by Darcy Burke
Her eyes stung with the tears she struggled to keep back. “I don’t think that about you.”
She hazarded a glance at him. A single look and then she’d return to perusing the City. Except her breath caught in her throat, ripped from her lungs by his wide green eyes. He penetrated her reserves, until she knew she wouldn’t have any resistance left if he kept talking.
He held his breath, waiting for her to continue. Her hand darted out, connecting with his. She didn’t know how to stop moving forward with him. His knee was against hers, warmth penetrating the wool of her skirt like it was nothing but a gauzy chemise.
“If I did before, I don’t any longer.” She pursed her lips, not allowing a smile to show. To give him that would be too much of a concession. “Weak men don’t try to atone. If I’d known about your abstinence from spirits, I wouldn’t have made you go to the Three Boars. Or let you come with me to the Red Fist. Lord knows I can handle Cyrus by myself.”
“There’s no way in St. Patrick’s name I would have let you go to that hole by yourself.” Daniel’s eyes darkened protectively as he turned over her hand so that his was on top. He squeezed, his touch somehow managing to comfort her and set her body aflame all at once.
“I’ve told you before, I can fend for myself,” she said. If she kept repeating it, she might believe that she didn’t need him. That she could live without his touch again.
“I’ve got no question of your ability to defend yourself. You’re quite handy with the cap gun, love. I think you almost blew my head off in that alley.” His smile was wry, offset by the sadness in his eyes.
“I considered it. Violence comes easily to me, since you left. Perhaps too easily.” Absently, her thumb stroked against the inside of his gloved palm.
“I hadn’t noticed. You’ve been nothing but delightful.” He winked. “Do try not to kill anyone, love, while I’m off on Monday interviewing Miss Fletcher. I think our relationship can only stand one arrest for murder.”
Our relationship. So he already classified them as together again. Kate looked down, loathe to break apart their joined hands. The madness started here, with reluctance to leave his company.
There was no place for relationships in her life. Fence the goods, make the rent, and continue on living without answering to anyone. Those goals were logical. Those goals meant she wouldn’t have her heart torn apart again.
“We are not in a—wait. What do you mean you’re interviewing her? I’m coming with you.”
Daniel’s jaw clenched. “Absolutely not. If you think I would allow you within ten paces of a bordello, you’d best check yourself into Bedlam.”
He said “bordello” as if it was the basest place in England, all because of the tainted women inside.
Women like her.
He’d never understand. Those women came from different backgrounds, some forced into prostitution and others seeking shelter from the gruesome outside world. They’d lay with men, trading their bodies for a bit of blunt until their souls were crushed and the pain lessened. She’d seen perdition in the face of a brothel, and she wouldn’t be owned by anyone ever again.
“You don’t have a right to allow me to do anything.” She snatched her hand away from his.
“I care about you. What do I have to do to make you see that?” He threw his hands up in the air.
“I do see it,” she admitted.
He’d been nothing but fucking conscientious since he got back. That made it worse, so much worse. If he’d simply been a scoundrel, she’d have refused him outright and moved on.
Once she had thought she knew everything about him. He liked roasted mutton with carrots but not turnips, he preferred A Winter’s Tale over King Lear, and he felt embarrassed about never going to a school like Eton.
But all of those things didn’t make a lasting relationship. Love was a temporary notion, seizing hold of her heart. It was beautiful and powerful in those moments, but when it ended she’d be nothing. He had family and a life in Sussex, and she had neither. Didn’t she have to safeguard her own sanity? When he left, she’d only have herself to rely on again.
“Let me help you,” he pleaded.
“No, let me help you.” Kate held her hand up to stop him from speaking again. “If the constable talked to Sally Fletcher about Dalton, then she would know what you look like. She’ll be on guard for a redheaded Irishman, especially one suddenly digging into the past.”
“Blast it.” He frowned. “I didn’t think of that.”
“So I will go with you. Maybe she’ll talk to me.”
He sighed. “I still don’t like it. Stay close to me, then.”
Like I could leave you. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.
“I can’t help but believe this is all my fault.” His eyes bored into her. “When I ran, I thought I was doing the right thing for you. You’d have a chance to set your cap at a better match, one who could give you financial security. Who wasn’t a drunken Irishman. But instead you’ve had to learn how to survive independently.”
When he looked at her like that, seeking her inner secrets, she knew she’d eventually tell him everything. “If you’d talked about how you were to blame at the beginning of this week, I would have agreed with you in an instant.”
“And now?” He shifted on the seat, breaking the contact of their legs.
“Now—” She bit her lip. “Now I haven’t the faintest idea what to think. You complicate things, Daniel.”
“In a good way, I’d hope.” He chuckled softly.
She knew that laugh, so rife with intimacy. Had heard it so many times before, a precursor to a kiss that curled her toes. God, she wanted him. Wanted him even though she knew it’d break down the walls she’d built up around her heart, and leave her standing in a pile of rubble.
“Before you came back, I knew exactly where I stood. There were lines, clearly demarcated and categorized. Things I promised myself I’d never do again if I wanted to survive, and I lived by that code. It’s kept me alive.”
“Some lines are meant to be crossed, Katiebelle.” His voice dipped lower, a caress to her tired body. Their eyes locked. Heat sizzled between them, an almost palpable spark. Slowly, his face inched closer to hers. “Live dangerously.”
No amount of fighting or sensible decisions would save her now. “Devil take it all,” Kate whispered.
Before her mind had a chance to reason, she leaned forward, closing the distance between them. Her lips came down upon his savagely in a desperate attempt to consume him. She nipped at his lip, and he opened immediately for her with an eager, surprised moan. She relished the fact that she’d taken him by surprise, given him one-tenth of the displacement she felt from his presence.
Yet whatever power she’d gained in that one instant dissolved in the luxurious bliss of his lips. He kissed her with the almost heart-stopping intensity of a man who would worship at her altar if she gave him a chance. She drank him in, eager to be his precious gin, for in that moment it only made sense that she should be the one to save him.
Their lips came together, over and over again, each press of delicate skin more desperate. The friction was enough to tear her asunder, starting in her fingers and gradually moving downward to that secret juncture between her thighs. Her breaths became jagged, stolen between kisses. Her ricestraw bonnet banged against his forehead as they fumbled for closeness.
He will see the ring. She reached up, expecting to find the twine chain but remembered it was in her pocket. She wanted this moment—this one desperate grab at touching him and holding him close to her—without complications of the past. Without having to explain how she’d come upon the ring again and what it meant that she’d kept it.
Because she wouldn’t, she couldn’t, make that commitment to him now. Not when she knew nothing about what her heart felt and what she wanted. But she could tug him close to her and crawl into his lap because that was what she had done before and that was natural.
He broke away
and she murmured in protest, desire clouding her rationale. “Not leaving, love.” His voice was ragged, chest quaking with the effort of drawing breath.
Quickly, his fingers made deft work of the knotted strings under her chin. He grabbed at the bonnet, tossed it haphazardly to the other side of the carriage where it bounced off the wall and to the floor. She watched it for a second before he tugged her forward, lips meeting hers fervently. The constant sway of the carriage mimicked the thrust of his tongue, toying inside her mouth. Every spot of her body was familiar to him and he sought that ground with the practiced expertise of a rogue.
His lips left hers to venture down her neck, to the sensitive hollow at her throat. She whimpered and he bit her tender flesh, tongue then rushing to soothe the pain. Her head lolled back in rapture. He was fixated on her, a wicked glint in his jade eyes.
He began to slide the hem of her skirts up her legs. Her petticoats fluffed around her waist and she reached down to gather up them in her hand so that he would have better access. Arching against him, her sensitive breasts brushed once more against his greatcoat.
He lifted her up and onto his lap, so that her center came directly in contact with his erection. She should pull away. But desire lapped at her, so insistent that she felt quickly certain that if she didn’t heed its call she would surely descend into madness.
She pushed against him, feeding her desire.
His breath sucked in. “Christ, love, you’ll make me spill.”
With a salacious grin, she braced her hands against his shoulders and rocked. Hard. He cursed, the sound dying out as he buried his mouth in hers. One hand threaded into her curls, while the other fell to her breast, squeezing her through her dress. She squirmed against him, wanting to get closer to him.
He slipped his finger in the slit between her drawers. The rough pad of his thumb rubbed against her bud. A shot of pleasure rushed through her, knocked out all other sensations until all that was left was bliss. He knew her rhythms, knew the exact places to touch. She fell against his chest, moving her hips in time to his strokes.
She drifted higher up, higher and higher, until suddenly the carriage was pulling to a stop. When the door slid open, his finger was buried deep within her core.
Chapter Ten
Daniel barely managed to catch the door as the coachman pushed it half-open. The wooden handle was slick in his sweat-soaked hands.
“Give us a moment, lad,” he barked out, his voice raspy.
The door slid back upon its hinges, shutting out the street. One catastrophe averted. He was bloody uncomfortable. His cock was thick, his body randy. His fingers ached to touch Kate again, to run against her silky skin and finish what they’d started. He shifted on the seat, doing up the fall of his trousers.
Daniel sunk back upon the bench, his gasps for air uneven. Breathe in, breathe out. He repeated that mantra to himself.
“Let me help you.” He scooted forward.
“I get dressed every morning without your assistance.” She slid her petticoats back down her legs and patted her dress back into place.
“I’m only trying to help you, love.” He held up his hands.
She scooted farther away from him on the bench. “Don’t call me that.” Quickly, she did up the ties to her bonnet.
He shifted on the seat uneasily. To think that only a minute before he’d had his finger thrust into her, watched her squirm with desire. That was how things were supposed to be with them—they’d work together on a problem and head home to bed. They were better together, damn it, better than they could be apart.
“Has nothing changed between us at all?” He asked.
“No. We don’t change.” Her words were shaky, her breaths in jagged pants. “We shouldn’t have done this. I said I’d help you find the resurrectionists who killed Dalton and that’s all this can be. I can’t give you more. Not now, not ever. Not when you’re going to leave again.”
“If you’d stop being cod-witted for two seconds, you’d see I’m making no attempt to go anywhere.” Frustration seeped in, constricted his limbs and left him useless.
“Well, I am.” She got up off the seat, grabbing for the door and tugging it open.
The driver jumped back, almost tripping over the curb. He’d likely listened to their whole conversation. Frantically, Daniel replayed their words. Shit. Kate had mentioned Dalton and the resurrection men.
She jumped out of the carriage onto the street in front of her tenement house. He reached too slowly to pull her back in, his fingertips grazing the leather of her ankle boots. “Kate, wait!”
She didn’t turn around. Instead, she hiked a thumb over her shoulder, pointing at him. “He’ll pay your fare.” She nodded at the coachman, and then she was gone.
Damnation.
He stood, hunching down as he dismounted from the hackney. The coachman looked at him expectantly. Fishing in his coat pocket, he pulled out enough to cover nearly twice the amount of their drive. He slipped the coins into the man’s waiting hand, pitching his voice low enough that only the coachman could hear him. “Tell anyone what you heard, and I’ll find you. I’ll make your life very, very bloody.”
“Yes, sir,” the man stuttered. He remained a second later. Daniel’s eyes narrowed. The coachman scurried off, back to his seat on the hackney. He picked up the reins, giving them a flick and setting the horses off at a trot.
Daniel watched until the carriage turned the corner, the driver so spooked that he almost steered his team into a child playing in the street. He looked back at the tenement house. A light winking in the upstairs window went out.
She’d shut him out again, but he refused to give up.
***
Two days later, Kate was certain that time didn’t heal wounds. It made a pretty dressing over top of past errors, dulling the mind in moments of stress. Until clarity was regained and the entire situation spilled out before her in all its wretched glory.
She’d kissed Daniel. More than that, she’d let him touch her—and if the carriage hadn’t stopped, who knew what else she would have let him do.
She now waited on the docks with Daniel, her hands shoved into the pockets of her greatcoat as if that would stop the longing to reach out to him. His chest had felt so firm against her body, so strong. If she leaned into him again, she’d find temporary respite.
Damn it all, she was weak.
The ferry drifted toward the shore, a rickety wooden contraption built of boards strapped together to form an open platform that might hold about ten people at most. On two sides, rails were built up and fastened together by twine. The ferryman steered through a long pole dipped into the water. One could not expect more when seeking transportation to and from Jacob’s Island.
Once they were onboard, Daniel broke the silence between them. “I wasn’t sure if you’d show up.”
“I said I’d come, didn’t I?” She kept looking forward, at the backs of the other passengers. At mid-day, the small ferry was crowded with people making the trek back to the island.
“Yes,” he agreed.
She arched a brow at him. “Then you should have known I’d be here.”
His hand snaked out, landing on her arm. She glowered up at him. His forehead creased, brows furrowed. He kept his voice low so that the other passengers wouldn’t hear him. “I don’t understand. Are you embarrassed? What we did in the carriage is completely natural.”
That was the problem: it had all been too natural. Kate stared down at his hand. She tried to will herself away from him, yet his touch was warm. Staid. Constant. All of those things she knew were only true for now.
“I let myself get carried away. It won’t happen again.”
“Would it be so bad if it did, Katiebelle?” He asked.
“It would be…difficult. Chaotic. Complicated.” She shook her head. “I can’t handle that right now. So much of my life is random, Daniel. I don’t want to add to that.”
“Do you remember when Bartleby called me a
n incompetent Paddy in front of the staff? I wanted to quit. But you held my hand and told me I couldn’t let him win.” He pressed her arm lightly, smiling at her. “You told me the best things in life are worth the challenge.”
She relaxed slightly, her shoulders no longer ramrod straight. Laurence Bartleby had gone out of his way to make Daniel’s life miserable at Emporia. “That accountant was an ass.”
“Yes, he was.” Daniel nodded.
“But that was a long time ago, and we were different then.” She shook her head. “And what we did last night was a mistake.”
“I disagree.” He ran his hand up her arm, the light brush of his fingers setting her afire.
“Then you are a fool.” She stepped back from him. “Look at what I do for funds, Daniel. You keep saying you want to be a better man. That once you prove your innocence we’ll have some great life together. But did you ever stop to consider that maybe you deserve better than me?”
How could she be with him, when she knew he’d disapprove of the life she’d led?
“Katiebelle,” he murmured.
She cut him off. Forced a harder note into her voice, one that would convince him she couldn’t be swayed. “The worst part of it is, I like what I do. There’s a certain joy in finding buyers for those objects that I can’t explain to you. I make it happen. It’s my knowledge that moves objects.”
“And you like being in control of your fate.” He nodded. “I understand.”
“Do you really?” She tilted her head to the side. “When we got engaged, I was content to sit beside you and help you achieve your goals. But I don’t think that’s enough for me now.”
“I don’t want you to be anyone but who you are,” he said. “Accept what we were in the past, and what we’ll be again.”
No man would be content with a fence for a wife. Daniel had been raised traditionally on a farm. Could he really still love her if she didn’t give up her activities? If she didn’t follow his lead in life? He’d always said he loved her intelligence before, but then she had been working with him to help him take over Emporia someday. Their roles had been clearly defined.