by Ruby Duvall
“Oh my God,” she breathed. They only had an hour before meeting the investor?
Ryder laughed softly. “Shall I be your guide?”
“Yes, please.”
Her escort first took her to one of the supper-boxes. At the back of the alcove hung a painting of an oak tree, no doubt to distinguish it from the other innumerous boxes, and their sour-faced waiter was harried as he took their order. She sipped at a glass of champagne while Ryder practically inhaled the famous Vauxhall ham. Between swallows he described the various walks, including the location of a canopied lane known ominously as the Dark Walk.
After she downed the last of her bubbly beverage, he took her to the Rotunda where Roubiliac’s sculpture of Handel stood in a specially constructed niche, and she realized with a start that she had seen the same sculpture at a museum in London back in her own time. She had gone along with a college friend on a free tour. She might have even taken a quick picture of it.
The look on her face must have concerned Ryder, who offered to get her another glass of champagne. Alcohol certainly sounded like a good idea. They left the Rotunda and he had her wait in the square of trees with the orchestra, which was apparently called the Grove, saying he’d return soon.
More supper-boxes were tucked below the orchestra’s bandstand and a large crowd milled about beneath the orchestra’s balcony from which a young woman was singing. She concentrated on the music, the lights, and the miracle that she would get to see such a sight after all her time studying history in college and then dealing antiques. She’d ignore the reminder that, while the sculpture and the paintings would last for hundreds of years more, preserved in museums for people not yet born to ogle, she would not.
She saw Ryder return from the corner of her eye and hoped he would have something to say to distract her. She turned to accept the champagne.
But it wasn’t Ryder.
“Madam,” Webb said, bowing his head.
She jumped back. “Holy crap.”
“I apologize for startling you, madam.”
How had she thought it was Ryder? Webb looked very modest in the midst of all the other patrons in his unembellished brown coat and vest against the crisp white of his shirt and cravat. Ryder, however, had deigned to wear an embroidered dark-blue coat over a cream-colored vest rather than his usual plain black. Even so, Webb’s manner of dress, his height and build, were just like Ryder.
Even his face resembled Ryder now that she looked at him closely, though Webb’s hair was darker and his features that of someone closer to fifty than twenty.
“You are very good at startling me, Mr. Webb.”
“Again, my apologies.” He bowed. “I am relieved that you have kinder patronage than when I last saw you.”
That was sugar-coating it.
“You’ve really got to stop following Ryder around. He’ll think you’re either in love with him or planning to murder him.”
His mouth twitched at her attempt at humor. “You know very well why I tail him, madam. You were there to hear all of it.”
“Well, it’s not my business.”
“Yes, I know the manner of business in which you engage.”
He might as well have called her a whore. “What do you want, Mr. Webb?”
“Have you seen Phillip West?”
Poor choice of words on his part. Seeing versus knowing where someone was were two very different things. “I haven’t.”
“Does Ryder talk about him? Or mention the places he’s been?”
Time to turn the tables. “You should understand what I mean, Mr. Webb, when I say that Ryder and I don’t talk very much. You watch the apartment, don’t you? What do you think goes on in there when he’s with me? Or do you need an invitation to tea to feel satisfied that Phillip’s not there?”
She smiled, concentrating on the mental image of Ryder and her on his bed.
Webb’s jaw hardened. “Why did he come here?”
“I can’t be cooped up all the time. I asked him to bring me and he has, and I see lots of little dark spaces where we can get some privacy.”
His nose flared as he breathed in. Something of that edge she often detected in Ryder’s voice was there in Webb’s. “You have quite an imagination, madam.” He looked at her mouth.
Oh shit. She might have gone too far.
Webb’s eyes flicked past her and he gnashed his teeth. With a quick pardon he was gone, and she turned around to find Ryder stalking toward her. He looked like God’s revenge against murder.
Damn that Webb! Ryder had been certain that the man hadn’t been watching them when they left the apartment, or when they were ferried across the river. If Webb wasn’t watching, someone else was being paid to, and therefore extra caution was warranted if he wanted to meet his potential investor without Webb’s knowledge or interference.
The man had been talking to Samantha. Alone. The desire on his face had been obvious and if Webb hadn’t departed, Ryder would have laid the man flat for the way he looked at her.
He handed her the champagne. Whereas she had been content to sip it before, she downed the entire glass with one toss. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this tonight.”
“Did he upset you? What was said?”
“He seemed very interested in condemning me for enjoying my lady parts,” she said, her hands gesturing downward to indicate her commodity. “And he kept asking about your brother, so I tried to flirt with him to make him uncomfortable and go away.”
Ryder’s knuckles were surely white. “You did what?”
“It didn’t work.”
He didn’t trust himself to speak and so he checked his watch. It was nearly time. Taking her arm, he led her north toward the Cascade and left her empty glass with a passing waiter.
Ryder couldn’t stop thinking of Webb’s expression when he was speaking with Samantha, like he had been entranced. They took the Cross Walk north. A surreptitious search found Webb following them not twenty paces behind. His plain manner of dress was easy to spot.
Had the duke looked at her the way Webb had? Had he known the beauty and intelligence of the woman he would soon possess? Ryder’s hand tightened around Samantha’s delicate fingers on his arm. He still hated it, knowing that before the constables could be summoned to the house, another had been with her.
Her voice cut through his torturous thoughts. “How are we going to lose Webb? He’s behind us, isn’t he?”
“That won’t be a problem. Just wait for the bell.” Patrons were already gathered in front of a curtain concealing a piece of machinery that for a mere fifteen minutes represented some sort of landscape, a vista that changed seasonally. Likely the only draw of the contraption was its brief appearance.
Ryder eased them through the thickening throng of onlookers, putting greater distance between them and Webb.
“We’re so tall. Webb can still see where we are,” she fretted.
“Have you seen the height of the ladies’ wigs?”
She snickered and he smiled in spite of his mood. While he had dressed in the bathroom, the maid had styled Samantha’s hair and when asked why she wouldn’t wear a wig, Samantha had insisted that her own hair was the obviously better option. He looked askance at the heavy, shimmering waves of red hair looped and loosely braided at the back of her head, and had to agree.
Right on time, the nine o’clock bell rang the hour. The crowd tittered as the curtain was drawn back, and the sudden press of those seeking a better view afforded the perfect opportunity.
“Escape with me.” He grasped Samantha close and pulled her through the crowd away from the mechanical landscape. They maintained a brisk pace eastward between fenced downs thickly planted with various species of tree. More patrons rushed past them in an effort to attend the nightly spectacle of the Cascade. Several backward glances confirmed that Webb had not discovered their absence.
A turn at the back of the gardens and they were en route to the Dark Walk where his colleague waited at the easternmost
end.
“This corset sucks,” Samantha said. Sucks? Surely an American term. “I can’t breathe in it when I’m practically jogging.” He saw the flush in her cheeks and his eyes traveled down to the bust of her dress.
“Yet it achieves excellent results.” The distraction nearly had him topple a man walking in the opposite direction. “Pardon me, sir.”
Laughter bubbled out of Samantha. “Oh don’t make me laugh. I can barely breathe as it is.” When straight was no longer an option, they turned again.
The Dark Walk’s proper name was Lover’s Walk, but owing to the lofty trees on either side of the lane, the boughs of which formed a canopy above and shielded the walk from the glow of the garden’s many oil lamps, the former name was more oft used. One could still see the lamps glittering through the trees, however, and the birdsong of nightingales heightened the intimacy.
“This is beautiful.” Samantha was breathless, though perhaps from the exercise. She slid her hand into the bend of his elbow once more and his chest expanded at the touch.
In the darkness, he spied groups of all sorts, some drinking and merry. Couples embraced and by the gasps, some of them were doing more than that.
She clutched his arm against her breast. “Oh my God. I can’t tell for sure but—”
“You would be correct, madam.” She gasped as though scandalized, but he could discern the amusement in her expression.
“The more things change…”
“Pardon?”
“Uh, nothing.”
A hand clapped onto his shoulder and he instinctively turned to engage, pushing Samantha behind him. No one would fault him for dressing Webb’s hide—no one would see in this dark lane.
“At ease, lieutenant.” The man’s chuckle was familiar. Ryder smiled.
“Captain Williams.” They shook hands. “It’s good to see you again. May I introduce Samantha Reed?” She came around and offered her hand as though expecting a handshake. Williams deftly turned her wrist and brought her fingers to his lips. He looked much the same as he had three years ago when Ryder had served aboard his ship. Tall, broad-shouldered, his straight, black hair tied back. He hated wigs as much as Ryder did. He also disliked shaving.
The only discrepancies were his civilian attire and a smile on his face rather than his usual snarl.
“Enchanting,” Williams vowed. He released Samantha’s fingers a second before Ryder would have snatched them back. “Wherever did he find you, Miss Reed?”
Her answer was sly. “I answered his advertisement.”
Williams’ unabating smile was perfectly discernible. Ryder changed the topic.
“How have you been, sir?”
“Sitting upon thorns.” Williams shifted as though the metaphor were true. “My lady mother would have me marry but why deprive the ladies of London my excellent company when I am yet in my prime?”
“You haven’t met the right woman,” Samantha answered.
“Right you are.” Williams tapped the air in front of him. “I must quickly enjoy as many as possible.”
“I guess that’s one way of doing it. Just don’t contract a venereal disease.”
Williams burst with laughter, yet a flare of anger seared through Ryder’s chest. Williams wiped his finger under his eye. “Sound advice.” His former captain then lowered his voice, though his smile did not fade. “What investment opportunity brings me to so surreptitious a scene, lieutenant?”
“The kind that yields considerable profit if the king is denied his share.”
“Ah, a bit of free trade? I’m in.”
“But…I’ve not told you the cargo or the margin or—”
“It’s probably for the best that I know as little as possible. All I need to know is the amount of my investment. You were one of my best officers, West. I am quite certain the risk is minimal.”
Samantha stepped closer. “A thousand pounds. You’ll have your profit in a month.”
Williams made a deep noise of approval. “I knew I liked you, Miss Reed.”
“And you learned that without us taking off our clothes,” she said flippantly.
His former captain laughed. “As you well know, it can be done while wearing clothes.” Ryder’s temper flared at their repartee.
“A thousand then. Would settling by bank draft be agreeable with you, sir?” Samantha eased back a step at his biting tone. Williams clapped him on the shoulder again, as though nothing were ill.
“It would, lieutenant. You have my address.” The captain adjusted his grip on the hat tucked beneath his arm. “I would keep this one if I were you, and certainly inform me if you do not intend to.” At Samantha’s gasp, Williams turned and walked away.
Ryder took hold of her arm. “Do you flirt with every man to whom you speak?” She jerked out of his grasp.
“Talking with a man counts as flirting?”
He stepped close, his legs touching her skirt. “Alluding to the number of women he enjoys and the state of their undress is not an innocent conversation.”
“Aren’t I supposed to play a part here, Ryder? A mistress found amongst the whores in a brothel shouldn’t act shy, should she?”
“A part you play adeptly.” He regretted it the moment he said it. He knew very well he had been her first lover, that she had no great experience in seducing men. In fact, she seemed to simply have the talent naturally.
Her lack of response told him he had hit upon a nerve. He fought for something to say to explain his harsh words and beg forgiveness. She had smiled at Webb, had certainly given him the impression of carnal interest, and the revenue officer had instantly reciprocated. Her quick retorts to Williams’ prodding had his former captain openly admiring her. He had even offered to take her off Ryder’s hands.
Had she done the same with the duke? Had she practically invited him to enjoy her body? He remembered her face when the cell door had opened at the watch-house. Her cheek was puffy from the impact of a man’s fist. Her clothes were soiled. Her hands, feet and face were dirty. Her tears had carved paths through the layer of dust on her cheeks. Most of all, he remembered the utter misery in her expression, as though the night had changed her.
If he asked about the duke, would she tell him? If she did, would he regret hearing her answer?
“I…I flirted with Webb because I thought it’d make him feel awkward. Make him think I was happy with you.” Her attempt to explain only intensified the ache in his chest. What was this feeling she evoked? “Captain Williams was teasing me, and I didn’t want to back down. Anyway, I don’t think that would’ve made you look good.”
“Are you happy with me?” He said it all in a rush. Why did he need to know? She was with him for practical reasons, and that should be enough for him. He didn’t need anything more.
Yet he found himself clenching his hands as she breathed in to answer.
Ryder was jealous. Sam almost couldn’t believe it, but he was obviously jealous. His anger about Webb she could understand—the guy was not high on his list of favorite drinking buddies. He seemed pretty chummy with Captain Williams though. She would’ve thought he’d be laughing along with them, but that was so not the case.
He asked if she was happy with him, though the real question to which he wanted an answer was if he madeher happy. She didn’t know. He made her feel a lot of things, most of them conflicting, most of them out of their collective hands. How was he to overcome her shame over how they had met? She had been in a whorehouse, a fact she’d not readily admit if speaking to someone who didn’t already know.
How was she to overcome her gratitude for what he had done to shut down the brothel and fetch her from the watch-house? For taking her somewhere safe and clothing her in more than a shift? For giving her a chance to have a task other than look presentable in a dress? For showing anger when someone hurt her? For looking at her the way he did…
Did he make her happy? Was that an emotion she could feel when she was in such a stressful state? Seeing a famil
iar sculpture had put her in panic mode. The locket had tipped her off to visit Vauxhall, but she had discovered no pertinent information as to why she had pulled off an H.G. Wells and woken more than two hundred years in the past.
The long silence was stifling. The pressure of his gaze was tangible. He was standing so close.
She took a deep breath. “I feel many ways when I’m with you, but yes, happiness is one of them.” It wasn’t an ardent declaration of utter fulfillment, but it was the truth. It was also a serious understatement of how strongly she felt.
His sigh was soft, though not one of relief. “Samantha, I…”
“I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else. I know that much.”
It seemed to be what he needed to hear. His arms slipped around her. His face ducked close. She tasted the punch he had consumed with his dinner, sweet and likely spiked with liquor. Her heart swelled.
The trills of nightingales and the muted sounds of the orchestra filled the silence as they kissed. The night was cooling. He stepped even closer, his boots sliding under the hem of her skirt. His hands smoothed up the back of her bodice and cradled her head. She closed her fingers around the tail of his hair. Her other hand squeezed the hard muscle of his shoulder.
Warmth churned inside her. It spread to her limbs, her face. The pressure of his kisses increased, his tongue delving deeper. Her lips were tingling and puffy. She pulled him in tighter and the buttons of his coat dug into the exposed flesh of her bust. Her corset felt tight. She was breathing hard.
Their lips broke apart. He groaned and sucked at the skin on her neck. She took in a shaky breath, lifting her chin and leaning away to give him room. Her hands gripped his biceps as he laid a gentle kiss in the hollow of her throat, right above her locket. Everywhere he kissed prickled. The neck of the bodice was revealing and she was glad for it when he laid his lips on the bare part of her shoulder. It sent a shock directly to her sex.
Right below the edge of her stiff corset, through all the layers of clothing between them, she felt the hardness that betrayed his arousal. God, even without the help of two glasses of champagne, she was ready and willing. His apartment seemed so far away. She slipped her hand between them and cupped her palm against his cock, wishing she could wrap her fingers around it and feel the satiny skin slide up and down its length. He barely stifled his reaction. His hips pressed hard into her touch.