by Adele Clee
Closing the window, she settled into the seat opposite.
The conveyance bounced on its springs as Twitchett alighted. It lurched forward, but Miss Kendall gripped the edge of her seat rather than use it as an excuse to tumble into his lap.
She stared at him in the dark confines of the carriage. The heat of her gaze scorched his skin. Whilst he was a man of some experience, he wasn’t sure how to approach the current situation.
But then Miss Kendall spoke. “Take off your clothes.”
Whilst his peers considered him a man of intellect, he would never have predicted that comment would fall from her mouth.
“I beg your pardon?” he teased as he wanted to hear her repeat the words.
Miss Kendall swallowed. “Take off your coat, your cravat and waistcoat. Drag your shirt over your head.”
Valentine smiled. “I like it when you’re masterful.”
Despite the cold November chill in the air, he wasted no time doing as she asked. Stripping while she watched proved highly arousing. During the process, she devoured him with her bewitching brown eyes. Numerous times she glanced at the bulge in his breeches. Damn. His cock throbbed with the need to enter her tight body.
“Hmm.” She moistened her lips as she scanned every inch of him. “May I touch you?”
Bloody hell!
Was this a test?
Did she not know he was about to burst from his breeches?
“Madam, I am yours to command. Do with me what you wish.”
Miss Kendall bit down on her bottom lip as she crossed the carriage. In another move that pleased him as much as it surprised him, she came up on her knees and straddled his thighs. She reached out and placed her palms flat against the hard planes of his chest.
“Your heartbeat is pounding hard against my hand.”
Hell, his heart was not the only organ desperate to pound long and hard.
Valentine’s hands settled on her waist as he drew her further onto his lap until his swollen cock pressed against her most intimate place. “And can you feel that, Ava? My heart and my body are both keen to further our acquaintance.”
With a firm grip of her hips, he ground against her, watched in awe as her lips parted and her eyes glazed. The sweetest moan he had ever heard resonated in her throat.
Her hands moved to caress his chest. “You’re so hot, so hard.”
Valentine hummed. “Are you talking about my chest or the other part of my anatomy?”
Her cheeks flushed scarlet. “The muscles in your shoulders are as solid as marble.”
“During my time abroad, I learnt to protect myself in more ways than one. I might be the best shot amongst my peers, but I can fight just as well with my fists.”
“Unless your opponent is a monkey,” she countered as she bent her head and pressed kisses along his jaw. “Then a moral dilemma makes combat more difficult.”
Valentine closed his eyes and savoured the feel of her mouth as she moved to the sensitive skin on his neck. The tips of her fingers brushed over his nipples. Devil take him. If he was not mistaken, he was the one being seduced. And she was doing a remarkable job. Then again, she had boasted about being a woman with worldly experience.
“Speaking of moral dilemmas,” he said, sensing the restlessness inside her building. When she found her release, the sight would be spectacular. “I’ll not make love to you in a carriage, Ava.”
She sat up and looked at him. Doubt flashed in her eyes. “You won’t?”
“An hour is not long enough to pleasure you as you deserve.” And with the added jerking of the carriage, a man might miss the moment to withdraw. “And I’ll not have you walk the length of Park Street in a state of dishabille.”
He could have said that it was a sacred act, saved for their wedding night, but enlightened ladies of fortune did not marry, and he was not strong enough to resist this temptress. If they continued their friendship, it was only a matter of time before it reached the inevitable conclusion.
And yet he wanted more than a passionate liaison.
He wanted her.
That was all.
He wanted her in his life.
Permanently.
So why was he making it more complicated?
“I understand,” she said, reaching down to move her mouth across his in a kiss that spoke of abiding affection. “As a gentleman, you prefer that we were in bed.”
Hell no!
Well, yes. In bed, he could lavish her body from head to toe.
“I have no qualms making love to you here.” He was not a prude. “I am merely thinking of you.” He could be wild and rampant like the best of rakes. He could bend her over the seat and thrust until dawn. The thought sent another rush of blood to his cock.
“I understand,” she reiterated. “The first time can be unpleasant I’m told.”
“Unpleasant?” Valentine snorted. “For you, love, I would make everything perfect.”
It took a moment to absorb what she had said. He had been so focused on the latter part of the sentence that he had missed the crucial part. Clearly, lust played havoc with a man’s mind.
“The first time?” he said, repeating her words.
A nervous smile touched her lips. “Yes. Enlightened ladies often embrace such things as part of being progressive. But surely it is not wrong to treasure one’s virginity.” She sounded defensive.
Valentine scoured his mind, trying to find the reasons why he thought she had already taken a lover. “But you said you were in love once.” That thought stabbed at his heart. “You said you knew the difference between the moans of pleasure and pain. From the way you kissed me, I assumed—”
“I said I thought I knew love. I did not say I had partaken in sexual relations with a man.”
“And so I would be your first?” he clarified. His heart swelled at the prospect.
“Most definitely,” she snapped. “You’re the only man who has ever roused a deep passion. You’re the only man I could take as a lover.”
As a lover?
Not a husband then?
“Then permit me to seduce you properly. Perhaps you might join me at home tomorrow evening for dinner.” He would explore her mind, and later her body. He would pleasure her until she could not live without him. “I have a huge bed with more than ample room for two.”
She hesitated. “If you wish to entertain me at home, you will have to think of a way I may enter unnoticed.”
“Trust me. I will think of something.”
Chapter Twelve
“I could always wear gentlemen’s clothes tomorrow evening,” Ava suggested. Excitement tickled her stomach as she imagined entering his private domain. There was something to be said for recklessness. “I know you cringe whenever you find me wearing them, but you seemed to like the feel of my silk waistcoat tonight.”
Valentine dragged his shirt over his head, and Ava almost groaned in protest. “Madam, I am still trying to come to terms with the fact I cannot have you right now. Must you remind me that there is nothing but two fine layers of material covering your modesty?”
Ava smiled. The flames of passion still danced in his eyes. The look held her spellbound. As did the knowledge that she cared so much for this man, she would permit him anything.
The air in the carriage was still charged with excitable energy. Numerous times, she imagined kissing him and letting events take their natural course. When two people shared such a powerful attraction, nothing could keep them apart.
“I could sit and watch you dress and undress all night,” she said. Desire still thrummed through her veins, too.
He wrapped his cravat around his neck and tied it into a simple knot. “Trust me. Tomorrow we shall have plenty of time to fulfil our fantasies.”
As she watched him button up his waistcoat and shrug into his coat, it occurred to her that Lucius Valentine was not the sort of man to bed an innocent—not without making a declaration. In a moment of insecurity, she might have concocted a
story in her head, one that made her feel inadequate, inferior. The tale would spin out of control, fed by her one and only experience with an evil man determined to have his wicked way.
But it was not that way with Valentine.
A man did not give away a prized heirloom to save a lady the pain of parting with hers if he didn’t care. And so she would embrace the passion they shared in the hope it would blossom into something lasting.
She loved him.
Perhaps one day he might learn to love her, too. If not, she would have to be thankful that she had experienced a glimmer of the love her parents shared.
“We’re approaching Mount Street,” Valentine said, dragging her from her musings. “I cannot let you walk the length of Park Street alone.”
“Twitchett will be watching at the window. Between the two of you, I am sure you will keep me in your sights until I am safely through the front door.”
The carriage slowed to a stop.
Silence ensued.
Ava didn’t want to leave him. She reached out and took hold of his hand. “Thank you for coming to my aid this evening. Thank you for assisting me with the pawnbroker yesterday. Clearly I was wrong when I said I could take care of myself.”
“Everyone needs help at some point in their lives.” He caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. “Not everyone finds the strength to ask.”
Their gazes locked. She felt the essence of his soul stretch across the carriage to soothe her senses. Until a sudden and violent rap on the window sent her heart shooting up to her mouth.
“What the hell?” Valentine blurted, equally surprised by the aggressive nature of the caller. He peered through the glass at the figure beyond. “It’s your butler.”
“Twitchett? But he is always so calm and rational.”
Valentine glanced at her and raised a brow. “Most people would say the same about me, and yet in your company, I appear to have lost all grasp of logic.” He leant forward and opened the door.
“Forgive me, my lord,” Twitchett panted in a stream of white mist. “But you must come quickly. There has been an incident at the house.”
“An incident?” Ava shifted to the edge of the seat. “Is it Mrs Stagg? Is she hurt?”
“No, but she is shaken. I’ve given her brandy to settle her nerves.”
Without further comment, Valentine moved to the door and vaulted down to the pavement. He turned and offered Ava his hand. His other hand settled on her waist, and he assisted her descent.
“Thank you.” She was about to suggest he return home, but a firm hand settled on her back and propelled her along the street.
“But you cannot enter my house, Valentine.” She looked to Honora’s house, noted the soft glow of candlelight spilling out from an upstairs window. “What about your mother? What if she sees you?”
“I think we have passed the point of worrying about my mother. Besides, she is far more astute than I.”
“And my reputation?”
Valentine smiled. “Is in utter ruins after this evening’s debacle at the Pit. We will have to see what can be done about it, but presently we have other matters that require our attention.”
Ava swallowed past the lump in her throat and cast him a sidelong glance. She wondered what she had done to deserve the friendship of such a wonderful man.
“The drawing room and your bedchamber are in a dreadful state,” Twitchett said.
Panic sprung to life in Ava’s chest.
What of her treasures hidden under the boards?
They entered the house, and Twitchett closed the door. He led them into the kitchen where Mrs Stagg and Bernice were seated on wooden chairs, sipping brandy from chipped china teacups. Tears trickled down the maid’s face.
“What happened?” Ava rushed to comfort them.
“Oh, miss, there was nothing I could do to stop him!” Mrs Stagg pulled a handkerchief from her apron pocket and blew her nose.
“Him? Do you speak of my brother?” Surely not. Ava had spent most of the evening with Jonathan.
“No, the brute I found rummaging around in your desk.”
Valentine stepped forward and placed a reassuring hand on Ava’s back. “Can you describe the fiend you caught?”
Ava expected the housekeeper to say he had copper hair, tiny spectacles and a vicious dog called Caesar. But then Mr Maguire would have had to ride like the wind considering the fact they had only recently left him at the Pit.
“He was a tall gent with black hair and thick side whiskers. Don’t ask me how he got into the house for he never made a peep.” Mrs Stagg sniffed and took another sip of brandy. “It’s only by chance I sent Bernice in to draw the curtains.”
“Did this man speak to you?” Valentine said in the compassionate tone of a constable questioning a victim. “Did you notice an accent? Was he a gentleman or a man from a poorer part of town?”
“He said he was waiting for Miss Kendall.” Bernice spoke in her usual timid tone. The girl tugged on her white cap—an action that seemed to settle her nerves. “I called for Mrs Stagg, and that’s when … that’s when—” Bernice whimpered.
“That’s when he drew his sword from his walking stick and chased us into the broom cupboard. He told us if he saw us again he’d cut out our tongues and eat them for dinner.”
Valentine’s eyes grew wide. He covered his mouth with his hand for a moment. “Did the cane have a silver top? Was he dressed in a brown fitted coat with a raised collar?”
Ava frowned. He spoke as if he knew the man. Equally, something about the description resonated with her, too.
Mrs Stagg blinked rapidly. “Yes, he had beady black eyes and bushy black brows. When he looked at you, it was as if he could reach right into your chest and rip out your heart.”
Bernice’s shoulders shook with a silent sob. “Rip your heart right out,” she repeated.
“I swear he made me feel giddy just by looking at him,” Mrs Stagg added.
The icy hand of fear settled on Ava’s shoulders. She shuddered as a bitter chill swept through her body. Every hair at her nape stood to attention. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was as if the devil knew what she was about to ask and had stolen her voice.
“Did he speak with an accent?” Valentine said, repeating his earlier question.
Bernice shook her head. “None that you’d recognise.”
“Even when he threatened to end our lives,” Mrs Stagg added, “he spoke in that soft, slow way that made my head spin.”
Good Lord!
They spoke of Mr Cassiel. Ava was convinced of it.
What need did the mystic have for entering her home?
“Except when he spoke to the lady,” Bernice said. “Then he barked orders as if his life depended on her doing as he asked.”
“The lady?” Valentine frowned. “There were two of them?”
Mrs Stagg handed Twitchett her empty cup as if seeking a refill. “We never saw the lady. The fiend locked us in the broom cupboard before she arrived. Then they went rummaging through the house.”
The last comment dragged Ava out of a state of shock. Twitchett’s words echoed in her head. He had mentioned her bedchamber. Heavens. She had all night to question Mrs Stagg.
Without comment or further thought, she hurried from the room. Somehow, she made it to the top of the stairs though her legs trembled so violently she had no idea how she remained on her feet.
Ava burst into her bedchamber.
The sight hit her like a hard punch to the gut.
Part of her wished that Twitchett hadn’t lit the lamp. She stumbled back and gripped the doorframe. She heard the heavy thud of someone mounting the stairs. Valentine came behind her. His strong hands settled on her upper arms, and she leant back against him for support.
The room lay in utter disarray.
It looked like a fierce storm had blown through the place and whipped up a frenzy. Every item she owned lay strewn about the floor—dresses, undergarments, the entire
contents of the armoire. The drawers on her dressing table had been emptied and discarded with equal negligence. There wasn’t a sheet or blanket left on the bed. A trail of white feathers led to the slashed pillows in the corner.
It was all Ava could do to breathe.
Valentine’s arm came around her shoulders and across her chest so that she remained locked in his embrace. Not since her parents’ deaths had she felt so secure, so protected. With Valentine, there was a closeness that went far deeper than friendship or adoration, deeper than a lust for carnal pleasures.
“I know how distressing this is,” he said in the tender voice that made her want to kiss him until her troubles melted away. “Clothes and furniture can be replaced.” He paused. “But what about your jewellery?”
Ava closed her eyes for a moment, imagined lifting the boards to find the space beneath empty. “I pray the intruder did not discover my hidden treasure trove.” She took hold of Valentine’s arm. “Come, help me clear the mess so I may examine the boards.”
As always, he obliged.
They stepped over her belongings and crossed to the opposite side of the bed. Valentine picked up a drawer and slid it back into the table. Gathering her hairbrush and the ornate silver hand mirror that had once belonged to her mother, he set them down on top.
“Be careful, there is broken glass to the left,” he said, placing a guiding hand at her elbow. He inhaled deeply. “From the overwhelming scent of White Rose, I suspect it’s a perfume bottle.”
Ava peered at the shards of green glass on the floor. “Oh, hell’s bells.” She couldn’t help but groan with frustration. “You do realise how much it costs to shop at Floris. Well, the damage is done. I shall just have to purchase another.”
“It is your one and only indulgence,” he reminded her, the beginnings of a sinful smile touching his lips. “I hope you will allow me to purchase a replacement as a gift.”
“A gift?” She raised a coy brow. “And have everyone think I’m your mistress?”