by Rose Gordon
“And if you don't explain everything to me right now, you'll never see Mr. Henry Hirsute again,” came the sweet voice of his wife.
The hair on Elijah's neck stood on end. Not because of the threat Amelia had issued or what she might have heard, but that she was out here alone.
Henry placed a hand on Elijah's shoulder, instantly extinguishing any feelings of unease. “Go. You have much to explain to her. Friar has been unmasked and is in the care of the constable, as Philip will be. I'll speak to our inquisitive family. Just go to her, Elijah. You owe it to yourself as much as you do to her.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Amelia clutched the tree next to her for support. So much had happened tonight, but she honestly couldn't explain what it all was.
One minute she was having an intimate moment with Elijah, then his brother intruded and she was dumped into a room with his female relations only to be told to wait there until he came back for her, but he sent Henry instead, who danced with her, then sent her off into a room where she was nearly abducted (and dare she forget shot at); stopped only by Elijah and Henry jumping out of the shrubs to take her and her captor—who apparently was Lord Friar, of all people—to the ground. And that was before she was helped to her feet and made to stand with a crowd while her husband ran into the forest, where she found him moments later holding a man to the ground who wheezed something about a madam, physical force and abduction.
Quite frankly, it was exhausting just to think about the night's events.
Nevertheless, there were several large holes of missing information and there wasn't a chance the sun was going to rise in the English sky again without her having each and every one of those holes filled in.
Still clinging to the tree for support, she strained her eyes to watch Elijah hand his brother the gun before taking to his feet and turning to face her. Henry, who now held the gun pointed at her brother barked for him to take to his feet and fired a warning shot scant inches above his head.
Wordlessly, Elijah walked over to her and scooped her up in his large arms.
Amelia would have protested had she the strength to walk back to the house on her own. But she didn't. Nor did she mind being held this close to him.
Nearing the house, he took a shortcut; one that allowed them entry without having to pass by the crowd.
“Here we are,” he said, lowering her onto the feather mattress in a way reminiscent of the way that stranger at Lord Nigel's house had done. Her eyes widened. Was he?
Elijah nodded once. “It was me in Lord Nigel's study.”
“Wh-why?”
Elijah raked his hand through his hair. “I am—no I was—an agent of the Crown.”
“Wh-what?” she gasped. His answer had created far more questions than she'd already planned to ask.
Elijah went over to the fire place and lit a small fire. “When we were eighteen, Henry and I became spies.”
A memory of the other day when she'd accused him of being the worst spy in the world flashed in her mind and she blushed. “Why?”
He repositioned the logs in the hearth and poked them with the iron fire poker. “We were caught trying to escape the law—”
“You and Henry were caught doing something illegal?” The idea of it was laughable.
He nodded once. “It was a mistake, I assure you, but it happened all the same and when we were caught we were given the choice of the gaol or to become agents of the Crown.”
She certainly understood why they chose to become spies. “So your travels, they weren't just the usual cavorting about the continent that most young lads do?”
“No. I was told to go to all of those places. What to do.” Satisfied with the start of the fire, he set down the fire poker and closed the screen. “And even how to dress.”
“Which explains your expertise with corsets,” she murmured. In the low light of the room, she noticed a large bruise was forming on his cheek. So much made sense. His being a spy explained the scars she'd seen on his body. “But what does all of this have to do with my brother and Lord Friar?”
“And you,” he added, pulling a chair over to sit next to her.
A shiver ran down her spine at his words. “Me?”
Elijah reached for her hands. “Yes, you. In March, Mr. Robinson, the fellow Henry and I took orders from while working for the Crown asked us to investigate and shut down a prostitution ring. He didn't have much to go on except the name of the boat—Jezebel.”
Amelia gasped. “Philip always wanted to name his mare that and Mother wouldn't let him.”
“And understandably so,” Elijah said. “For weeks we chased the Jezebel all over the channel, unable to catch her. On a tip sent to us, we went to Dover. That's why I was at your cousin's party. Henry was there to act like an interested party, and I was to be unseen, lurking between the rooms that were supposed to be kept private in hopes of overhearing a private conversation or heaven forbid, an exchange. Instead, I happened upon you.”
“Did you know who I was?”
“Not until you said my name. I should have known before then as all the signs of your presence were there: your perfume, your giggle, even the way my heart races in your presence, but my brain refused to believe it was you—just some young lady who'd been drugged and was in need of saving from whatever fate might hold for her if she were found in such a state in Lord Nigel's study. It wasn't until I got you upstairs to a hidden bedchamber and you kissed me and called my name that I realized my heart had been right.”
“So you left when you realized it was me?” she asked, unsure of how to feel. In a way, it was a compliment that he'd been such a gentlemen as to excuse himself and not take advantage of her; at the same time, was it because he'd found her undesirable once he learned her identity that he had no desire to finish what she'd started.
“No. I stayed.” He squeezed her hands. “When I realized it was you, I went down to the kitchens and asked one of the staff to make you a tonic that would help your head and stomach. But when I arrived back in the room, you were already asleep, so I set it down, loosened your gown as much as I dared so you could still breathe but also be decent enough to get home the next day, then I waited in your room. I should have been downstairs, lurking; but I couldn't leave you.”
He swallowed. “But for as much as I would have liked to, I couldn't stay forever. Working for the Crown, I wasn't in a position to marry and if we were caught alone together, that's what would have happened and I didn't want that.”
“But you said yesterday that you and Philip had a disagreement about your asking for my hand.”
“We did. I went to see your father as soon as I learned of your engagement to Lord Friar, but he refused me.” He didn't have to say why, they both knew: Father needed her to marry someone who wouldn't need a dowry and who might be generous enough to help his bride's family. Someone like Lord Friar, not an untitled, seemingly unemployed younger son of a baron.
“And what of your conversation with Philip,” she prompted.
“He came in while I was speaking to your father and hinted that you were accepting Lord Friar's suit because you were without virtue.”
Stung, she sucked in a harsh breath. “That explains your stoic expressions and candid discussions with Henry regarding bedding me as your duty. One you just needed to get done.”
Elijah winced as if she'd slapped his freshly formed bruise. “It wasn't like that. I just wanted you to know that you weren't—” he sent a pointed look to her abdomen— “that was my hurry. Had Philip not hinted that you'd given your virtue to a man whose identity you didn't know, and I'd convinced you to ride off with me that day, I wouldn't have approached you about intimacies so soon because it wouldn't have mattered. I was the one in the room that night. I know what did and didn't occur. But since you didn't, I needed to find a way to tell you without actually telling you.”
Now it was her turn to recoil as if she'd been slapped. “Well, I'm sorry you felt bedding me was a duty,
but I do appreciate your willingness to suffer it in order to ease my mind that I hadn't given my innocence to a stranger whose bastard I might have been carrying.” She pulled her numb hands from his and attempted to stand.
His hands encircled her waist and eased her back onto the edge of the bed. “That didn't come out right.” He took a ragged breath. “What I meant was none of this happened how I wanted it to. Regardless of whether you thought your virtue was gone or not, I still would have been at that church to persuade you to marry me instead. But I didn't want you to fret over something that wasn't real, which is why I kept making attempts to bed you.” His cheeks turned red. “There wasn't any other way. I'm sure you had no bursting desire to tell me of your nonexistent secret shame and if I were to tell you it was me that night, it'd only invite more questions.” He reached up and scratched his left temple. “As I said, none of this happened the way I wanted it to.”
“So then you did want to marry me?” She might be a little bold at times, but even she had enough modesty not to ask his true feelings about bedding her. But she needed to know the truth. Did he seek out her father because he was trying to right the wrong he'd inadvertently made or was he there because he genuinely wanted to marry her?
He nodded, his hands found hers again. “I have for some time now, but I knew you didn't see me that way any longer.” He ran the pads of his thumbs back and forth across her knuckles. “I'd hoped when I was done working for the Crown that I could court you, but when I heard you were marrying Lord Friar, I went straight to your father and tried to persuade him differently. He wouldn't have it. Neither could I convince Philip.” He twisted his lips in distaste. “And now I know why.”
“Because I was supposed to be sold to Lord Friar,” she guessed.
“That's it in its simplest form.”
And simplest form was all she wanted on that score. “When will you be done working for the Crown?”
He flashed a boyish smile at her. “Tonight I made my last capture.”
“Well, that's good to hear since I don't enjoy being used as live snake bait.” She cringed at the shrillness of her own voice.
“Snake bait?”
“Your note.”
“What about it?”
She stared at him. Did he really want her to embarrass herself and elaborate? “You and Henry conspired to get me in the blue saloon, did you not?” When he nodded once, she continued. “While I have no difficulty trusting you, I don't like being used as a pawn to catch the villain.”
“That wasn't part of the plan,” Elijah rushed to add. “I thought you'd be safer there than in the ballroom. I didn't know Friar was planning to break in and abduct you.”
“So then your note it was...”
“Genuine,” he said, coming to sit next to her. He pulled her trembling body onto his lap.
“Why are you telling me all of this now?”
“The simple truth is, I didn't want you to get hurt. I didn't know until tonight it was your brother who was involved—”
Amelia pressed her lips to his in a quick kiss. “Not that part.”
“Then which part?”
“The part about you wanting to marry me and what you said in your missive.”
“That I love you?” he asked, looking into her eyes.
She nodded. It was all she could do. Was this a romantic love or one of friendship like it seemed his marriage proposal might have been inspired by the latter, considering she was to marry Lord Friar.
“Because I didn't want to hurt you—”
She lifted her finger to halt his nonsense, but he stayed her hand.
“—No, listen. I couldn't have anything to do with you before because I didn't want you to get hurt because of my job. If someone I was after found out how I felt about you, they might try to hurt you, and I could never live with myself if they did. I love you too much for that. And I'd hoped—” he swallowed convulsively— “I'd hoped once I was done I could convince you to love me, too.”
“You had, had you?”
He nodded once, his jaw locked and a muscle in his cheek ticked.
“And just how much do you love me?”
A hooded expression came over his face. “I have a feeling I've just been asked to incriminate myself and I don't like it.”
She lifted one eyebrow. “Incriminate yourself, sir.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
She wanted him to incriminate himself, did she?
That, he could do.
He shifted her in his arms until she was almost lying in his lap, then bent forward and brushed his lips over hers. Her response would have hardened him in an instant if he wasn't already. He licked the seam of her mouth, seeking entry. She granted it. As his tongue explored her mouth, his fingers reached for her hair, sliding out each pin one by one until the mass of her thick, silken tresses were down.
He pulled his mouth from hers and ran his fingers through her hair, an action he'd only dreamed of doing for far too long. He removed those hideous feathers and ran his hands through it again, then leaned her back against the pillows and stood to remove his clothes.
Her grey eyes roamed over his naked body. He'd stand in the firelight as long as she wanted to look. He walked toward her, her upturned face with the sensuous lips his target. He wanted her. Craved her. And now that everything was exposed, he could enjoy her and not wrestle with guilt afterwards.
Elijah climbed into bed and rolled onto his side. He propped his head up with his left hand and used his right to untie the bow at the top of her bodice. It wouldn't afford him much access, but it'd be a start.
She watched his face as he went about freeing her breasts from their confines. He'd never tire of seeing them. Never. Slowly, almost reverently, he cupped one, tamping down his own desire at the look of hunger and desire on her face. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her.
Her right hand closed around his erection, startling him in the best way. He knew she was bold, but had never imagined she'd touch him there by her own volition. He moved closer, hoping—nay praying—she'd continue her caresses.
“Do you like this?”
“You know that I do.”
A siren's smile spread her lips as she pushed him over onto his back, then rolled onto her side, her bare breasts mere inches from his chest. That wouldn't do. Keeping his position because it'd be a shame if she stopped, he reached one hand behind her and started untying the row of knots that went down the back of her dress. “No corset,” he remarked as each knot he undid loosened her gown that much more, allowing it to fall away from her body and giving him a beautiful sight to feast his eyes upon.
“No,” she confirmed. “I was allowed to breathe tonight.”
He would have chuckled if not for her nearly killing him with pleasure as she moved her hand up and down his shaft with a slowness that could rival that of waiting for a volcano to erupt.
She moved her dainty hand all the way to the tip of his erection, then stopped.
“You're torturing me,” he commented.
“Perhaps.” She gave him a quick squeeze. “Perhaps not.”
“You minx,” he said through gritted teeth. He fumbled with the remaining ties on the back of her gown, making it completely fall open in the front.
Her hand tightened a fraction on him, then she slid it back down to the base.
He groaned and she repeated the gesture while his hands worked to remove her gown, a task much easier done when not being both pleasured and tortured at the same time.
Inside him, excitement mounted. He shot his hand out to stay hers.
They locked eyes, but neither of them said anything. They didn't have to. It wasn't just twins who had the ability to know what the other was thinking without saying a word, the same could also be said for that other extension of oneself. The one that wasn't bound to you by blood or family history but by love.
With no other words, he rolled her onto her back. His lips and hands roamed aimlessly over her body and her
lips and hands roamed just the same way over his. He squeezed and shaped, touched and caressed every inch of her skin that he could.
He loved the way her soft body molded so well around him and how her legs parted just the right amount for him to fit between—a better place on earth he had yet to discover. Scattering slow kisses over her chest, he reached for that apex between her legs, touching her most intimate flesh.
She arched her hips up toward his hand. “Please.”
It was such a simple word, but one that almost pushed him to his limit. She was asking him for a pleasure he'd given her only once and was trusting him with her body that he'd do it again. And he had no intention of letting her down.
Shifting his weight onto his left elbow, he moved his fingers over his wife's silky folds. Her breathing grew labored, as did his. He had no idea which of them was more excited: her, as pleasure built within, or him, knowing it was him who could give her such pleasure.
He slid two fingers inside her warm, slick passage, eliciting the sweetest sigh he'd ever heard. “Is this what you wanted?” he whispered, moving in and out.
“Y-yes.”
“Shh,” he crooned as he increased his pace. “Don't speak. Just feel.”
She gasped for air, her eyelids growing heavy and her face turning pinker. He dropped kisses on each of her partially closed eyelids, then her mouth, then down the column of her throat to her chest. Her breathing was shallow, more of a desperate pant than anything else, as he placed openmouthed kisses over her breasts. She was close. So very close.
He stopped his movements and withdrew.
She choked on a sound of distress as her eyes fluttered open.
“Just a second,” he panted, sliding his erection into her.
She bit her lip and her hands gripped his shoulders. Hard. Their eyes locked and she matched his thrusts with equal intensity, creating a fierier passion in him than the first time they'd made love. Perhaps some might say it was this way because it wasn't both of their first times and they knew what to do. But he knew better. There was nothing between them to keep them apart. No lies. No secrets. Not even uncertainty.