Adam’s breath was jagged. The pain in his chest was so sharp it winded him, almost bringing him to his knees.
He ran on, his boots slamming against the pavement as he put on speed.
At last, ahead of him he saw a figure with a familiar determined step. She wore a different hat and a shawl thrown over her shoulders, but he’d have known her anywhere.
To his horror he saw she was at the corner of Downing Street.
He surged through the crowd of people.
‘Violet!’
At the sound of Adam’s voice Violet spun around.
Behind her a horse reared.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Then follow’d counsel, comfort and the words
That make a man feel strong in speaking truth...’
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson: ‘Love and Duty’ (1842)
Adam threw himself between Violet and the horse. Just in time he pulled her out of the way of the mounted police constable, at the ready with his baton.
‘Adam!’ Violet gasped. Her normally pink cheeks were chalky white. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘You’re in danger, Violet.’ Keeping tight hold of her arm, he pulled her around the corner from Downing Street and out of sight, into a doorway. ‘The police know about your suffragette plot.’
‘What?’ Her heartbeat pounded.
‘You must get out of here.’ Adam scanned the street. ‘Now.’
She shook her head in defiance. ‘I must complete my mission! I have to do this.’
‘Don’t you understand?’ His jaw clenched. ‘The police are waiting for you. More mounted police are on the way. They’re prepared to use any means necessary. You’re walking into a trap.’
‘What?’ She wrenched her arm from his grip. ‘Big Ben is about to strike. I must warn the other suffragettes!’
‘Violet! No!’
Her crocodile-skin bag thudded to the pavement as she raced back towards Downing Street. She saw them now, the uniformed policemen, as well as the others in plain clothes, dotted among the men of business and government. The police vastly outnumbered the women. There could be no element of surprise. The suffragettes didn’t have a chance.
Violet’s hat took wing as she raced towards the two women with linked arms. She wasn’t meant to speak to them. Those had been her instructions. She saw the surprise in their faces, then consternation, as she whispered in their ears.
Both women took off, one of them stopping to warn others. The suffragettes began to scatter like birds.
Violet sped towards the nanny with the pram. There was no baby in it, she saw in shock, as she passed on the message to the woman, who instantly abandoned the pram with its load of bricks.
The girl with the carpet bag. She, too, dropped her luggage and disappeared among the people on the pavement.
Another woman. Another. One by one, she warned them. One by one, away they flew.
Further down the street, Violet caught the arm of yet another suffragette sporting a purple, green and white rosette. ‘Spread the word! Abandon the mission!’
Panting for breath, she stopped and scanned the crowd for more tricolour ribbons.
Footsteps pounded behind her.
Adam grabbed her by the hand. ‘Violet! You’ve done enough. Run!’
* * *
Hand in hand, Adam and Violet dashed away from Downing Street. In the distance Big Ben chimed the hour. Aware of startled looks as they raced through the mass of people, she let Adam lead the way as they pelted through narrow streets she didn’t recognise.
Away from the Houses of Parliament. Away from the police.
Pigeons fluttered as they raced past. They kept running. Her shawl fell to the pavement, trod on by a passing businessman. They didn’t stop to pick it up.
Her hair fell from its bun on to her shoulders, tendrils blew across her eyes. She pushed them away. Her breath came faster and faster as she tried to keep up with him.
Still at a pace, Adam glanced at her over his shoulder. He must have seen she couldn’t run for much longer. Instantly he slowed. Turning into a narrow street, he took another few strides and pulled her into an alleyway, into his arms.
He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her chin, her mouth, as if checking she was there. ‘I can’t stand you being in danger.’
‘I’m not in danger now.’ Not in his arms. Ever. She knew that, with him, she was safe.
She clung to him as his mouth moved to her lips. Again that searching desire, his need to know she was safe. She reached her hands up inside his collar, to the warmth, the strength, of his neck, drawing his mouth harder on to hers. Wanting him, needing to know that he was there, too.
Their lips still joined, he drew her further into the dimness of the alley, backed her against the brick wall. She let out another gasp as he slid his hands over her hips and lifted her against him.
Their bodies melded into each other, hip to hip. All she wanted was to stay joined. To his mouth, his hands. She raised her arms against the wall as he tore her skirt higher.
Her upper back grazed the bricks as she slid deeper into his grip. His strong fingers were on her bare skin now, as his lower body thrust to find entry between her thighs. In reply she wrapped her legs around his and pulled him closer.
He stepped away from her. Her petticoats fell, covering her legs, as she shuddered against the wall.
His coat stretched across his broad back as he hauled in a jagged breath. ‘Damnation, Violet.’
Adam spun back on his heel. His eyes were dark. ‘I can’t take you in an alleyway.’
Violet’s breath heaved. ‘Take me home. Now. Please.’
* * *
She loved him. It throbbed into her brain as the wheels of the carriage carried them home, side by side, her body pressed against his.
She loved him. It throbbed again, as they hastened quietly up the stairs, away from anyone else in the Manor.
In her heart, her soul, her body, she knew it, as he carried her through his bedroom, and into hers.
She loved him.
Dusk had fallen. A fire had been lit in the fireplace that connected their two rooms. It blazed, on both sides, but the curtains were open. Sunset hinted through the cloudy sky.
Silently he closed the curtains. Silently he closed the connecting door.
They had barely spoken on the journey. Now the room remained quiet, except for the sound of her breathing and his.
Near the bed she stood, waiting for him. He came to her, ran his finger up her chin to caress her lower lip, reminding her of the kiss they’d shared in London, so long ago now, before they agreed to wed. She’d been bold, kissing him first, even though butterflies had danced in her stomach then, too. She would be bold again.
She touched his finger with the tip of her tongue.
‘Violet,’ he groaned, with another stroke of her lips. ‘Are you sure? We agreed to...’
She took a step away from him, then another, towards the four-poster bed.
She raised her chin.
‘I agree to this.’ Reaching behind, she untied her silk sash and let it fly, like a banner. It fell to the floor in a silk ribbon of white, purple and green.
He glanced at it, then back at her.
‘I agree to this.’ One sleeve, and then the other. She undid the buttons that held the blouse closed at the elbow. Left them undone.
Lounging against the dressing table now, he watched her every move.
‘I agree to this.’ Slowly she began to undo the buttons at the front of the bodice of her blouse, one by one. His gaze stayed on her fingers, as if he were unbuttoning each button himself. The bodice fell open, like a flower.
Lounged now against the dressing table, he watched her every move.
Her breath even faster now, she slipped off the blouse. With a snap of th
e clasp at the waist, her skirt followed.
Now her breasts rose and fell as he beheld the low-cut camisole that partially revealed her. Gathered at waist and fitted with tiny buttons down the centre, it was trimmed with the finest French lace.
Still he watched.
‘And I agree to this.’ She reached for the top camisole button.
In a stride he was beside her. His hand closed over hers.
Together. The first button, half-hidden among the lace.
Free.
The second button, at the top of her corset.
Free.
The third button, deep between her cleavage.
Free.
Her mouth was open now. He studied it briefly, then returned his attention to the camisole buttons. The fourth button. His finger trailed down the soft skin between her half-bared breasts. The final button.
Free.
Pushing the lacy cotton aside with both hands, he revealed the pink tips of her breasts, thrust forward by her corset. Lowering his head, he lifted her breasts above the top of the corset and took one in his mouth.
Violet gasped. She reached for the carved bedpost to hold her upright as with a teasing tongue and teeth he turned one tip, and then the other, into a tingling point that drove waves of desire deep into her belly.
He lifted his head, spanned with his hands the busked corset that cinched her waist into the S-shaped hourglass. His arms corseted her now, as he undid the buttons at the back. His mouth was close to hers, so close she sensed he could feel each light breath that escaped her lips.
With a push the delicate fabric of her camisole was down her shoulders, liberating her arms before he let it also slip away. At his loosening of a tie at her waist, her white-silk waist petticoat followed, forming a circle of lace and ruffles at her feet.
His gaze travelled down.
Adam exhaled. ‘You’re wearing your garter.’
* * *
Adam took Violet in from head to toe in as she stood there. She had no idea how beautiful she was. Her chestnut hair lay loose on her bare shoulders. Her blouse and skirt were gone now, leaving only her corset, edging the pink-tipped breasts he had held in his mouth only moments before.
Beneath the corset were a pair of her lacy knickers, their ruffled edge coming to the middle of her thigh. And below it, her tricolour-striped suffragette garter. The garter he’d refused to let enter his mind, or his imagination, ever again, since he’d seen it, tied around her leg on their wedding night.
‘Do you agree to this?’
The sapphire of her blue eyes changed to something deeper at the huskiness of his voice. He knew couldn’t hold back much longer. It had been building inside him for too long.
If he undid that garter, it would be his undoing.
‘I agree,’ she whispered.
Her heaving breaths lifted her bare breasts, still jutted over her corset. He unsnapped the metal hooks and eyes. Her figure was merely enhanced by the garment, not created by it. Her figure was full, her waist tiny.
The corset hit the floor, lay like a half-shell.
The sheerest of vests, finer than a veil, lace trimmed, had protected her skin from the bones of the corset. He cupped her breasts, now heavy in his hands, brushed the points with his thumb, saw her quiver, before he slipped the vest from her body, to reveal the pearl of her skin.
Now only those frilled knickers and stockings remained. Widening her legs with his hand, he rolled down each of the stockings, taking his time, and reached for the garter.
Slowly. He made it last, lingering on the softness of her thigh, watching her response, the rise and fall of her unconstrained breasts as she, too, watched him. Untying the garter, he ran it across her inner thigh and through his fingers.
She took the garter from him, with her left hand, the one that bore the wedding ring he’d given her. The ring was on her finger now. He saw the golden glint as again she clutched the bedpost, while with his own finger he reached again to thrust his hand inside the white-silk knickers, his fingers grazing the tender part that led inside. He kissed her open mouth as she gasped, exploring her mouth with his tongue at the same time he explored her with his fingers, as he’d done that first time, in the river.
He couldn’t wait. Not any more. Releasing her, Adam backed away, reached for the buttons of his waistcoat.
Violet’s hand covered his. ‘Let me.’
* * *
Violet’s body throbbed deep inside where Adam had touched her. She moved closer to him, her hand on the smooth velvet of his waistcoat. Like the linen pillowcases it was worn, but fine.
Boldness built inside her, overcame the fear of it being the first time she’d been with him, like this.
‘I’m curious,’ she whispered.
His mouth curved, sent the dent darting in his cheek, for a moment. It made her relax.
It made her bolder still.
He’d removed his frock coat, but not his necktie. It was loosened around his strong throat. Now she undid it, her breasts brushing against his waistcoat. With the same tantalising care as he had shown undoing the buttons of her bodice, she popped the buttons down his torso, from his chest to his belly. Her hand flickered over the top of his trousers as the last button released.
He suppressed a groan, buried it in her hair. She stepped back, surveying her handiwork, then tugged his white shirt free. These buttons came faster, but her fingers had become faster, too, as she tore off his shirt.
He was bare chested. She’d noticed, from glimpses of him, that he didn’t wear a union suit and rarely bothered with the undershirt. Yet it still surprised her, finding his bare skin and the slight dark hair of his chest. She rested her fingers over his heartbeat. The points of her breasts sharpened against his bare chest.
Her fingers hovered at the buttons of his trousers.
He reached for her before she could venture further. Lifted her and laid her on the bed. Her stomach lurched as he stood over her, between the carved posts.
His eyes were a question as he leaned in, his half-clothed body held above hers. In reply Violet reached his hand and guided it towards her lacy knickers. He slid them away.
With a flick of a button, he released his trousers. His undergarment was soon gone, too. She touched him, as he stood there, as she’d wanted to, in the river.
His hand stopped her, cuffing her wrist. ‘There’ll be no turning back, Violet.’
‘I agree.’ Her throaty voice sounded strange to her ears.
In a swift, taut movement he leaned over the bed, taking her with him, as she fell back against the sheets, his body covering hers.
Violet arched, again, as she had when he’d touched inside her. Her thighs parted wider. Through the darts of pleasure a pain ripped through her as he thrust inside.
Stronger. Deeper.
Another gasp escaped her lips, a cry, bringing Adam up to search her eyes with the same question as before.
Again, she answered. She lifted her body to meet his.
To agree.
* * *
Violet stretched. Opening her eyes, she adjusted her sight to the dimness. The fire had gone out in the grate and darkness had come. Night had fallen.
Beside her, Adam was gone.
She bit her lip. The previous day’s emotions swirled inside her mind and body. The fear. The passion.
Her fingers twisted the edge of the sheet as her mind went back to the mission she’d undertaken for the lilac-letter group, the mission that had almost gone so horribly wrong. She could have ended up being arrested, not in Adam’s arms. It had been terrifying, seeing the police waiting to trap the suffragettes. Thank goodness Adam had warned her in time. But it wasn’t merely the mission’s failure that caused her consternation as she reflected on it, still twisting the linen sheet in her hands. She pondered further. She wasn’t sure
she agreed with the principle of causing criminal damage to the Prime Minister’s residence. She had to be honest. She’d felt uncomfortable carrying her bag of Beauley river stones.
She hadn’t had a chance to discuss what had happened with Adam. In the past few hours, there had been so few words between them. He’d told her so much, with his lips, with his hands. She’d tried to do the same. But there was still so much to say.
She sat up naked in the bed. Seizing her white peignoir, she pulled it over her body.
She had to find him.
She had to tell him now, in words.
It wasn’t only the estate that she had grown to love. It was the master of Beauley Manor.
* * *
Adam gazed out of the window, into the darkness, to where he knew the river lay beyond. The river where he’d held Violet in his arms.
Soon it would be dawn. Beyond the connecting door she lay asleep.
In every way she amazed him. She’d matched his every move, if not initiated it. Their first kiss, in London, had told that she had a passionate, physical curiosity. Last night, she’d proved it further. He’d been concerned, for her more than him. But he hadn’t reckoned with her plain speaking. There had been no coyness. Only honesty. Her forthrightness held her in good stead, even in the bedroom. She was brave. It must have hurt her, that first time, yet she hadn’t shown fear.
His fists curled around the cord of his robe.
Fear. He’d never been fully familiar with that emotion before. He’d not known it was possible to feel it with such force, on behalf of another person.
‘Adam.’
He turned to find her wrapped in a silky dressing gown, her chestnut hair spilling over her shoulders. She looked so beautiful. Young. Vulnerable.
His heart clenched. Now he’d made love to her, held her in his arms, he could pretend to himself no more.
He’d fallen in love with his wife.
The Scandalous Suffragette Page 19