She swallowed hard. As far as anyone knew, Anna Dubois had never grown round with child, had never given birth, had never held a tiny infant in her arms for the briefest moment before it was taken away.
But while none of the world would remember that child or even be aware of its existence, she always would. She’d remember the soft skin and the tiny fisted hand. She wouldn’t know what the baby’s eyes were like, though. He’d been whisked away before he’d even opened them. The child had never even seen his mother’s face.
Swallowing the knot in her throat again, she blinked away the heat in her eyes and concentrated on aiding Tilly with getting her into the tight-fitting chemise.
Together, they worked to get her evening gown on. She could eat in her room, really, but the hotel was one of the few places where her reputation did not precede her. Men and women came and went, along with many foreigners. Few of them were like the staid members of society who refused to try anything different or ever behave in any way other than they had already done.
At least if she gained some new business contacts for Stourbridge, her trip to London wouldn’t be entirely wasted.
Once dressed, Anna sat at the dressing table and Tilly worked on pilling her hair high upon her head. The ache in her skull began again, and Anna eyed her reflection with annoyance. The pain was making her scowl and a fine line sat between her brows. That would not do at all. She forced a more placid, cool expression—one she was so very practiced at usually.
Then she considered how it had failed her the previous night when Francis had approached or when Harris had leaned in for the kiss that never was. Why was she not capable of concealing everything around that man? She had been doing so successfully for many years. A woman in her position could not afford to give away her innermost feelings.
Tilly finished her hairstyle by slipping in some tiny pearls and an elaborate comb. Anna twisted her head this way and that and admired the effect.
“You really ought to be a lady’s maid at a fine house.”
“I am.”
“You know what I mean.”
“A fine house would not treat me nearly so well, you know that, miss.”
Nor would they pay as well, as her girls knew. In servitude, they risked much danger too. While there were good households, there were plenty of rotten ones too where the men took advantage of the serving girls, and they were paid pitifully for their pains.
She had to be grateful she was in the position to help girls like Tilly. If anything good had come out of her situation, that was what she had to hold onto.
“Do you need me to do anything else, miss?”
“No, thank you. Have some supper and get some rest, Tilly. I’ll undress myself at the end of the night.”
“As you will, miss. Enjoy your night.”
Anna waited until the girl shut the door before picking up her powder and dabbing it across her cheeks. She added some rouge and then some stain to her lashes. Once they were long and dark, she paused to admire the effect.
There, no one would know she was weary and frustrated. No one would have any idea she’d spent the day trawling the streets in hopes of finding out more about her son. The guests at the hotel would never be aware she was holding onto a big ball of agony in her chest, and that it had been there ever since she’d been forced to give up her child. Only the knowledge of what had happened to her son would end that. She had to know.
A dark, black splodge landed on the back of her hand, and she jerked her head up at her reflection to see tears rolling down her cheeks. Her beautiful make-up trailed across her face. She looked as ravaged as she felt. Anna dropped her head onto her hands and cried until her chest burned and her eyes were raw.
Then she gave a great sniff, cleaned her face and began her make-up again.
“No one need know,” she told herself.
Chapter Three
Harris muttered a curse under his breath then masked the curse with a charming smile as about the fifth woman of the day nearly knocked his cane from his hand with her wide skirts.
Damn Dante. Why he’d decided meeting at the docks for lunch was a fine idea, he had no clue. It meant pushing through the crowds and with his limp and that blasted cane, it was going to take an eternity. He’d be lucky if he got to the warehouse before supper time.
He tipped his hat at a group of young ladies, all of whom flushed a little. Somehow he hid a smug smile. When he’d been shot, he couldn’t deny there had been a little fear he might end up lame.
But, God willing, he’d be rid of this bloody cane before long.
Greenwich Market was in full swing. Tucked under a blue iron structure between tightly packed buildings, stalls turned the cobbled pavement into a veritable maze. The scent of freshly baked bread and meat pies made his stomach grumble.
“Bloody Dante.”
His brother would be hard at work in the warehouse on the other side of the river. The Cynfells were heavily into the coffee business at present, and Dante had taken a great interest in it before he married. Since then, their income from it had nearly doubled.
Harris wasn’t one to grumble about the estate doing well—particularly when so many where going under—but why Dante couldn’t take a day off to meet him, was beyond him, particularly when his townhouse was on the opposite side of the docks and getting a hack through the crowded streets would be damn near impossible.
Still, it had been a while since he’d seen his brother. The last time had been at Ash’s wedding. Harris ducked under a frighteningly askew tarpaulin. The woman selling her woven baskets looked about as worn as her stall.
He imagined he did not look much better these days. He chuckled to himself as he recalled how both he and his brother had been hobbling through the church. Why Ash had recovered more quickly from a gunshot wound to the leg, he didn’t know, but it was deuced frustrating. Apparently it had been a cleaner shot or something, but Harris concluded being looked after by his pretty young wife hadn’t hurt his recovery.
His heart gave a little jolt. It often did when he saw hair as black as ink. He paused and apologised to the young man who bumped into him as he stopped in the middle of the street.
It bloody well was her. What were the chances?
Harris began to move again. The woman with dark hair and a small red hat, sat at a fashionable angle on her head, stopped to talk with a poorly-dressed woman before offering her a coin. It was certainly her. He’d recognise that profile anywhere.
Anna began walking again. While everyone appeared to want to get in his way, the crowds seemed to part like the Red Sea for Anna. But of course they would. There were few women as beautiful and as powerful as Anna.
Few people as tightly wound and secretive either.
But the secrets came with running a den of sin. During his stay at Stourbridge House, he’d learned that she lived, breathed, and ate secrets. He had never seen so many politicians, actors, and married men than he’d seen at the house she owned. All of whom were either gambling away money they no longer had or sneaking around with mistresses or the ladies Anna employed.
Awareness rolled through him. Not the usual awareness that surrounded him whenever he was near Anna, but one of danger. A man in a worn cap pulled low over his eyes approached her. Dammit, she stood out as wealthy. Of course she was a target.
His leg panged in protest as he barged through the crowds. The scruffy man snatched her arm, and he saw Anna whirl in surprise. He was either going to take her or her purse. Whichever it was, Harris had no intention of letting either happen.
The man went for the purse, but Anna held onto it, battling him for it. He heard her yell something about him being a bastard. Before anyone could step in to intervene, the man pushed her to the ground. As she scrabbled to stand, the lout tried to run.
Harris snatched him by the collar and brought a fist across his face. Blood spurted from his nose, and he let loose a cry. The purse dropped from his hold and he scurried away. Scooping up the pur
se and the few belongings that had fallen from it, he hastened to Anna’s side.
Cheeks flushed, she shot him a look. “You.”
“Yes, me. I have your purse.” He handed it over, and she shoved the coins and paper back into it. He couldn’t help notice the writing on it—an address in the area that was far from a place for women of Anna’s breeding to visit.
“I—” She seemed to take a moment to compose herself. “Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be on my way.”
She had begun to make her way through the crowds before he’d said another word. He rushed after her. What was she doing here in this crowded market? And why was she unescorted? Foolish woman was going to get herself hurt or worse if she was not careful.
“Anna,” he called, but she ignored him, motioning to the nearest waiting hack.
He moved quicker. She would not evade him, and he certainly would not let her go without at least a telling off. How would he forgive himself if he didn’t warn her about certain areas of London and then she came to harm?
She glanced back at him and climbed into the carriage. He didn’t wait. Before it could set off, he opened the door and slipped in beside her.
She gaped at him. “How dare you?”
“Do I not even get a thanks?”
“I said thank you.”
“Hardly. That is not what I count as a thanks.”
Her eyes flashed in the shadows of the carriage. “I do not wish to know what you count as a thanks.”
“Come now, Anna, I don’t believe that for one minute.” Her posture stiffened and he knew it to be true. “Anyway, what were you doing at the market?”
“What were you doing there?” she countered.
“I’d intended to meet my brother.”
“Then he will be waiting for you.”
Harris waved a hand. “He can wait.” He tried a serious expression to see the impact it might have on her but as near as he could tell, it did nothing. “You should not be in such areas alone.”
“You’re not my keeper.”
“You damn well need one by the looks of it. What about that address?” He motioned to her purse. “You’ll be lucky to come out alive if you visit South Street.”
“What I do with my time is none of your business, Harris. Just because you came to my aid at one ball does not mean you have some say over me.”
“And I stopped that thief,” he pointed out.
“Fine. Just because you came to my aid twice does not mean you can tell me what to do.”
“I have little intention of letting my heroics go to waste.”
“Why you—” she spluttered and stopped to tap on the roof. The carriage came to stop outside the Grand Western Hotel. She quickly pushed past him and climbed out. He waited while she paid and she jutted up her chin, ignoring him pointedly when he followed her into the hotel.
“Anna,” he called, loud enough for most of the guests in the exquisite gold entranceway to hear.
Anna whirled at him, eyes flashing. Colour sat high on her elegant cheekbones, and he almost laughed at himself. There was nothing he wanted more than to kiss her, right here, right now.
In truth, the only thing preventing him from doing so was the fact they were in a hotel lobby and surrounded by people. Not that an audience ever really stopped him from doing what he wished but he knew, deep down, that if he ignited the spark that forever bounced between them, he wouldn’t be able to behave in any way close to a gentleman.
“Leave me alone, Cynfell.”
She stalked away again. He felt an idiot hobbling after her but he couldn’t very well leave things like this. Particularly, when she was so damn impressive when she was angry. He doubted he was the first man to see her furious and he would not be the last. But it was likely few of them appreciated her fire.
He did. Not that he’d tell her that. He left himself smirk as he hurried up the stairs after her, ignoring the pang in his leg.
If he told Anna Dubois her temper made her even more beautiful, he’d likely receive a slap. But, hell, he was only human. Few women ever raised their voice to him. Call him a fickle fool, he couldn’t help be further intrigued by her.
Anna had intrigued him from the beginning. Even more so now. Why was she so keen to deny the patent desire between them? Why, when she was a woman steeped in the business of pleasure?
Every day, she helped men—and a few women—escape their lives and indulge in what they enjoyed most. Whether any of that was exactly morally correct, he couldn’t claim to know, but there would be nothing wrong with two healthy, unattached, non-innocents enjoying each other’s company.
And, of course, his inquiring mind had to know why she was traipsing about the worst parts of London.
“Anna,” he called. His damned leg was slowly turning to fire.
Harris had the feeling he’d drag himself up the blasted stairs if he had to. And to think of how he’d teased his brothers for letting a woman bring them to their knees. Not that he’d let himself be tied up like they did, but he strongly suspected a night with Anna might be worth a few hours on one’s knees. Particularly if he found himself between a pair of creamy thighs.
This image spurred him on, and he ignored how breathless he was when he reached her floor. The swish of her skirts ahead paused and she twisted to eye him.
“Leave me alone.”
She fumbled in her purse for the door key, her cheeks growing brighter with every moment while he neared. He took a second to gather his breath, cursing his inability to horse ride at present. His fitness was at an all-time low after the gunshot wound. However, he wouldn’t let that prevent him from pursuing Anna. Any amount of pain or breathlessness would be so very worth it. And, well, she could always help him get back into shape, could she not?
He must have revealed a wicked smile. Anna scowled at him and cursed under her breath.
“Go away, Harris,” she said, facing him head on.
“Not until I have some answers.”
“I do not owe you anything.”
“I think you do.” He closed the gap between them. She backed up against the door.
From here, he could see the dimples in her cheeks perfectly. Two little indents that he wanted to run his fingers over. The kohl around her eyes was perfectly drawn on, elongating the slant of her eyes.
She did not need any rouge though. He’d done the trick well enough by firing her temper. A low, long, dragging ache started in his gut. Or didn’t start as such, merely continued. He suspected it had been residing there since the first time he’d set eyes on her. But it intensified. It became so powerful that it was likely any breathlessness had little to do with his fitness levels and everything to do with his need to taste her.
“Why...” She took a breath. “Why would you possibly think I owe you anything? I nursed you. I spent many an hour making sure you were well!”
“You did.” He reached out and fingered a dark glossy curl. He had her captive. There was entirely enough space for her to slip out from in front of him yet she didn’t. Because even if she didn’t want to admit it, this need running between them had her as wrapped up as it did him. “You would bandage my leg with your long fingers, brushing the inside of my thigh. I would grit my teeth and try not to get hard.”
Another sharp breath from her.
“You would lean over and plump my pillows. All I would have had to have done was lean forward a little, pull down your bodice and your breasts could have been in my mouth.”
“They would not. I wouldn’t have let you.”
Harris dropped the curl and gave her a knowing look. He saw it all in her eyes, heard it in her unsteady breaths. “Are you certain about that?”
“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth. “I nursed you as a favour to a friend and because you were hurt on my land. I did not take you in because I wished to be seduced. Don’t you think I have every chance of indulging my desires whenever I wish? Do you not think that I could have any one of the men
who walk through my door?”
Heat rushed through his body. The words were bold—and false. He might have been confined to his bed for most of his time at Stourbridge, but he knew enough about how Anna ran the den of sin. She would never touch one of her guests.
“No,” he said firmly. “I do not think so.”
He closed the gap completely now. Her palms came up to his chest, but she didn’t push. Her hands were like hot coals burning through his clothing. He felt every tiny, flexing movement of them as she prepared to shove him away or accept him.
If she pushed, he’d go. But her hands remained still, her breaths heavy. Her gaze searched his.
“At the very least—” he flattened his chest against hers “—you owe me a kiss.”
Sharp, ragged desire etched his insides at the feel of her breasts against him. Even though confined to a corset and God knows what else under that jacket, they were there, rising and falling against his chest.
Her lips parted in a gasp. Anna Dubois was no innocent. By all rights, she was a fallen woman as much as he loathed that description. Yet he couldn’t help believe no one had spoken to her this way. Perhaps no one dared.
They could talk on, trade words for hours. He could continue to convince her they should explore this desire then extract her secrets from her. Or he could act.
And what choice did he really have?
Keeping his gaze upon hers until they were mere breaths apart, he brought his mouth down to hers. He savoured the hitch of her breath, the way her fingers curled into his shoulders. A hand to the back of her neck, he gripped her dark locks and kissed her hard. There would be no doubting he’d kissed her. He wanted the feel of his lips upon hers fixed in her mind.
The taste of her burrowed through his veins. It was brief—all too brief—as she ripped her mouth from his. He kept a hold of her, his breaths coming fast.
“You should not have done that,” she snapped, her eyes wild and all-too-appealing.
Before he responded, she fisted his jacket in both hands and yanked him close. Her lips were upon his—sweet, hot, fierce, and succulent. Harris cupped her face and pushed her hard against the wall. He took everything she had. This had been building the entire time they’d been together, and he’d been ready to unleash it for what felt like an eternity.
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