch the teapot tighter. She had long tried to convince herself that Joaquin cared about her in his own autocratic way, but she’d never started a bar fight before.
Cyrus entered the office first, sprawling out on his customary settee to the right of Joaquin’s desk, close enough to the liquor cabinet that he could nip a few shots if the lecture got particularly lengthy. Mina set the teapot down on the coffee table and started to sit down near the fire when Joaquin waved her to the chair right across from his desk.
She gulped. This was not a good sign.
Settling back in his chair, Joaquin swished the brandy in his crystal glass, watching the amber-colored liquid move with idle curiosity. For a full minute and a half—which Mina counted under her breath—he did not look at either of his siblings. Finally, when he had deemed them sufficiently on edge, he lifted the brandy glass up to his lips, took a long sip, and swallowed. Each movement was precise, designed for maximum impact, like everything he did.
“It was an accident, Quin—” She cut her defense short when the full power of his glare turned on her.
“It was a bar fight on enemy territory,” Joaquin declared. “It has made it so I have to retaliate against the bastard who dared think that you, my sister, was a common Covent Garden Nun. And the man I
pay to guard you was useless.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Mina said, not even managing to convince herself. “And you shouldn’t be mad at Isaac. I told him he should go have fun.”
Joaquin shot her a glance so withering she swore the plant on his desk drooped too. “I do not dismiss incompetence.”
“This once, you could. Isaac didn’t mean any harm, and we never expected any of this would happen. It was an honest mistake.” She tried to sound hopeful—tried to remember what it had felt like to be held by Charlie, and believe that for a few seconds everything was going to be all right in the world.
Joaquin ignored her comment. “Chapman has hidden McNair away, but the moment he resurfaces, my men will know. He will be dealt with—you can rest assured of that. I have already righted one aspect of your carelessness.”
His voice became so cold that Mina’s stomach dropped. Joaquin was not a man who preferred violence above all other tactics, but he was ruthless when it came to protecting his family, and he’d never liked Charlie to begin with.
“Please tell me you didn’t hurt him.” She hated the way her voice sounded, so submissive, yet she’d beg and plead for Charlie’s life in a second. “Charlie defended me. He’s the reason I’m unharmed.”
“That—” Joaquin’s lips turned up in a sneer “—Chapman gutterjohn did a lot more than ‘defend you,’ according to one of my guards. I ought to have him drawn and quartered for touching you.”
Mina couldn’t stop the blush from rising to her cheeks.
“Do you really think that’s necessary?” Cyrus, who had been silently watching them both curiously, chimed in. “Just a spot of fun—”
When a Rogue Falls Page 15