Devil in My Arms: A Loveswept Historical Romance (The Saint's Devils)

by Samantha Kane

  “Yes, sir. I’ll see to madam’s bath, now.” James turned and left the entry.

  Eleanor tugged on his hand. “Help me out of these dreadful clothes,” she said. “You’re right. I need a bath, a nap, and you. Not specifically in that order.”

  “Well, all right,” Hil said, letting her take the lead. “I can provide all three. Not necessarily in that order.”

  “Are you going to figure this out, Hilary?” she asked calmly, not looking at him as she climbed the stairs in front of him.

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” she said, her voice firm and resolute. “Now, take me to bed.”

  * * *

  Eleanor had herself under control by the time they reached Hilary’s bedroom. She was no longer shaking and she could think straight. The first thing she noticed was that he’d left the window open. And then it all fell apart and she spun to face him. Before she said a word she was in his arms and he was kissing her.

  She kissed him back, desperate for the taste and feel of him. He was so familiar and wonderful and exciting and alive, and she clung to him. With unsteady hands she held the back of his head and whimpered at how good his smooth, cool hair felt against her palms and fingers.

  He undid the apron she wore with a hard jerk on the tie at her back, and then he ripped it off her arms. The hated, scratchy dress followed. She wore only one undergarment, a rough, homespun petticoat, and he pulled that off, too. She kicked off her shoes, and then helped him to undress. He ripped open his coat, buttons flying, and tried to kiss her and pull it off at the same time. She attempted to help, shoving the sleeves down his arms. His cravat and shoes were given the same haphazard treatment. But he couldn’t wait to undress completely, and neither could she. Kissing her and pushing her back on the bed, he simply undid the fall on the front on his trousers. She adjusted and wrapped her legs around his waist, not even allowing him to climb completely onto the bed. He didn’t seem to care. He kept kissing her and kissing her, one moment roughly, and with infinite tenderness the next. Then he was pushing inside her and she threw her head back and bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  “God, Eleanor,” he said with a groan. “I’ve missed you, so very much.”

  “Yes, yes,” was all she could say, holding him tightly, barely giving him room to move within her. She wanted to remember this, remember how he felt—heavy and divine—and how he smelled like lavender and leather and horses. She put her hands on either side of his head and held his mouth on hers, devouring him. His beard was rougher than usual, as if he hadn’t shaved today. She pushed up and he reciprocated, the slight friction they created while held so tightly in one another’s arms creating a short, sharp burst of pleasure with each thrust.

  “I love you,” she whispered into his ear breathlessly, no longer afraid to tell him. She felt utterly safe in his arms. The feel of him inside her and the warmth of his embrace sent her to a place of complete trust and security.

  He pulled her arms from around his neck to lay them on the bed, palms up, over her head. Then he intertwined their fingers, holding her in place. Her heart beat faster, but only because it was such an intimate gesture, so touching and heartrending. Why now? Why discover how very much she loved and needed him now, when it might be too late? Their cheeks were pressed together and she slid her mouth along the stubble on his cheek until she could press her lips to his. Unlike the hard, desperate kisses they had just shared, this one was soft with regret. Their lips touched almost chastely. He broke away, kissed her cheek just as softly, and then whispered in her ear, “I love you, too.”

  Eleanor closed her eyes, tears leaking out the corners and running down her face. Hilary licked them away, still moving within her, and she opened her eyes and stared into his. What she saw there filled her with happiness, and determination. She wouldn’t lose this, she couldn’t. She gasped, arching her back as pleasure built within her like a rising tide and then rushed through her in waves of heat and pounding joy.

  As she peaked, Hilary pressed his forehead to hers and sucked in a deep breath, and then a harsh groan was ripped from his throat as the heat of his release filled her. It was like coming home at last.

  * * *

  “How are we going to fight this?” Eleanor asked. She knew she sounded exhausted. She felt that way. The last two days had been horrendous. At times she had found it hard to believe that she was indeed living this, pinching herself to prove it was real and not the stuff of nightmares. As she’d walked through the common area upon her arrival in Newgate, the thick layer of lice on the floor had crunched under her feet. She would never, never, never forget that sound.

  She was lounging in an obscenely large tub. She’d never seen the like. It had taken forever for the servants to fill it, and she felt a little guilty about that, but none of them had complained. The maid had picked up her prison garb wearing gloves and stuffed it into a bag. Hil said it was going to be cleaned thoroughly, although it had been spotlessly clean and smelling of lye when she’d put it on.

  Hilary sat beside the tub in a comfortable chair, his crossed feet upon a stool while he dangled his fingers in the water, periodically spreading droplets along her shoulders and through her hair. “With logic,” he said, in answer to her question. “Although I’m afraid I lost all claim to that attribute when it came time to formulate a plan. Wiley took over. I was proud of him. He’s learned a great deal here with me.”

  “Really?” she asked, hiding a smile. He’d sounded almost like a proud papa. “What did he suggest?”

  “Well, he’d already sent men in search of the body Enderby produced and claimed was you. They’re going to dig it up.”

  Eleanor’s stomach churned a bit at that. “That’s disgusting. Why?”

  “He thinks if the jury sees for themselves that the body doesn’t resemble you, they’ll question Enderby’s character. And the sight of a dead body, claimed with malicious intent and buried ignobly, will cast Enderby in the role of villain rather than you.”

  “You’re right. I’m impressed. Wiley is thoroughly diabolical.” She smiled at Hil’s chuckle. “What else do you have?” She reached for the bar of perfumed French soap Hil had produced, but he grabbed it first, dipped his hands in the water, and began to lather them up.

  “Much to my surprise, an old acquaintance from Bow Street showed up this morning,” he told her. “Inspector Townsend. He’s an intimate of the king’s.”

  “As are you,” she added, bending forward slightly so he could wash her back. She sighed in contentment as his slick, soapy hands massaged her shoulders and back. She shivered a little because the bath was growing cool, and Hil rinsed his hands and went to the fire, where he carefully grabbed a kettle and poured some steaming water into the tub. She swirled her hand around, spreading the warm water throughout the tub as he hung the kettle back up. He came back and soaped his hands again, and continued his gentle massage.

  “Townsend is more friend than foe to His Majesty,” Hil said sarcastically. “The same cannot be said of me.”

  “Why?” she asked. She immediately shook her head. “No, never mind. I made up my mind that it didn’t matter. Your past, I mean. You may keep your secrets.”

  “I saved his life when I was but a young lad,” Hil told her. She turned shocked eyes to him and he nodded. He grabbed a small bowl and filled it, then poured the water over her back, rinsing it. He motioned for her to tip her head back, and when she did he poured the water through her hair. “He was attacked by an irate, but unarmed, husband, who objected to the seduction of his young wife. I intervened, and the king, then prince, killed him. I covered for him. I even disposed of the body. No one could connect him to the man’s disappearance. My reward for saving him was an education.”

  He paused, lathering his hands again. Then he began to wash her hair, gently massaging her scalp as he had her back. It was heavenly. She sighed and closed her eyes and leaned back against the edge of the tub.

  “You see,” he continued, “I wa
s a very poor bastard child, the son of a prostitute. No father, no mother, no money, no future. He changed all that. He knows my secret, and I know his.” He pushed her forward gently and poured warm water over her head, rinsing the soap out. When he was done, he dried her face and she opened her eyes to see him smiling at her. “And that is how I got you out. Through the years, I’ve helped him solve other … problems. I know a great many secrets now, and he knows I will use them against him if I have to. He needs me, and I used it to my advantage.” His look turned grim. “But he will only go so far. This reprieve is only until the trial. Then you must go back, and I must find the guilty party.”

  “Or I’ll hang,” she whispered, a tremor in her voice, though she tried to crush it.

  He shook his head. “Or I will help you escape. We will either succeed, or we will hang together.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hil sipped a strong cup of tea in the breakfast room while Wiley, Townsend, Roger, Lyttle, and Alasdair sat around the table with him. He was wearing his banyan and a pair of trousers. He hadn’t wanted to wake Eleanor by getting fully dressed. She’d had a restless night, tossing and turning. When she’d climbed into his bed and under his covers after her bath, she’d confessed she hadn’t slept a wink the night before in the women’s dormitory at the prison. Not because of ill-treatment—she’d actually been a bit famous already as his soiled dove. She’d used the description in jest, but still, Hil hadn’t liked it. As soon as this was over, he’d make an honest woman of her. After all, she was now a widow in truth.

  “Body’s on its way back,” Wiley was saying. “They had a bit of trouble with the constable there, but they showed him a note from Vickery saying it was a case under investigation by Bow Street. Worked wonders.”

  “How did you get a letter from Vickery?” Roger asked. “He’s been rather recalcitrant with us. Doesn’t like the idea of being proven wrong, I don’t think.”

  “Didn’t,” Wiley said. “Wrote it myself. But they don’t know that.”

  “I did not hear that,” Townsend said. “But be advised that without the proper documentation proving the body is indeed the one that was buried as Eleanor Enderby, it’s useless to us.”

  “Got that, too,” Wiley said. “And I didn’t have to write it myself. Constable and coroner in Derbyshire did it for us.”

  “Excellent work,” Hil said. “How long until it arrives?”

  “Slow going,” Wiley said. “Body wasn’t in the best of shape. Rough travel will knock it to pieces before it arrives, and it’ll be useless anyway. So taking it slow, they won’t get here until next week.”

  Lyttle huffed out an aggrieved breath. “We’ll barely have time to see it before we’re expected to parade it before the court. We can’t count on it as our main defense.”

  “What do we have, then?” Alasdair asked. Hil had a sinking feeling, and set aside his food.

  “We could plead murder by misadventure, or self-defense,” Lyttle said, dispassionately. “Admit your girl did it, but argue it was either an accident or she did it to save her own life.”

  “No,” Hil barked out angrily. He rose and paced the edge of the room. “She didn’t kill him, and you and I both know that we haven’t enough evidence of his cruelty, or exactly what underhanded means he used to procure a dead body, to exonerate Eleanor.” He faced Roger and Lyttle. “She must be cleared of all charges. It’s the only way.”

  “Then we’ve got to find the real killer,” Lyttle said. “That’s your department. So do it, damn it. Don’t stand there and tell us what to do. We’ll handle the court case. You handle the hunt for our killer.”

  “Don’t you think I’m trying?” Hil said angrily.

  “No,” Roger said. He stood up and faced Hil, as angry as Hil was. “You’ve been rolling around upstairs with Eleanor and leaving us to try to save her. And we’re just not up to the job, Hil. Now think, damn it. Who would want to kill Enderby? Have you been to the murder site? Have you talked to anyone?”

  Hil clenched his fist, wanting to hit Roger, but part of him accepted the condemnation. It was true. “No. I haven’t done any of it. I’ve hardly been able to think with her locked up in Newgate.”

  “She may be going back,” Townsend said, pushing away his empty plate. He’d eaten most of the items on the sideboard. “Have you seen this?” He shoved a broadsheet across the table at Hil, who reluctantly picked it up.

  It showed Eleanor dressed as a boy, but very provocatively, her bosom hanging out of a corset and her derriere pronounced in boys’ breeches. Her hair looked shorn, like one about to be guillotined. She was caught between Hil, looking tall and rather evil, and the king, looking fat and moronic. They were tugging on her hands, fighting over her as she screeched, “Innocent! Innocent! I only killed him to keep my man.” The king was demanding she repay him for “the debt now owed of freedom, though she earned a cull’s cell,” and Hil was arguing that she was his “adventuress, murderess, and fitting companion for a man who sniffed the refuse in the gutter.”

  Townsend threw another one down. The Damsel and The Devil was emblazoned across the top. It showed Hil dragging Eleanor out of Newgate. Once again, she wore provocative clothing, her dress half off, and had a lascivious expression on her face as she fondled Hil between the legs. She was saying, “For freedom I’ll do anything. I’ve done it all before, including murder! Be careful Sir, or you’ll be the next if I don’t get what I want.” If his prick were indeed as big as it had been drawn in the caricature, he wouldn’t be able to walk. “I’ll take payment in the carriage, my dear,” he was saying. “If freedom you want, then you’ll freely give.”

  Townsend started to slide another over, but Hil held up his hand. “Enough. I assume our mutual friend has seen these.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Townsend said, sipping his tea. “You know how he hates this sort of thing. He wants to be the hero, saving the innocent maiden. This isn’t turning out that way. He’ll crumble to opinion if the public outcry grows any stronger, and order her back to prison.”

  “Then today had better shed some light on the case,” Hil said with determination. “I’m going to dress and then I shall pay a visit to some of my former clients, who may or may not have a grudge with me.”

  “I’m going with you.” Her voice was quiet, but every man in the room heard her. Hil spun around to face Eleanor leaning against the wall next to the open door. She wore one of the gowns Roger had brought, a simple lavender one that he remembered, with little flowers embroidered along the sleeves and hem. She’d told him she’d done that herself, when she was hiding in the country. She looked small and frightened and determined. “It’s my neck going in the noose. I’m not going to sit at home and think about that all day long. I’m going with you. I’ve got a pretty good head on my shoulders. I’d rather use it than lose it.” She straightened and took a deep breath and then stepped further into the room. Roger and Alasdair kissed her on the cheek, and then she went to Wiley and hugged him. “Thank you,” she said.

  He looked uncomfortable. “No need,” he said. “Haven’t found the villain yet.”

  With a gentle smile she turned and regarded Lyttle and Townsend. “How do you do?” she said politely. “I am Eleanor Enderby.”

  “Edward Lyttle.” He stuck out his hand and Eleanor shook it.

  “Of course,” she said, “Roger’s partner. Thank you so much for helping him with my case.”

  “Sorry we haven’t met before,” he said sheepishly, blushing. “Been rather busy lately, what with Roger on the payroll. Clients lined up. He’s an excellent barrister.”

  “Good to know,” she said, nodding seriously. “Though I had no doubts.” She turned to Townsend.

  “Inspector Townsend, madam,” he said, bowing. “Here at the request of our mutual friend. Trying to help.”

  “I certainly hope help is your aim,” she said with a smile, though her words were challenging. “I do appreciate anything you can do for me.”

  He looke
d uncomfortable for a moment. “Of course, of course,” he mumbled. “Going myself to find that blasted night watchman today. Don’t know where he’s gotten himself off to. Wiley,” he said, gesturing toward the door. “I’ll go with you, as usual.”

  “As usual?” Eleanor asked. Hil was wondering the same thing. “Have you two been working together?”

  Wiley rushed to speak, but Townsend beat him to it. “Been helping the officers at several stations for the last few months. He’s a wealth of information, your boy, St. John. Good investigator, too. Been on some late-night raids with Inspector Lavender. I believe you know him,” he said to Roger. “Helped with your wife’s case a couple of years ago. Wiley helped him then, too.”

  “Yes, I do,” Roger said, staring at Wiley in astonishment. “I had no idea Wiley was working with him.”

  “Nor did I,” Hil said. “It seems he has not been up front about his late-night activities.”

  “Don’t have to tell you lot everything,” Wiley blustered. “Man’s got to have his little adventures, doesn’t he?” He walked quickly to the door. “Good day, ma’am,” he said to Eleanor, and then glared at the rest of the room before leaving.

  “I never thought I’d admit this, but you’ve completely changed the boy for the better,” Alasdair said in amazement. “I didn’t think you could take the gutter out of him.”

  “What a horrible thing to say,” Eleanor said angrily. “A man’s worth is what’s inside him.”

  “You didn’t know him before,” Alasdair told her grimly. “He was more criminal than hero. I’m just glad the boy’s turned around.”

  “I think everyone has the ability to change, if given the opportunity,” she said, looking at Hil with a secret little smile. She faced Alasdair again. “Just look at me. I used to be a timid little mouse. Now I’m an accused murderess.”

  “That is not the sort of transformation I’d hoped for,” Roger said ruefully.

  * * *

  They spent about an hour making a list of possible suspects from Hil’s cases. He’d been doing amateur investigations for several years now, and the list was extensive. Everyone from murderers and thieves to their sweethearts and relatives wished him dead. Not to mention the individuals for whom he had not been able to satisfactorily resolve their issue. They decided to start with those inquiries that had ended in a conviction and execution. Hil knew from experience it was best to start with the dead bodies. He’d forgotten that when it came to Eleanor. Good thing Wiley hadn’t.