by Nina Rowan
“The Ragged School Union offices,” she told the driver as James handed her into the carriage.
As she had known he would, he climbed in behind her and shut the door.
“Lawford,” he said.
Talia’s heart jumped. She lifted her head to stare at James.
“I saw you speaking with him last night,” James said, folding his arms across his chest. “Ridley informed me he’s the deputy governor of Newhall prison.”
Rather than implicate herself, Talia chose to remain silent. Her stomach tightened.
“And Northwood got word from a friend of his that you visited Smithton prison recently,” James continued.
Oh, no.
Talia’s breath escaped her in a rush, her pulse pounding with trepidation. She curled her fingers into the seat cushion and tried to conceal her sudden fear.
“Er, Alex…Alexander knows about that?”
James nodded, regarding her steadily. “But he doesn’t know why.”
And he asked me to find out. He didn’t have to say the words. Talia knew her brother and she knew James Forester. Of course they would both want to know why she was visiting a prison.
“Alexander is concerned about your safety, Talia,” James said. “As am I. Tell me why you went.”
The faint note of command in his voice prickled her nerves. She certainly wouldn’t tell him the truth simply because he ordered her to. Besides, telling James anything about Brick Street would be a huge risk, akin to having confessed her love for him. And that had turned out an unmitigated disaster.
Resolve filled her. She would not allow either Alexander or James to divert her from her path. This was the first time in years that she had actually felt useful, felt as if she could do something in the world, and nothing would take her from it.
Not even James.
“It’s simply part of my charity work,” she told him, gazing out the window.
“Yet you’ve not had need to visit prisons before.”
“You haven’t been here for a year, James. You have no idea what I have or haven’t done.”
She experienced a grim satisfaction when he didn’t respond to the truth of her statement.
She looked at him again. Her breath caught. In the darkened interior of the carriage, his eyes glittered. He was staring at her mouth. Talia parted her lips to draw in a breath as heat bloomed in her chest.
No. No. Foolish girl, you can’t possibly…
Her eyes lowered to his mouth—the beautiful shape of his lips that had fit so seamlessly against hers. She could almost feel it now, the hot press of their kiss and the way their tongues had met. The mere taste of such intimacy had caused all sorts of heated thoughts to deluge Talia’s mind during the past year. If a thirty-second kiss with James Forester could ignite such fire in her blood, what would further intimacies do to her?
Only in a shadowed, secret area of her heart did Talia admit she would still very much like to find out.
She tore her gaze from James, aware of her increased breathing. His presence seemed to fill the enclosed space of the carriage. Even with his rejection of her hovering like a shadow between them, James still embodied all the qualities Talia so admired. Boldness, daring, the urge to succeed and carve uncharted paths.
He was still looking at her. She felt his gaze like a touch. She remembered the warmth of his large palm as he rested his hand against the side of her face.
How different her life would be if he had reciprocated her love…
Stop!
The order snapped into her brain. Talia straightened her spine. She refused to be a lovesick wench, even in the privacy of her own mind. It was over. James could bluster all he wanted about needing to ensure her safety, but Talia knew his reasons had nothing to do with her. He’d agreed to look after her because of his loyalty to Alexander. Not because he was genuinely concerned about her well-being.
And if he could use her to get what he wanted, then she could certainly use him to get what she wanted. She just had to remember that what she wanted was most assuredly not him.
James followed Talia from the carriage to the Exeter Hall offices of the Ragged School Union. He carried most of the books, while the footman trailed behind with the journals and magazines.
Gentlemen and a few ladies occupied the corridors of the building, pausing every so often to consult with each other about one matter or another. Talia strode up the steps to a glass-windowed door that bore a painted sign: Sir Henry Clark, Director. After a knock, the man’s voice bade them enter.
“Lady Talia, an honor to see you here.” A rotund man stood from behind a paper-strewn desk and approached, a smile breaking out from behind his whiskers. “I hadn’t expected you until later this afternoon.”
“It’s a bit of an impromptu visit, Sir Henry.” She gestured for James and the footman to put their books and journals on a nearby table; then the footman departed. “I’ve just visited Mr. Mudie’s Library and picked up some things I thought the boys would like.”
“I see.” Sir Henry looked as if he didn’t, in fact, see. “Er, you wouldn’t care to bring them directly to—”
“Not yet,” Talia interrupted, her voice bright. “I thought I might store them here for the time being, if you don’t mind?”
“Of course not.” Sir Henry looked inquisitively from Talia to James.
Talia made quick work of the introductions, then added, “Lord Castleford is leaving London again soon, Sir Henry. He’s heading an expedition to Siberia. Won’t that be exciting?”
Irritation prickled James’s neck. Every time she introduced him to someone, she remarked that he was leaving again soon in that light tone that suggested they needn’t trouble themselves by involving him in anything important. Because he’d be leaving again soon. Off on another adventure.
He turned to examine the books he had left on the table. Tried to ignore the discomfort rising in him. Talia had always respected his travels, always reacted to them with admiration and a hint of wistfulness. Now she seemed almost…indulgent about the idea, as if his taking to the sea were a childish whim they should all merely tolerate.
James glanced to where she stood across the room. She was speaking with Sir Henry in a low voice, her expression serious as she nodded in response to his remarks about the new Bethnal Green school.
James took advantage of Talia’s distraction to gaze at her for a long moment. Her chestnut hair was tucked beneath her hat, a few loose curls spilling down to caress her neck. She wore a dark blue gown that fitted her curves, but lacked any fanciful embellishments to attract attention. Her profile was lovely as ever, with high cheekbones and those full lips that had haunted James’s dreams. Only her green eyes had changed, a new guardedness concealing the warm innocence he remembered from a year ago.
He hated the idea that he might have been the cause of it, though he wasn’t arrogant enough to imagine Talia had been pining after him for all these months. Perhaps something else had happened to contribute to her new solemnity.
Perhaps she might even have told him what it was, if he’d deigned to write to her this past year. He smothered another surge of regret and turned back to the books.
A knock on the door preceded another man’s entrance. Thin and of medium height, he wore a plain black coat and hat, which shadowed his features. The gleam of his spectacles further obscured his expression. He paused at the doorway, his gaze passing over James to where Talia stood by the windows.
“Mr. Fletcher!” Talia looked up and smiled, crossing the room in a rustle of skirts. “I hadn’t expected…”
Her voice faltered suddenly as she caught James’s eye. She stopped.
“I hadn’t expected you to be here today,” she told the newcomer.
“I’d hoped to find you, my lady.”
The man removed his hat, revealing sharp, narrow features and dark brows. His hair was cropped very short, and he looked to be several years younger than James. Closer to Talia’s twenty-four than his own
thirty-one.
“I received your message about Peter Colston,” the man continued. “I’d intended to visit Brick Street this afternoon and can—”
“Just a moment, Mr. Fletcher, please.” Her smile firmly in place, Talia turned to James. “Lord Castleford, this is Mr. Fletcher. Mr. Fletcher, Lord Castleford is an old friend of the family and recently returned from a journey to Australia.”
James almost gritted his teeth as he waited for her to tell the man he was “leaving again soon.”
“My lord, Mr. Matthew Fletcher is one of our teachers,” Talia said, her voice putting an oddly firm stop at the end of that introduction.
James shook Fletcher’s hand and spoke a few rote words of greeting. “What is your subject of specialty?” he asked, out of politeness rather than genuine interest.
“I prefer the sciences, personally, but our curriculum allows me to teach everything from reading to history and geography.” Mr. Fletcher glanced at Talia. “But about Peter Colston—”
“Yes, we’ll discuss it later, please,” Talia said.
Fletcher blinked at the order, then nodded.
James frowned. He’d never known Talia to interrupt so often. As if she feared what people were about to say.
“Lord Castleford is only in London for a short time,” Talia continued. “He’s leaving in June for another expedition to—”
“I’m here for the remainder of the month,” James interrupted. “And I’d hoped to be of some service to your organization during my stay.”
The words surprised him as much as they appeared to surprise Talia.
“You want to help the ragged schools?” she asked, as if the idea were absurd.
“You needn’t sound so shocked,” James muttered, irritation biting at him. “I’ve engaged in a number of good works myself.”
“How are you able to help, my lord?” Sir Henry asked.
“Well, I…I could assist Lady Talia with whatever tasks are necessary.”
Talia swiveled toward the door, her movements sharp and abrupt. “Sir Henry, Mr. Fletcher, please excuse us for a moment. A word, my lord?”
Feeling as if he were about to receive a scolding, James followed her from the room. His gaze moved to the tapered curve of her waist as she strode down the corridor in front of him. Talia opened another door and gestured for him to follow her into an empty office. She closed the door behind him, her eyes flaring with sudden ire.
“Who do you think you are, James?” she snapped.
He stepped back, startled. “I’m the same man I always was.”
“You are not.” Talia paced halfway across the room, her hands fisting into her skirts. “You’re offering your help because you told Alexander you’d look after me. Not because you truly want to help.”
James frowned. “You’re the one who is withholding information from Northwood, Talia. Perhaps if you’d been honest with him and your father, he wouldn’t have reason for concern.”
“Alexander invents reasons to worry about me, James.” She spread her hands, her shoulders tense with frustration. “Everything I do gives him cause for concern. Did you ever consider I might be protecting him by not divulging my every move?”
“How is that protecting him?”
“He’s happy now.” Talia spun on her heel and paced toward him, her skirts swirling about her ankles. “He has a lovely wife, a daughter he adores, and now a newborn son…certainly he doesn’t need unfounded concerns about me to tarnish his happiness.”
“And yet they are.” James grasped her arms to prevent her from spinning away from him again. A little gasp caught in her throat, and his entire body reacted to both the sound and the sensation of her warmth burning clear through the sleeves of her dress.
Then she looked up at him, and her green eyes seared past his defenses, as if she could see right into the place in his heart that was reserved only for her. James took a breath and tried to focus, tried to pull his mind from the growing knowledge that he wanted to do anything Talia asked of him.
“Why else would Alexander have asked me to look after you?” he asked. “If you don’t want him to worry, if you’ve nothing to hide, then you’ll accept my help.”
She glared at him, her features set mutinously. “I don’t want the kind of help you’re offering.”
“What kind is that?”
“The kind where you swoop in for a fortnight, make people depend on you, and then leave again.” Talia yanked herself from his grip and stepped back, her chest heaving. “Just like you did with Alexander’s Society of Arts exhibition last year. You do the same thing every time you return to London, and this time I won’t allow it.”
“Why the bloody hell not?”
“Because I don’t want to be indebted to you!”
“I would never consider you indebted to me,” James retorted.
“But I would.” Talia shook her head and stalked to the other side of the room again. “You can’t do this and run away again, James. I won’t let you.”
He stared at her. “Run away?”
Talia turned, sorrow darkening her eyes. “I meant—”
“You said run away. Is that what you think I do?”
When she didn’t respond, a foreboding filled his chest. He knew he’d hurt her—he’d spent the last year hating himself for it—but he couldn’t stand the idea that she thought him a coward. Not Talia, who had always looked at him with such admiration.
Until he’d shattered whatever illusions she’d held about him.
A moment passed with the beat of forever. They stared at each other, a palpable energy crackling between them. His pulse raced. Even across the expanse of the room, James could feel the heat of her green eyes, the warmth of her body. He could still feel her, all the emotions radiating from her. Determination. Anger. Passion.
In three long strides, James closed the distance between them. His throat tightened with irritation and another emotion he could not name. He stopped in front of her, staring down into her vivid eyes, fringed with thick dark lashes, and the succulent curve of her mouth that had haunted both his waking and nighttime dreams.
He lifted his hand to cup her chin, tilting her face toward the light. Her skin was fine as silk, pale but for the faint color cresting her high cheekbones. A visible tremble went through her as her lips parted to draw in a breath. Heat slid into James’s veins as he recalled the soft, hot press of her mouth, the crackling urgency as she fit herself against him and opened to let him inside…
A growl started in James’s chest as he grabbed Talia’s shoulders and pulled her to him. Before he could think, before he could stop himself, he lowered his head and captured her mouth with his. Talia gasped, a breathy little sound that jolted arousal through his entire body. Even now, even with all that lay between them, she folded herself against him without hesitation, as if she knew that their essential bond of trust was still strong and true.
James cupped her face, angling his mouth more securely over hers as the heat of her breath warmed him from the inside out. Her breasts pressed against his chest, their soft fullness evident even through the constriction of her corset. Lust pooled through his groin. Part of his mind still prickled with shock over the swiftness of his reaction—to Talia, of all people, the one steady feminine presence in his entire life—while another part of him wondered at how natural it felt, how easy.
She fit against him like a puzzle piece locking into place, her curves molding against the planes of his torso, her arms twining around his neck. She tasted sweet, like apples and sugar, and when she parted her lips under his and touched her tongue to his, all reason fled James’s brain. He deepened the kiss, his erection pressing hard against the front of his trousers, his mind filling with images of Talia naked beneath him, her gasps hot in his ear and her body opening for him.
He muttered her name, hearing it break between them on an exhale of breath. He grasped the back of her neck and fought the urge to bury his hands in her hair, to yank her hat off an
d tug her hair from the pins. He imagined her stripped bare, letting him caress every inch of her naked flesh, her pink-tipped breasts overflowing his hands, her hips pushing forward as she begged for his touch…
Talia moaned. The soft noise filled him with heat and the urgency for more. James gripped the nape of her neck and broke away, his chest heaving as he stared into her lust-dark eyes.
A sudden anger rose in him, mingling with his shocking urgency—anger at Talia for making him want her in the most lewd and carnal of ways. For making him feel things for her that he had no right to feel.
Talia lifted a trembling hand to touch his mouth, her fingertips light as feathers. With her forefinger, she traced the line of his lower lip.
“I’ve dreamed of you,” she confessed, her breath catching on a husky note.
James closed his eyes, fighting a resurgence of near-overwhelming urgency.
“Talia.” His voice was strangled. “I will not…”
“Yes, that’s what you said last time, isn’t it?” She swept her finger into the notch beneath his lower lip. A hard tremble coursed through him. “This will not happen, you said. And yet you were the one who surrendered.”
James swallowed hard against the rising shame. He may have rejected her, but he had the sudden and unwelcome sense that Talia had been the one to gain the advantage that afternoon at Floreston Manor. An advantage that brought him to his knees.
“Yes, my lady,” he said, forcing his heart to freeze against the heated look lingering in her eyes. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from him. “I surrendered to your sweet kiss and enjoyed every instant. I haven’t regretted it either. Do you want to know why?”
He tightened his grip on her wrist, felt her pulse beating fast as a hummingbird’s wings against his fingers.
“I haven’t regretted it because that one kiss planted the seed for a thousand hot dreams of you,” James hissed, grimly pleased to see trepidation creep into her expression. “Yes, I’ve dreamed of you as well, Talia. And my dreams have been raw, stripped of all decency. I’ve dreamed of you writhing naked beneath me, of feeling your legs wrapped around my thighs, of stroking your breasts and touching you in places that would shock you.”