by Ruby Duvall
“I’d be glad to have her help. Thank you.” She gently wiped her eye and looked out the window of the coach.
He didn’t know what else to say, and it seemed exhaustion was weighing heavily on them both. The last few minutes of their journey to his rented apartment were passed in silence.
When they arrived, the sun was nearly at the horizon and even Oliver, who normally showed no signs of fatigue, was yawning as he lowered the coach’s step. “Pardon me, sir.”
“It’s been a long night for us all,” Ryder said. Oliver ascended the two stone steps to the front door of the apartment and left it open for Ryder as he drew Samantha into his arms and out of the coach. She clutched the collar of her coat.
Upon the threshold of the building, Oliver stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Someone’s watching the house.” Ryder tensed.
“Where?” Samantha asked quietly.
Oliver barely moved his lips. “By the alley.”
Ryder didn’t turn to verify, but Samantha subtly turned her head, glancing from the corner of her eye. “Is it Webb?” he asked her.
“Yes.”
“Oliver, was he here when you brought Mary?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
Samantha tightened her hands on his shoulder. “He’s leaving. He knows we spotted him.”
“Damn. I thought it might take longer for him to find my personal residence. Tell me if you see him again, Oliver.” Ryder stepped into the front hall.
“I will, sir.”
“I’ll send word to the house when I need you.” With that, his driver was gone and Ryder shut the door. Samantha patted his chest.
“Set me down, please.” She hissed as she put weight on her feet but waved him off when he would have helped her to a chair. The apartment was still dark but for the weak gray light of dawn coming in through the front window. Mary was sitting on one of the armchairs in the parlor, her chin on her chest and eyes closed. The white cap on her messy crop of hair was askew.
“Am I sleeping with you?” Samantha asked with one hand on the banister leading upstairs. Her eyes were on his vest.
“I…” Yes, he wanted to say. A riot of possessiveness and jealousy raged within him. He hated it, hated wanting her when she needed compassion. “The bedroom is just on the right.”
Samantha hobbled up to the first floor and the squeaking of the stairs woke Mary, who “oohed” anxiously as she pushed up from the chair. “Beg your pardon, sir. I wanted to offer any assistance I could before you took your rest, but I must have fallen asleep. It won’t happen again, I swear.”
“It’s quite all right, Mary. I believe a bed is all we need.” The maid’s eyebrows went up and Ryder realized the connotations of his words. “We shall likely sleep well into the morning.”
“Can I not get you some water and linen to freshen up?”
“Ah, certainly. Thank you, Mary. After that, please make use of the servant’s room downstairs.”
She needed no further instructions and took herself into the kitchen. Samantha was already in the bedroom and Ryder stood a short moment at the base of the stairs.
Had he made a mistake fetching her from the watch-house? No, no. Of course he hadn’t. Samantha was an innocent and did not deserve to spend even a moment in such a place. His mistake was thinking he’d walk out the front door of the brothel with her.
Mary emerged from the kitchen with a length of linen over one arm and a basin of water. Ryder went upstairs and entered the open bedroom door. A simple four-poster bed dominated the space. It sat upon a square, English-made rug and the room was dimly lit from a window in the adjoining bathroom. Sam had draped her coat over an armchair by the fireplace and was seated on the bed, wincing as she flexed her toes. Her shirt was strangely tailored. It buttoned up the front and was much more fitted than he had assumed.
“Here we are. I can heat bathwater for you once you’ve had a rest,” Mary offered. She set the basin on a delicate cloth-draped table that Ryder had yet to put to use. Beside it was a short cabinet with drawers for small items, where Mary laid the length of linen. “Should I light a candle for you? Or turn down the bed?”
He looked to Samantha for her preference, but she seemed at a loss. “No, Mary. We’ll make do. Get some rest yourself.” Mary bobbed her head and shut the door as she left. Samantha stood with a hiss.
“What are you doing?” he asked a little too harshly.
“I should wash my feet.” She limped toward the basin of water.
“Just stay there. The water can come to you.” He grabbed the linen and the basin and brought it to the bed. Samantha sat again, sighing as the weight was lifted from her feet. She reached for the linen, but he didn’t give it to her. “I’ll do it,” he said gruffly.
He set the basin between her feet and rolled up the legs of her breeches to expose her ankles. Dipping one end of the linen into the water, he lifted one foot and gently wiped the cloth over the sole. His jaw was hard as dried blood came away. Samantha held her breath but didn’t stop him, which was good because he needed to do this. Once one foot was clean, he patted it dry and went to work on the other. None of the cuts on her feet were bleeding, at least.
The skin of her ankles was soft and he couldn’t help stroking her bare calf. When he was drying her other foot, he looked up and her eyes were half-closed. She was breathing easier, perhaps relieved to wash away some portion of this night. He placed the basin on the nearby table and returned to the bed. After folding down the bedclothes, he slid his arm under her knees, tucked her close to his chest and turned her to lie upon the bed. Her eyes shut as soon as she met the pillow.
As he pulled the blanket over her, he saw in the light from the bathroom a smear of white powder on her neck.
Ryder reared back, remembering the duke and the smudged powder around his mouth. He knew they had been in the same room, but to see evidence that she had been with him, that he had put his mouth on her…
The only thing that kept him from throwing the first thing he found across the room was the possibility it would wake her.
He walked to the bathroom and braced his hands about the window. He stared without seeing, his chest tight with jealousy. He didn’t want the emotion but he wanted her. He wanted her to adore him as much as he did her.
His forehead met the cool glass of the window and he cursed softly. What did he know of love? He’d had none of it, not from his dead mother, his father who hated him or his brother who only loved himself. He knew but little about Samantha. He didn’t love her. He wouldn’t.
She would be his lover, nothing more.
Chapter Nine
Samantha woke to the sound of a door opening. The swish of skirts and beleaguered footfalls walked past the bed and through bleary eyes, she saw Mary hefting a large kettle of some kind. From the bathroom she heard Ryder thank the maid and the splash of a large amount of water pouring into something.
Remembering last night, she wondered if the cuts on her feet were infected. Did she have a fever? She didn’t think so. Her feet didn’t even hurt, though perhaps only because she wasn’t walking on them. No headache yet. Would she regret sitting up?
Mary walked out with the empty pot and soft sounds echoed from the bathroom. The occasional swish and rapid tapping meant he was shaving.
Gingerly, Sam boosted herself higher on the pillows. Her stomach didn’t protest. Her body didn’t ache anywhere at all. How long had she slept that she felt so normal? It was daylight, so either the next day or late afternoon. She rolled her head about her shoulders. That felt okay too, but something crusty was on her neck. She touched the spot and for a moment was back in that yellow bedroom at the brothel. The fat duke was slobbering on her and scaring the shit out of her.
She forced her mind away from those moments and her fingers found the chain of her locket. She wondered if the clue inside had changed. A little pop and she fished out the paper. No drawings of nightmare fuel this time, but another poem.
The owl
doth watch the hawk and dove duet,
Unaware of his truest regret.
In the gardens at night, her silhouette,
The sound of her tears, he cannot forget.
A hawk? If she was the dove and in a duet, then Ryder was the hawk and Webb was for certain the owl. He had been there at dawn and seen them together. As for Webb’s truest regret, that was a mystery and the implied “her” could be anyone. She knew as much about him as Ryder did, which wasn’t much at all.
Sam could hear Mary trudging back up the stairs and put the clue away. She’d have to share it with the maid later. After squeezing the locket shut, she glanced at the inscription and saw a new word—Vauxhall.
The Vauxhall pleasure gardens. Was she supposed to go there next?
“You’re awake.” Mary stood at the bedroom door with a smile. “Just in time. I’ve a couple of meals from the tavern to bring up and your bathwater is almost ready. It’s just a hip bath, but it’ll be nice and hot.”
“Thanks, Mary.” She pushed the blankets off and found it strange to be wearing her blouse and slacks. Ryder, naked from the waist up, came out from the bathroom just as Mary passed behind him. It was a testament to Mary’s time in a brothel that she didn’t care about the state of his undress.
“How are you?” he asked carefully. He was wiping his face, now clean-shaven. Her eyes took in the well-defined muscles stretched across his abdomen and the sculpted slope of his pectorals and shoulders. How his skin could contain all that muscle was a mystery she was tempted to explore.
Sam swung her feet to the floor and stood. No pain. “Good, actually.” Another splash as Mary dumped hot water out.
“I am surprised your cheek didn’t bruise, but glad.” Remembering the blow delivered to her face, she touched her cheek and expected some soreness. Nothing.
What the hell?
“He hit me pretty hard though,” she mulled. She heard a growl and looked wide-eyed at Ryder. His body was tight and his expression dark, as though he contemplated murder.
Mary appeared again on her way to the bedroom door. “I’ll ready the food, sir, and be up in just a moment. Should I leave it on the table there?”
Ryder was forced to relax his expression. “That’ll be fine, Mary.” Sam didn’t want to read too much into why Mary closed the door as she left. Probably just her habit.
“I’ll just wash up.” She walked past him to the bathroom, noticing the clean smell of whatever cream or oil he had used to shave. The hip bath was just that—big enough to fit your hips and not much else. Mary had left a large towel, a smaller hand towel, and hunk of soap. A basin of water sat atop a nearby washstand. Its surface was soapy and a well-used razorblade sat next to it.
Eager to feel cleaner, she went after the buttons of her blouse. She dropped it on the floor. She then popped the button on her slacks, pulled down the zipper, and pushed them past her hips. A quick and messy knot kept her hair up. She picked up the hand towel and turned to sit in the hip bath.
Ryder stood just behind her.
“Jesus, you’re quiet!” she yelped. She would’ve covered up but he had already seen her naked and her little towel wouldn’t be nearly big enough. “Are you going to watch me?”
His answer was instant. “Yes.”
That shut her up. Her cheeks were warm. Hell, everything was warm. She looked at the fore-flap of his breeches and, yup, he was hard. That knowledge pleased her, she realized.
Sam settled into the hip bath, immersed only up to her navel with her feet on the floor of the bathroom. A backyard kiddy pool was bigger than this. Lathering up the soap was first. Not much room in the little tub, so she dipped the soap into the space between her legs. That got a sound from Ryder. She worked up some lather into the hand towel and spread it across her stomach, then her chest and arms. Knowing it’d get a reaction, she deliberately cupped her soapy breasts, washing them slowly.
A groan and then he whispered something. After scrubbing the skin of her neck and shoulders, she went to her legs. Ryder shifted his feet. His eyes were on her hands as she wiped the cloth around the cap of her knee and then up the length of her thigh.
Skipping past what she knew he was waiting for, she went to her other leg and did the same. She then pulled her knee to her chest and scrubbed the back of her thigh. A rough noise spilled from his throat.
“Samantha. Do it,” he begged. His breeches strained to contain his erection.
The hand cloth went between her legs. She gasped, not expecting how sensitive she would be. The display had done as much to arouse her as it had him. She gave in to the sensation and rubbed the towel up and down. She moaned when his hands went to his breeches.
He wasn’t nearly naked enough.
“Lunch is ready,” Mary called from the bedroom. Sam froze and they listened as she set out their food. Ryder blinked as though waking from a daydream and leaned out from the bathroom.
“We’ll call if we need you, Mary.” Sam heard the bedroom door shut and Ryder turned back to her. Whatever control he had lost was firmly back in place. “I shall leave you to finish your bath.” He went to the bedroom, likely to eat, and Sam wondered what had changed. Didn’t he want her? And how did he always so easily get her thinking about a good bump and grind?
Probably because every time he looked at her, that’s exactly what he was thinking about too.
The last time she had bathed, someone had done the more intimate washing for her while someone she feared and hated had watched. When Ryder had watched, though… He didn’t do it to have power over her. He was attracted to her, wanted to pleasure her.
And he had been ready to do just that.
She finished scrubbing, rinsed off the soap and patted herself dry. Refreshed, she tugged her hair free of the knot, wishing she could wash it, but perhaps later. She wrapped herself in the larger towel and picked up her modern clothes. In the bedroom, Ryder chewed on a mouthful of food. His jaw slowed when he saw her.
“I just realized,” she said, dropping her clothes on top of her coat, “I don’t have any clothes to wear.”
Ryder swallowed. His expression was strange. Maybe he hadn’t thought yet of clothing her, of the expense. She didn’t know how to feel about him paying for it. They hadn’t yet worked out any kind of wages for her part in his operation and she hoped to pay him back.
“What’s this?” Several ledgers were piled on the bed. She had seen them on the table earlier and it was likely Mary had moved them in order to set down the food.
She heard a noise from the table but before she could turn, Ryder wrapped his arms around her.
“I cannot deny myself.” He turned her to face the bed. A gasp from her and the towel was on the floor. His lips were feverish on her skin, kissing her shoulder, her neck. He cupped her breasts and rolled her nipples between his fingers.
She leaned back with abandon and braced her hands on his arms, allowing him more access. She was pushed forward a step and her thighs touched the bed. His hand did something between them and then his breeches hit the floor.
He bent her forward, his chest pressed to her back, and reached between her legs. His cock slid between her thighs, erect and angled to penetrate her. His hips rolled against the cushion of her backside, rubbing his erection against her vagina.
She mewled and he did her one better. His fingers slipped between the lips of her sex and went straight for her clit. She had to put her hand on the bed. Her vagina was plump and wet, still ready after that display she had put on in the bathroom.
His finger circled the entrance to her body, dipping in only a knuckle before returning to her clit. Each time, she ached more and more for something deeper, thicker.
She bent down, pressing her shoulder into the bed. She then slid her hand beneath her, reaching to tuck his erection right where she needed it. He didn’t push into her, though, and slipped from her hand.
“Ryder, please.”
“Tell me what you want.”
Oh she had t
his. She could talk dirty if he wanted it.
“Shove that cock into me. Pound me ’til I scream.”
“Oh fuck,” he growled. He did exactly as she asked and shoved his erection balls-deep with one thrust. She sucked in a breath. Her back went stiff. Her hands fisted in the blankets.
His hand punched into the bed next to her arm and his other gripped her shoulder. She braced herself, thinking he’d lay into her, but he waited for her to adjust. She remembered to breathe and then he started off easy with long, gentle strokes, not too slow. His hand on her shoulder pulled her back into his hips and bottomed him out every time.
God, he was making her crazy. The sound of his hips smacking her ass slowly grew louder, faster. Every thrust put a hitch in her breath, made her moans skip.
He stepped closer and the soft hairs on his legs tickled the backs of her thighs. She pressed her face into the blankets when she realized his balls were slapping against her.
She went fishing again, lying on her arm as she explored herself and found his shaft pumping into her. The lips of her sex were split wide. It was the perfect position to…
Her groan was long and staccato. Her longest finger twirled her clit and it felt amazing. Ryder thrust in earnest. He knew what she was doing. He cursed in grunts, pounding into her just like she had begged.
“I’m coming. I’m coming, oh G—” Her throat closed up and she shuddered on the bed, her legs barely holding her up. Ryder choked and then he was spilling into her. The deep squeezes, the burst of tingling heat. The rest of her body was limp so that she could concentrate on how good it felt.
Ryder released a shaking breath as if he had been holding it. His tight clamp on her shoulder loosened and he smoothed his hand down her spine. “I just…need a minute.”
She wasn’t going anywhere, especially not without clothes. Turning her head to get some fresh air rather than leave her face mashed into the blanket, she wondered if the water in the hip bath was still warm. Seemed as if she’d need it again, though maybe Mary could add more hot water.