The thug flopped Lord Harry onto his back and raised up a fist, aiming to obliterate his beautiful face. She was too far away to do anything but give out a worried shriek, almost feeling the force of the man’s blow herself. It did not land in Lord Harry’s face, however.
Her cry had been just enough to warn him of the impending strike, and he turned his head just at the last moment. The thug plunged his fist hard into the floor. Boards cracked—or perhaps it was bone—and the man let out a pained screech. In a split second Lord Harry had regained his focus and took full advantage of the man’s injury.
He thrust the thug off, rolling onto his feet and stomping hard onto the man’s wounded hand. The thug cried out. Penelope cringed as more cracking was heard. Most unpleasant business!
“Give me the pistol, Penelope,” Lord Harry ordered.
She’d forgotten she had it. Gladly, she handed it over. Lord Harry stood over his victim, holding the pistol directly over his face.
“Now tell me what my uncle plans to do,” he said.
The man groaned, so Lord Harry lowered the pistol an inch and repeated his question.
“What are my uncle’s plans?”
“He’s already done most of it,” the man snarled. “He’s sent word to yer Egyptian friends that you turned on them, that you and the other fellow took all that stuff and sold it.”
“I know about all that. Why did he bring Miss Rastmoor here? What are his plans for her?”
The man merely shrugged. Lord Harry applied more pressure onto his hand and jammed the gun into his cheek.
“Why is she here? Tell me or your next of kin will be digging teeth out of your brains.”
Penelope swallowed back something she’d already swallowed once today. Most unpleasant business, indeed!
“She’s here ’cause your uncle likes the looks of her, that’s why. He says you ain’t worthy of something like that so he figures he’ll take her for himself then do away with her and say you done it.”
“What? That’s insane. I’m engaged to be married to her! No one will believe I’d do anything to harm her.”
“Won’t matter much when you’re dead, will it? Oh yes, he’s planning on getting rid of you, too. Tells me you’ve got some half-wit brother who ain’t fit for the title. With you—and your little missy here—out of the way, I guess he thinks it might be time for your brother to finally succumb to his weak constitution.”
“He wouldn’t dare!”
Lord Harry’s face had gone red, and for a heartbeat or two Penelope thought he might actually pull the trigger and scatter the man’s facial features all over. He didn’t, though. He simply growled once, then stepped away, still keeping his lethal aim.
“Penelope, get the rope,” he said.
She didn’t dare disobey. Hurrying, she ran to the corner where the oil lamp still glowed and where a length of rope could be seen among the refuse. So he’d been truthful about that. She only hoped he hadn’t been quite honest about his intended use for it.
“Tie him up,” he said.
Ah, good. He’d been planning to use the rope on their attacker all along. At least, she was content to believe that.
She retrieved the rope and quickly did as Lord Harry asked. She made sure the knots were tight, and only half apologized when she had to secure the man’s damaged hand. He hadn’t been particularly kindhearted toward them, after all. Lord Harry balled up a nearby rag and stuffed it into the man’s mouth.
Then he rummaged the man’s clothing and eventually produced a large, lethal knife that had been hidden in his boot.
“Ah, now this is rather nice,” Lord Harry said with a smile.
The thug tried to kick him, but the ropes held him helpless. Perhaps he might have cursed, but that rag in his mouth prevented that, too. Penelope rather liked this arrangement.
“Let’s go,” Lord Harry said, finishing his task and tucking the knife in his own boot. He jammed the pistol into his trousers at his waist.
He took her arm and led her to the door. One turn of the knob and they were free; their captor had not locked them in, relying on his thug to keep them there. The night air around them was silent and dark. A large wall surrounded the docks area, but that only added to the shadow and mystery of the place. It was easy enough to slink along it and keep out of view from anyone who might have been prowling about.
“My uncle’s carriage is gone,” Lord Harry whispered. “So is the one they brought me in. They must have gone to collect the treasures. We’ll have to find a way out of here. Just keep quiet, and stay with me.”
She nodded, not exactly certain where else he’d think she might go just now. She was hardly dressed for a ball. She was hardly dressed for anything, as a matter of fact. That might present a problem.
HE COULD FEEL HER SHIVER AS THEY MADE THEIR WAY along a darkened alley. So far they’d seen no one, but he’d heard the voices. The night watch was patrolling the docks, and of course this part of town was never fully asleep. He knew if there was any hope of rescuing his father and getting those artifacts back, they’d have to hurry, but in Penelope’s condition…
Well, he couldn’t very well drag a nearly naked woman all through London while her teeth chattered and she died of the cold, could he? No, somehow he’d have to tend to her needs before he could take care of the rest. Somehow.
God, but he’d nearly lost his mind when they’d found she’d been taken. To see her then, huddled in that filthy room…He’d been overwhelmed with relief, yet at the same time ready to commit murder. To think that someone could have hurt her—and that it would have been his own damn fault for dragging her into this mess—had been more than he could bear.
Whatever he did now, he would see that she was safe first.
“Here, put this on,” he said, sliding out of his coat.
She didn’t argue. Her slender arms slipped easily into his sleeves, and he could tell she appreciated the warmth. He appreciated the sight of her in his clothing.
Damn, but what had she been thinking, stripping off her nightclothes back there? Yes, he supposed she’d hoped to create a diversion, but did she honestly think he’d be able to think straight with her nightgown dropping down to the floor like that? Didn’t she know what that would do to him?
Apparently not. Even now, with their lives in peril and danger just footsteps away, she glanced up at him with an innocent smile. Even after all this she trusted him to keep her safe. Hell. He wanted to keep her, true, but safe was not the first word that came to mind at the thought.
Naked. Sated. Begging for more. Yes, those were all the ways he’d like to keep her. Safe didn’t exactly enter the picture until much farther down on the list.
Not that he would ever let damn Nedley anywhere near her again. Nor any of these hired thugs, either, nor any other unsavory type who might seek to use her for some nefarious purpose. Unfortunately, he was afraid he’d have to include himself among that number.
Damn it, but he needed to get her back to Rastmoor. Quickly.
He found an old door in the high wall around the docks. It was locked up tight, but when he tried it the hinges groaned and then broke. He slid the door out of the way and peered out. The city streets were dark and quiet. Perfect.
“Let’s go,” he said, taking her hand and leading her through. “Let’s go find you some clothes.”
She frowned at him. “Clothes? But we need to rescue Professor Oldham!”
“I’ll handle that. First I need to get you safely home, and it will be a lot easier to do that if you aren’t displaying yourself all over town in your underclothes.”
She was, apparently, clever enough not to argue. If she were seen out here with him like this, her reputation would be ruined. Even more than he’d already ruined it. Yes, Oldham needed rescue, but Penelope would come first.
They stayed in the shadows, leaving the docks behind. It was necessary to travel a bit before they came to anything resembling a decent shop, but eventually Harris spotted s
omething promising. A tiny shop selling an assortment of used items, including clothing. Broken windows in the upstairs apartments indicated they were abandoned. Good. No one around to hear them break in.
He took Penelope around to the rear of the shop where he motioned for her to be silent as he pried at the lock at the shabby door. She seemed appalled.
“We can’t simply break in!” she hissed.
He shushed her and simply broke in. Drawing the pistol and keeping her behind him, he led them inside. The place was small, but thankfully empty of any shopkeeper. Shutting the door behind them, he guided her toward the front of the shop where some of the more enticing items were located. She followed hesitantly.
“Here,” he said, leaving the pistol at the ready on a nearby table so he could grab up an attractive muslin that hung on a rack with several others. “Try this.”
“But it isn’t mine!”
“Of course it isn’t yours. I cannot get you all the way back to Mayfair without someone seeing you, and they cannot see you dressed in…well, in nothing.”
“I have your coat over me. It covers.”
“Not enough.”
Indeed, not nearly enough. Even now, he could see more than enough of her to want her. Badly. She was safe and alive and warm, and he ached to get her into his arms again. Only a true blackguard would think these things about her after the way she’d already been treated tonight. And he thought them repeatedly.
“Very well,” she said with a dramatic sigh.
She began shrugging out of his coat, and he found himself helping her. By God, he should probably not stand this close as he helped the woman disrobe. Still, he could not find it in himself to move farther away. He watched, enthralled, as the coat slid off to reveal her feminine form displayed plainly through the thin fabric of her night-damp shift. Breathtaking.
The coat fell away and she stepped closer, reaching to take the muslin gown from him. He found that his hand would not release it to her. Finally her gaze came up to meet his. He knew exactly what he wanted to say to her, what he ought to say to her, but words would not come. He could do nothing but stare into those huge, trusting eyes.
“Please don’t take me back to Anthony just yet,” she said. “You’ll need help to rescue the prof—er, your father.”
“I will find help. You need to be safely home, where you belong.”
“I don’t want to go home. I want to go with you.”
Damn it, but he didn’t want to argue with her now. There were a good number of things he did want to do with her, but arguing was not one.
“You can’t. You need to be safe.”
She was so close he could feel the heat from her body, see the little bumps on her skin where the night air touched her with a chill. Her eyes were so deep he felt himself falling in and drowning.
“I don’t want to be safe,” she said.
Oh hell. He responded the only way he could. He pulled her to him and tilted her face up toward him so he could kiss her senseless.
God, but she tasted good. His lips took hers and he wondered if she realized she was anything but safe now. The pounding in his veins supplanted any voice of reason that might have reminded him who he was and what he was about. Apparently he was senseless, too.
His hands roamed over her body, the shift being brushed aside so he could feel the satin warmth of her skin. He cupped her breast. The breathy gasp she gave only made him want more, so his thumb found her nipple and stroked over it until he was rewarded by a hardened little peak. She returned his kiss with the same desperation he felt inside himself.
She pressed herself against him, her tongue playing with his and her fingers digging into the damp linen of his shirt. The fact that she seemed to want him every bit as badly as he wanted her did nothing to promote gentlemanly behavior. He kissed her ruthlessly as his body strained against his trousers.
Hell and damnation, the girl strained right back against him. By God, she was arching herself into him, rubbing her soft, warm curves over his most sensitive area. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up getting much more than a few stolen kisses. He was on fire for her, and it wouldn’t take much to fan that flame into an inferno. They’d both be lost forever.
Her family had saved her before, at Lady Burlington’s ball. Tonight she was alone, completely at his mercy. If he didn’t get control of himself, no one would.
HOW COULD HE POSSIBLY BE IN SUCH PERFECT CONTROL of himself? After all they’d been through, seeing him nearly beat to death by that horrible thug, Penelope could scarcely keep her hands off him. The thought of losing him forever made her all the more hungry to keep him with her now.
Yet he was pushing her away, babbling something about needing to keep her safe, take her back to Anthony. She did not want to go to Anthony. She did not want to go anywhere. She wanted to be with Lord Harry.
“I thought I was lost, waking up in that smelly little storeroom with some strange man,” she said when he pulled back and tried to take her hands off his neck. “Then you showed up and I knew I’d be safe.”
“You won’t be if you don’t put this dress on and let me take you back to your brother,” he said.
“I don’t want my brother,” she said, realizing she was going to have to be painfully honest with the man. “I want you.”
He paused for a moment before he replied. “No you don’t, Penelope. You’ve been through a lot…a terrifying ordeal, I’m sure. Perhaps you feel something for me right now, but it’s nothing more than gratitude.”
Gratitude? The man was very much mistaken.
“I do feel something, Lord Harry,” she said, bold enough to reach right out and grab the man’s trousers where they fastened at the front flap. “But it is hardly mere gratitude, I assure you. Can you possibly not feel something of it, too? When you had me alone at Lady Burlington’s ball I thought perhaps you did. Was that purely for show, or did you enjoy more than simply stealing my scarab that night?”
“My behavior that night was reprehensible. I should never have taken such liberties.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because I wanted you, damn it! And I want you now, but I need to take you home.”
“So my brother can ship me off to spend the rest of my life in exile? You know as well as I do that’s what will happen to me now.”
“But you’ll be safe.”
Safe. The word sounded like profanity. All her life everyone wanted her to be safe. She’d been so safe she’d never even learned what to do in a moment like this, when her insides were on fire and she’d have been willing to do or say anything just to get this man to kiss her again.
“And what of you?” she asked. “Will you be safe?”
“You know I have to rescue my father, and get those artifacts back, if I can.”
He wouldn’t be safe. And then he’d be gone. If he didn’t simply get himself killed, he’d likely head back to Egypt. She would grow old and die without him. She’d be safe, but she’d be alone.
But she was not alone now. Indeed, as long as Lord Harry was here with her, she was safe. And she was determined not to miss her one last chance to find out what might have been, if the man she loved had turned out to be the right fiancé and not the very wrong one. She moved closer, working at the fastenings on his trousers.
“I don’t want to be safe,” she whispered, feeling her cheeks go warm at her own brazenness. “I want you.”
“Penelope,” he said, placing his hands over hers and meeting her gaze steadily. “Don’t. I’m not the sort of tame little pup that you’re used to.”
“And thank God for that. I never wanted any of them before.”
He leaned in to kiss her. She was almost afraid to give in to it, worried that just as soon as she did he’d pull away again and start trying to be noble and gentlemanly. But he didn’t. His chaste, tentative kiss grew in heat and intensity.
His arms went around her and he pulled her to him. She willingly melted into him and gave h
er lips up for his full use. He took them greedily, his wonderful hands skimming over her back, touching her and igniting her.
He was holding her so tightly her fingers had to abandon their efforts at his trousers, so she contented herself by pulling up his rumpled shirt and sliding her hands up underneath. His skin was as hot as hers felt now. The light hairs running in a teasing line up from his waist to his chest delighted her fingertips. She played at studying him, enjoying him.
Thankfully he released her mouth so she could draw a long, needed breath. His kisses did not end, though. They followed the line of her jaw and her neck and her shoulders. It was heavenly, waves of scorching sensation following everywhere he touched her with his lips or his hands. She pressed closer in to him, breathing in his scent.
Indeed, she’d never wanted any of this with any other man before. It was impossible to imagine ever wanting it with another. Apparently for her it was Lord Harry or no one. He was more than enough. She would simply have to drink her fill of him tonight and savor it in her memories once he was gone.
Now he was working at her shift, pushing it aside and finding access to what was beneath. She sighed as his fingers brushed her nipples, his hands coming over her breasts to hold them, cup them, tilt them toward him as his kisses came down to worship them. She raked her fingers through his thick dark hair, praying he would never stop as he took first one, then the other hardened peak, into his mouth.
She slid her arms around him again, clawing at his shirt and gathering it into her fists. With one easy tug, she pulled it from him and over his head. He seemed surprised and pulled back from her, but only to look down and smile. She realized she was smiling, too. Ah, but the man’s chest was a wonder to behold.
He was solid and well sculpted, like the marbles she’d visited time and again at the British Museum. Only better. He was warm and living. And hers for the taking.
“You play unfairly, Miss Rastmoor,” he said. “I am shirtless, but yet I must still battle the fabric of your annoying shift.”
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