Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage 01]

by One Wicked Night

  Nick coughed into his fist, discomfited. “I would not mention the matter of the knighthood to anyone, Lillian. The queen was a bit overwrought, and I would not take anything that she said today to heart.”

  “I’m certain Colonel Thompson took what she said to heart. I didn’t know a man’s ears could turn so crimson.”

  “For all of his political maneuverings, the man was only following what he thought was the best course of action.”

  “You are too charitable by far. But you do sound very noble.” She shook her parasol with two hands, declaring, “Oh, I cannot wait to tell Fanny the whole of it! And Dillon will be so diverted.”

  “I hope that you don’t mind, but I would like to check in at my office. See if any investigative digging has yielded harvest.” He motioned to the window. “Do I have your leave to change our route?”

  “Of course.” She licked her cherry lips. “I’m curious. Do you…is your office near where you reside?”

  “Around the corner. I live in a boardinghouse on Pryor Street. The landlady, Mrs. Bears, watches out for us boarders as if we were her kin.” He rubbed his chin. “She’s probably ripping her hair out with worry that I have not been by for a while.”

  “We can stop there if you wish.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure that she will be glad for the visit, but please don’t accept if she offers you her spice cake. It’s like eating a brick.”

  “I will try to remember that.” Lillian grinned, and he almost felt like it was a smile especially for him.

  After giving Jon Driver the directions, Nick adjusted his coat and stated slowly, “I think that we need to talk about your refusal to follow instructions. Did I touch a nerve, perhaps?”

  “Yes,” she sighed. “I suppose you did. Kane was a dictator of the first degree. I do not exactly have fine feelings for anyone who tries to order me about.”

  “Understandable. From now on I will endeavor not to command you, and instead, sway you with logic. You seem agreeably responsive to that tactic.”

  “Manipulation isn’t nearly as effective if you give the other person your strategy,” she teased.

  “Look at the sunset.” Nick pointed out the window.

  The mellowing sun clung to the London rooftops in a golden orange haze.

  “I love this city,” he remarked. “Its collection of people of every shape, size and class. Its haphazard lanes where one can purchase just about anything imaginable. And even the pungent Thames running throughout.” London had a pulse of its own, and Nick almost felt like his pulse cantered in echoing response to it.

  Lillian tilted her head. “I have never thought of it that way.”

  “Why are we slowing down? This lane is usually empty this time of day.” Nick stuck his head out the window.

  Lillian leaned forward. “Where is everyone going? They all seem to be headed in the opposite direction.”

  The faces of the men and women appeared grimier than usual, and the air seemed sootier somehow. Nick’s heart began to beat a bit faster as he recognized the burned scent in the air.

  She wrinkled her nose. “What’s that smell?”

  “Fire.”

  “This much smoke from hearths?”

  “House fire.” Every Londoner’s biggest dread.

  “Oh, no.”

  They turned a corner, and suddenly two long black plumes—portents of doom—could be seen winding heavenward. Nick’s stomach sank as he tried to brace himself for the worst.

  Her eyes shifted to him questioningly. “Isn’t that—?”

  “My boardinghouse.”

  The soot drifted in the air, and Lillian coughed from the ash.

  “Cover your mouth with a handkerchief,” he advised, pulling his own from his coat. “Jon! There’s a stable down the next alley. We can walk from there.”

  Nick felt the calamity like a yank on his soul, reminding him once again that nothing he cherished would last. It never did.

  Chapter 23

  Lillian clung to Nick’s arm, riveted by his darkening mood and the tragedy unfolding before them. They walked side by side in silence, heading toward the center of the ash—his boardinghouse. His body was as stiff as iron, seemingly braced for what they might find.

  From the steady but slow stream of activity in the streets and the smoldering scent hanging in the air, it seemed that the fire had been put out a while before.

  As they neared the hub of movement, Lillian felt the muscles in Nick’s arm tighten and flex. A crowd huddled in clusters around the site. Overturned buckets and blankets were strewn about the street. The former house on Pryor Street was a hulking figure of charred mounds and scrap. It no longer resembled a building but more of a gaping mouth with broken, burned teeth.

  A tall, portly fellow with a tuft of brown hair ringing his receding hairline looked up. Upon seeing Nick, he disengaged from his group and walked over. His face and clothing were covered in black soot; his gait showed him to be exhausted. Despite the dirt, he seemed to have kind, brown eyes and loose lips that hung down in a fatigued frown.

  He held out his hand, and Nick grasped it firmly. “Nick. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  “This is my dear friend Dr. Michael Winner. Baroness Janus.”

  Lillian nodded.

  “What happened?” Nick asked grimly.

  Dr. Winner tried to speak, but only a hoarse cough came out. “Pardon me,” he muttered, turning his face away and spitting. Shaking his head, he faced them once again. “I apologize, my lady. Fire’s foul on the lungs.”

  She gestured that this was immaterial.

  “Arson,” the man muttered. “Cruel business. The bugger tied up Mrs. Bears, stole the key to your rooms and then lit the fire there.”

  “Is she—?”

  “The bastard came back and sliced the rope at her feet, then ran. She was able to jump through the window.” He shook his head. “She’s a tough old bird.”

  “He wanted her to get away,” Nick muttered. “To tell the tale?”

  Winner glowered. “He told her to give you a message.”

  Lillian’s mouth went dry. “Was…was the man dressed in black with his face covered?”

  Winner’s hands fisted. “And how did you know that, my lady?”

  “Because that’s the bugger who attacked Lady Janus the other night,” Nick ground out, his face a mask of contained violence.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m going to hunt that bastard down and kill him,” Nick avowed.

  “Do you know who he is?” Winner coughed, his gaze shrewd.

  “I’m getting a good idea of who’s responsible. It’s the same fiend who is behind Beaumont’s troubles.”

  “It’s all connected,” Lillian whispered. And it’s all my fault. Everything came back to that fateful event, when her mother had been forced to marry Kane, a miserable parasite of a human being who made her life a living hell. Because she’d had no choice. Because of Lillian. Because a man had seduced her mother and hadn’t bothered to take responsibility. Shame whipped through her so powerfully that she felt her knees buckle.

  Nick turned to her with alarm, supporting her. “Are you all right?”

  “This is all my fault,” she whispered.

  “No,” Nick retorted. “It’s bloody Kane’s.”

  “Who’s Kane?” Winner asked.

  Nick pulled her close. “Lean on me.”

  She allowed him to support her, feeling sick.

  Winner gently pressed his hand to the back of her neck. “It’s the ash, my lady. It overwhelms the senses.”

  She closed her eyes and focused on Nick. He was like an oak, she told herself, fighting the queasiness. Solid, substantial and enduring.

  Slowly the queasiness dissipated.

  The doctor removed his hand. “Better?”

  She nodded and opened her eyes. The feeling had passed; still, she did not leave the protective circle of Nick’s arms.

  “Now tell me, who the blazes is Kane
?”

  “We believe that he set up Beaumont for Lady Langham’s murder,” Nick answered, his voice rumbling through her. “He’s trying to scare me off the case.”

  “So that’s where you’ve been?” Winner asked. “Working on Beaumont’s matter?”

  Nick shook his head. “Long story.” At Winner’s raised brow, he added, “For another time. Where’s Mrs. Bears?”

  Dr. Winner pointed to a group sitting on blankets down the street. “But you should know, Nick, not everyone got out in time. The old boarder, Mr. Jenks, did not make it.”

  Nick’s body stiffened to rock.

  “Lillian?” His voice was gruff. “Will you please go with Dr. Winner? He can take you home.”

  “I don’t want to leave you—”

  “Please?” He squeezed her arms.

  “Of course,” she replied, disappointed. She wanted to comfort him the way he comforted her. But he needed to see to his friends. She understood that.

  Nick slowly disengaged from her. “See she gets home safely, sir.”

  Winner nodded.

  “Nick,” Lillian called before he could travel two steps.

  He turned but would not meet her eyes. He reminded her of a volcano, just barely contained, on the brink of eruption. Yet beneath the fury, she sensed his pain.

  Slipping her hand into her pocket, she extracted her key. She pressed it into his hand. “Whatever you need.”

  He nodded, turned, and walked away.

  “Do you have a carriage?” Winner asked.

  Mutely, she nodded, watching Nick.

  Reaching the cluster of women, he squatted down beside a wizened crone cloaked in blankets. Her face was black with soot, her form bent with age. Nick took her hands in his and spoke quietly to her, their heads bowed low. A loud sob erupted, and she rocked to and fro. He waited as she bawled, still clenching her hands in his.

  “Mrs. Bears is a strong woman,” Dr. Winner remarked. “But this boardinghouse was her life.”

  “Can it be rebuilt?”

  “With what money?”

  She swallowed, thinking, Eleven months. Only eleven months and I will have more money than I will ever need.

  Abruptly, it was as if a window opened in her mind. She had always thought of her inheritance as her ticket to freedom. Of no longer living under the Sword of Damocles that was everyone else’s rules. To travel the world, be a free spirit. No more pretending to be Dillon’s light-o’-love.

  Suddenly her view seemed astoundingly shortsighted. The money that she wanted to spend on herself could be better used. The world was filled with needy people. Young boys like Nick had been—homeless, without resources…I could be that resource. The prospects sent her mind reeling.

  “Are you feeling unwell again?” Winner asked. “Your face is as pale as parchment.”

  “I would go home now, if you will.” There was so much to think about.

  He extended his arm, and she accepted it.

  Taking one last look at Nick as he consoled the weeping Mrs. Bears, she asked herself, What would the noble Nicholas Redford do with the money if he had it? But Nick did not have her money. She, hopefully, would. In eleven months’ time. Where would Nick be in eleven months? Would they still be in contact? More than mere friends? Somehow she could not imagine him out of her life, but she had no idea how he might fit. But she wanted him there, no matter how it might be….

  A jumble of emotions cascaded though her. The tragedy, her guilt, the capsizing of her well-laid plans…Nick. It was all too much. The only thing she knew for certain was that she wanted to be with Nick. And the thought terrified her to her bones.

  Lillian’s eyes drooped and her chin sank to her chest as she waited in the big armchair by the hearth in the drawing room. She had left the wide doors to the salon opened, giving her a side view of the front door to her home. The fire was toasty warm, and the chair a bit too comfortable, causing her eyelids to close with annoying frequency.

  She had lain awake in her bed, pretending not to be listening for the tread of boot steps on the stairs. At half past two, still Nick had not come. Her anxiety had been like a fever, one she had not been able to quell with anything other than activity. So she’d given up pretending, and she’d headed to his rooms.

  Lillian was determined to give him whatever he needed, before he could even consider asking for it. It was the least she could do for him. So she had changed the sheets in the guest room three times, to find the appropriately cozy but masculine color.

  But the thought of him lying between the sheets had brought such heat to her skin that she’d opened the windows to air herself and the room. Thereupon, she had become too cool, reminding her that Nick would need clothing. So she had lain out four different dressing gowns of Dillon’s for him to choose his preference, along with four sets of matching slippers.

  But that had gotten her thinking about his long, manly toes. And thighs brushed with a delicate cover of dark fuzz on moon-pale skin. Consequently she had had to take herself off to the kitchen for a glass of water. Which had brought to mind the fact that Nick might need some sustenance. He was always up for a meal.

  So Lillian had meticulously arranged gamepie, cheese and fruits on a tray. After carrying the feast up to his rooms, she’d placed it on a table. Then she’d assembled soaps, towels, combs and even shaving accoutrements, in case he wished for them, even in the middle of the night.

  Thereupon, she’d decided that knowing him as the undemanding man that he was, all he might want was a snifter of brandy. So she’d poured it and waited in the front drawing room, alongside the foyer, ready to greet him whenever he came.

  The cavernous chair had almost swallowed her up, and she had not been able to resist the urge to curl up in its corner.

  “It isn’t too terrible for me to rest my eyes,” she’d murmured to herself. “I’ll be certain to hear him as soon as he uses the key.”

  Sure enough, a small click roused her from her repose. Abruptly, she sat up, her body alert but her brain muddled. For a moment, she wondered where she was. At a sound to her left, she turned.

  He stood in the threshold to the drawing room, broad, dark and motionless, watching her. His face was lost in the shadow cast by the candles in the foyer. Her single candle flickered low, and the fire had waned to mellow cinders.

  She stood, holding the back of the chair for support, for her knees had turned to jelly. “I’m so sorry, Nick,” the words tumbled out. “If I hadn’t involved you—”

  Two strides and he was upon her, grabbing her by the shoulders and drawing her close. His lips pressed against hers with an undeniable hunger, and he opened his mouth to her with need.

  Lightning shot through her as his tongue laved her mouth, enticing, demanding, fulfilling. Heat coursed through her, igniting the embers of the passionate longing she had held for just this man. She inched closer, crushing her soft breasts against his muscular chest. His arms snaked around her waist, hugging her close, lifting her onto her toes.

  She was captivated, intoxicated by his desire for her. She felt it in every inch of his muscular form as it pressed, warm, hard and hungry, against her.

  His hand reached behind her head and lifted the braid from her neck. Loosening the strands, he raked his fingers through her curls, sending shivers racing over her skin.

  He lifted her hair and suckled on her neck. Moving up, his tongue traced the crevices of her ear.

  “Lillian,” he breathed, as if it were the only word in the universe.

  Her head swam and she melted.

  Reaching behind her, he gently but possessively clutched her buttocks and lifted her up. Without thought, her legs spread. His hard shaft pressed into that amazing crevice between her thighs, and she groaned with the joy of it.

  Carrying her to the couch, he turned and dropped backwards, drawing her to lie on top of him.

  Pressing her hands against his chest, she stilled, suddenly uneasy.

  “What is it?” His voice
was a harsh whisper.

  “I don’t know what to do…”

  He pressed his palms against her cheeks and drew her mouth back down. “You were born knowing….” His throaty voice rumbled through her, telling her that his need was as powerful as her own.

  “So hot, so soft…beautiful,” he groaned, splaying butterfly kisses along her neck.

  All fears succumbed to his honeyed kisses.

  He fumbled with the ribbons tying her wrapper and whipped off her rail. She yanked at his neck cloth and pushed off his coat. Baring his brawny chest, she pulled his mouth up to hers and sighed as the soft flesh of her breasts brushed against the smooth surface of his muscled torso. As she lay across him, the crisp hair coating his belly teased her abdomen with titillating pleasure. His belly was flat and hard where hers softly pressed into it. Her heart raced even more, and her breath quickened to a gasping pant.

  His shoulders were surprisingly soft to the touch as she held on and slithered down his form. Remembering how good it felt, she pressed an open kiss to his nipple and sucked on the nub. It hardened, pebbling against her tongue. He groaned, shifting restlessly beneath her.

  Closing her eyes, she circled the nub with her tongue. Unexpected thrills surged through her. Grazing her fingers across his belly, she marveled at the joy of touching him. Silken skin over hard muscle and bone. Sweet heat pooled between her thighs.

  She spread her legs, wrapping them around him. The rough wool of his breeches pressed into the inner lips of her private core. Her body flamed. He raised his leg, pushing into her heat, lifting her to a place where all thoughts fled. Grasping her waist, he rode her on him, driving her mad with wanting.

  “Wait.” Lifting her up, he set her on the couch and stood, ripping off his boots, breeches and smalls and tossing them to the floor.

  He sat down beside her and pulled her onto his lap. She spread her legs around his waist. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to do.