by Sari Robins
She slipped her gloved hand into his and followed him through the threshold. She was amazed to find herself amidst rows and rows of colorful books of all shapes and sizes. They were jammed and piled in haphazard array on tall bookshelves that spanned every wall of the narrow room. A window wedged in the corner of the ceiling provided shadowed afternoon light.
“I have not touched anything, except to have it cleaned,” he commented tightly.
They stepped through a doorway and into a comfortable parlor, where a fire burned brightly in the hearth. The scent of cloves hung heavily in the air. Evelyn turned about the room, noting the mismatched plaid chairs, plush oriental carpets, and long green sofa with well-worn wooden legs. The furniture was obviously for comfort, not show. The focal point of the room, however, was the hand-carved secretary that sat in the corner near the fire. From across the tiny space, one could easily see the beauty of the piece. The intricate legs were carved in the shapes of jungle animals. Monkeys wrapped their arms around tree branches that became elephant trunks that wound around and turned into tigers’ tails.
“It is magnificent,” she stated as she walked toward the desk. She pulled off her gloves and crouched. She traced her fingers down the elaborate wooden legs. “What wood is this?”
“Mahogany.”
“Beautiful,” she breathed. The delicate giraffe’s ears poked under her fingertips.
She looked up. He stood there, transfixed as stone, staring at her. Why did she suddenly feel as if she was being examined for imperfections? Was he afraid of exposing too much? Did he fear her response?
She stood. “This is a very special place.”
“I had the rooms cleaned this morning,” he stated gruffly. “They had not been used for a very long time. Almost five years.” He turned and tossed his hat onto a chair. A line of flat hair ringed his short-cropped brown mane. She longed to ruffle it out.
He grabbed a log and pitched it into the grate, and the flames jumped and crackled. “We did not know of this place until after…” His voice trailed off. He shifted his shoulders and remained crouched staring into the fire. “…until after George died.”
“What happened to your brother?”
“George was the eldest. He was the marquis of Rawlings, not me. I was never meant to be. He was brilliant. A star that shined so brightly. Mother adored him.” He looked around the room with detachment. He stood and toyed with a golden clock sitting atop the mantel. “Apparently he used to come here often, to be, when he was…not feeling himself.” He set the clock down and turned. “He must not have been feeling himself when he took a pistol and used it to shoot himself in the head.”
She let out a long, painful breath. Her heart weighed heavy with sadness for him. “I am so sorry.”
He sat on the edge of the sofa, his eyes staring unseeing into the fire. “It was at our estate in Bedford.” He shifted his shoulders. “It was a long time ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. We said it was a hunting accident. No one knows the truth, except for a handful of people. Where’s the point in saying otherwise?”
She could not imagine the anguish of living with such pain, and such secrets. She knew too well the bitter taste of both and did not wish that on anyone. The poor man was struggling mightily with his demons. Trying to exorcise the past and free himself for living. Evelyn had noticed Justin’s reserve, his apparent aversion to enjoying life too much, his reluctance to expose too much of himself in any endeavor. Did he think that he did not deserve to be happy?
He stood abruptly and held out the key. “It’s for you.”
She blinked. “What?”
“This place is for you.”
He shoved it into her hand. The heavy metal was cold in her naked palm. “I do not understand, Justin.”
“You seem in need of…an escape. You will not accept my assistance, yet you obviously have concerns that weigh heavily on your mind. I wanted to give you a place where you are free. A place all your own, where you can be yourself.”
That was what Justin needed, not her. But as she stared at the golden key in her hand, it shifted and blurred. She raised her fingers to her face. Wet, hot tears streaked her cheeks.
“I am a fool,” he said as he stepped closer and enveloped her in his arms. “I should not have done this.”
She shook her head but could not move it much, as she was pressed against the soft wool of his black riding jacket. There it was again, that woodsy, musky scent. She inhaled deeply of him and cleared her throat.
Her voice was muffled. “No. It’s just that, well, this is the most precious gift anyone has ever given me. To think of me and my needs so unselfishly…it is a testament to the kind of man you are.”
His arms suddenly squeezed her so hard that she found it difficult to breathe. He released her and turned away so abruptly that she almost fell, but she caught herself on the edge of the couch.
He grabbed the poker and angrily jabbed at the flames in the hearth. “You always attribute such valiant character traits to me,” he charged harshly.
“But if they suit?”
He might wish to deny it, but he was one of the most wonderfully kindhearted men she’d ever encountered.
He stabbed at the flames as if to slaughter them. “I am no hero.”
She tilted her head, considering his words. Yes, it seemed that he was a bit of a hero to her. A quiet hero struggling to overcome his haunted past. A civilized man in a world of lies and betrayal. A friend who offered himself and demanded nothing in return.
“I am going to miss you, Justin.”
He froze, the poker hanging motionless in his hand. “Where are you going, Evelyn?”
Had she just said that aloud?
She shook herself.
He turned to her. “When do you intend to leave, and where are you going?”
She sighed and sat on the big green sofa. “I do not know to both.”
“Do you not like England?” he asked tensely.
Folding her arms about her, she rubbed her palms up and down her arms. “I am getting the sense that England does not like me.”
He sat beside her on the edge of the couch. “Why would you say such a thing?”
She stared into the golden flames for a long moment. The fire crackled in the silent room. She realized that she did not want Justin involved in her father’s business. The world she was forced into by virtue of her birth was one of trickery and mayhem. She wanted Justin to remain free, protected, unsullied by the nasty games. She should get back to Belfont House. Back to strategizing her next move. Looking around the room, she stole a moment to imagine it just as Justin meant it to be; an escape from worries. Her eyes fixed on a closed wooden door. “What’s in there?”
When he did not answer, she turned to him. His smoky, gray-green eyes were watching her, considering. It was as if he were waiting for her to say something. She wished she had something more to give him, something more to share that would make him understand how much she cherished him. But she refused to endanger him by cluing him in on her perilous situation. She cared for him too much for that.
Finally, he looked away. “It’s nothing. A storeroom.”
“We should probably head back. I do not wish to worry your aunt.” Or Shah.
“She can wait.”
Perhaps it was to divert his mind or simply to make himself feel better, but he leaned close and kissed her full on the mouth, his soft lips crushing deliciously against hers. She sighed, parting her lips and welcoming the diversion herself. This, at least, she could give him. He slipped his tongue demandingly inside. For her, it was a welcome reprieve, a taste of what it might be like to be a normal woman. One who could enjoy the love of a man. She wanted to know what she was missing, to have her one chance at a tryst.
She relished his woodsy flavor. She could not identify it, but it pleased her. He shifted closer. His kisses were more demanding than before, more insistent. His tongue intertwined with hers, and it was as if he stroked her
whole body with that single caress. Heat smoldered and burned from her toes to the tips of her fingers, making her yearn to be free of her clothes. She clutched at him and stroked his hard, muscled back with her palms, relishing the feel of soft wool under her fingertips. Pushing her back into the couch, he lay heavily on top of her. She tilted her head up, wanting more of his mouth. Pulling him down, she laughed into his parted lips.
He reared up. “Why do you laugh?”
“Because kissing you is the only escape I require.”
He stared at her another moment and then lowered his head and kissed her soundly on the lips, stealing the breath from her mouth. He took her lower lip into his mouth and sucked it lightly. She writhed beneath him, feeling like she was on fire. He ran his hands down her waist to her thighs and kneaded the soft flesh of her buttocks. Her hips rocked instinctively in response. Heat pooled between her legs, and she felt a driving need burning her, pressing her forward, and egging her on. He pulled at her skirt and inched it up. She shifted beneath him to give him more room, wanting him to touch her everywhere. She was open to him. Safe, free, and not so dreadfully alone for the moment. She was intent on enjoying it.
He lifted his head up and, using his teeth, tore his glove from his hand. He yanked the other hand free from the leather and hovered above her on his hands and his knees, staring down at her. His smoldering eyes roved over her face, chest, then waist, then below.
“What?” she asked self-consciously.
He lowered his head and kissed her breast.
“Oh.”
He moved his mouth over the soft mound and bit her nipple through the fabric.
She arched her back and moaned.
He nibbled and teased her hard nub through the cloth, and the muscles between her thighs contracted wildly.
He rained kisses down her belly, to her thighs, and she wondered where he was going. Her chest felt cold and empty without his pressure. She wanted him back up at her breasts—that was, until he slipped his hand under her skirt. She almost jerked at the smooth touch of his agile fingers on her stocking.
She froze, waiting, wondering, wanting.
He traced his fingertips up her calf, dancing around her knee, and he tickled her thigh. She held her breath. Her heart was racing like a thoroughbred. She licked her lips, knowing that she should stop him, should run back to the safety of her staid bluestocking existence. But she was feeling reckless, free from the burdens of suspicion and worry. His hand lightly caressed her inner thigh. It was barely a touch, raising the fine hairs around her most private place.
He pressed his hand over her there and stilled. He was breathing in harsh gasps, and she realized that he was affected as well. That touching her brought him pleasure—or, looking at his face, was it pain? She noted the large bulge pressing against his britches, and her stomach lurched with desire. She wanted to touch him. To know the feel of a man. She reached out, but he cried harshly, “No. Only you.”
Before she could challenge him, his deft fingers opened the folds of hot flesh between her thighs. Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. He rubbed his fingers up and down in her wetness. He watched her with parted lips, his breath coming in short puffs.
Her eyes closed of their own accord. “Oh my dear Lord in heaven.”
He groaned.
He found her nub, and electrifying thrills rocked her. With his nimble hand still performing its magic, he leaned forward and pressed his open mouth to hers. His tongue felt thicker, hotter, more insistent as he dove into her mouth. She rolled her hips and moaned, wallowing in the wildness of his touch. She pulled his tongue into her mouth and sucked passionately. Pressure was building inside her, pushing her, pressing her. His slipped his finger inside her wetness and her muscles jumped and contracted, closing around him and gripping him tightly.
Her breath came in short gasps and her head was on fire. Tremors rippled from between her legs outward, bursting with intense contractions of joyous rapture. She threw her head back and screamed.
The crashing heat slowly simmered. The pounding in her chest slowed, as if she had just ended a long race—definitely a winner. She opened her eyes and blinked, sucking for air. She puffed in little breaths, trying to get more air to her tortured lungs. She could not move, her muscles felt like dead weight. Justin pulled his hand from under her skirts and sat up.
A window near the ceiling showed clouds gliding by in the small space between the tall buildings. How long had passed? Had she stepped into another time? She looked over at the man who had just altered her perception of the world. Justin.
He stared into the fire and cleared his throat. “I did not intend…I went too far.”
She pursed her lips, considering. Too far or not far enough? She had undeniably wanted him inside her. She had never before understood the need to have a man between her thighs, the passion, the heat, the wanting of that one particular man.
“I apologize for taking advantage.” He shook his head. “It’s just, well, you do not want anything from me…”
“What do you mean?”
“You are new to Town, to this country, and excuse my interference, but you are somewhat out of your element and yet you ask nothing of me. Most people of my acquaintance want something, whether it be social, financial, or,” he frowned, “otherwise.”
She could not quite imagine what the “otherwise” might be.
“But you,” he continued, “are so self-reliant. You offer your friendship and ask for nothing in return. I must confess, I am a bit awed by you.”
She blinked. Dear heavens, she had just been lamenting her situation and he was praising her for it.
“I have no choice, Justin,” she confessed quietly.
“Do not give me that tripe, Evelyn. You are alluring enough to sweep any man off his feet. You could have dukes and princes if you wanted. And here I am ruining your chances,” he finished remorsefully.
She would have laughed if it were not so sad. She did not want to manipulate a man into matrimony; she could not do to another what she feared the most. She shuddered just to consider being so vulnerable, so exposed as to give another power over her. That was her greatest fear: exploitation, manipulation, and abandonment. Especially within the bounds of marriage, where the man held all the power under the law. She would not wither away in despair, as her mother had seemed to.
He slowly turned to her. “Do you hate me?” His eyes looked grayer in the darkened room. Perusing his swollen, sweet lips and his broad back, she knew that she could be with him and be safe. That if she had the opportunity to taste forbidden pleasures, then she would grasp it with all her might.
“We agreed, nothing taken that is not freely given,” she stated promptly as she sat up and adjusted her skirts.
His brow furrowed. “You are an innocent—”
“Although I’ve never experienced anything remotely like what I just felt moments ago, have no doubt, I wanted it very much to happen.” She shook her head, amazed. “It was astoundingly instinctual. It was as if my body was an instrument and you knew the exact keys to play. Extraordinary.”
He stared at her a moment, and then a small chuckle rumbled from deep in his belly. “You are the one who is extraordinary, Evelyn. Every time that I think I might begin to understand you, you surprise me again.”
She shrugged. “It must be my unorthodox upbringing. Too many countries, nannies, and the like. Makes me a misfit in our culture. Sometimes even I do not know what I will do.”
“If our culture only fit you.” He shook his head, smiling. “You seem able to dance with princes and dine with…”
“…devils?”
He frowned. “Why do you speak like that? You are a beautiful woman with good connections—”
“Ugh. You sound like your uncle. ‘A bit old and not much money, but with Leonore’s guidance…”
“He said that?”
She looked through the window and noted the darkening sky, wanting desperately to lie back on the couch
and sleep or, if not, do whatever Justin did, again. She sighed. All good things come to an end.
“We had better head back.” She stood and lifted her glove off the floor. “I would not want your family concluding that you should be at the top of my list of potential husbands.”
What had made her say that? Once the words were out, she wished she could pull them back into her mouth and swallow them. Her cheeks heated. “I hope you do not think that I want…or expect…”
He waved his hand. “You have made your position on marriage perfectly clear.”
Was that relief or disappointment itching at her shoulders? She shook off the feeling.
“Please use this place as your own. I have only one request…” He held out the key.
Accepting it, she squeezed the thick metal in her palm.
“…that no handsome young men are allowed to meet you here.”
She laughed. “Only hideous old ones?”
“You may not wish to marry me or any other, but while in London you are only allowed to dally with me. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” she replied, smiling. “I cannot imagine ‘dallying,’ as you so tactfully put it, with anyone else.”
As they left the little refuge, Evelyn felt, despite the darkening sky, as if the world was a sunnier place. Her worries did not weigh as heavily on her mind, and there was a lightness in her step that had not been there before. For the first time in four months she felt as if there was promise in the world, that things could not be all bad. There was some small benefit to her situation. What an odd notion, given the fact that her own government had apparently murdered her father and her legacy was in doubt.
She smiled up at the handsome gentleman walking beside her. It was clear that there were men nobly conducting everyday lives, men who did not need to face mortal danger at every corner to be valiant, to be heroes. It made her yearn even more than ever for a quiet life, without secrets, without doubts, without the constant fear of her loved ones being caught or killed. If she were the sort to marry, Justin would have been just the kind of man she would choose. But since she would not, she could at least have her chance to experience the passions of woman and man. Lord only knew there were few enough advantages to her situation, and she would use them to full effect. If only Sully would show his face and actually provide more than vague portents of doom.