by Darcy Burke
“Please don’t look at me like that. I’m nervous enough.”
He looked mildly surprised. “Why?”
She tested the unfamiliar knife in her hand. “I’m not a surgeon.”
His mouth softened, and it transformed his face. She realized then that he held himself in a different way when he was her charming waltzing partner, as opposed to the brutal criminal. That he could change from one to the next in the space of a breath filled her with awe—and trepidation.
“You’ll do fine. Just go slow.” He touched her hand lightly. “And if you nick me, do not fret. I will have deserved it anyway.”
She wanted to argue with him, no one deserved pain, but more than that she wanted to get this over with. Steeling herself, she slid the blade beneath the thread and gently sliced it up. The knife cut clean through the thread. She exhaled and set the weapon down, glad to be done with it. She plucked the stitches through his flesh as quickly as she dared.
He sucked in a breath, and she froze. “What is it?” she asked.
His lip curved up. “It tickles.”
She moved rapidly to finish. It wouldn’t do to have this turn into something else. She was sorely tempted by him, but he’d made his motives clear. She was a hindrance, and he would’ve left her behind already if he hadn’t felt beholden.
She pulled the last of the thread through his flesh just as his hand came over hers. The heat of his fingers seared her. She tried to pull away, but he lifted her hand, took the thread, and tossed it away.
He pressed his lips to her fingertips. “Thank you.”
The touch of his mouth sparked her desire. What had been curling through her, tempting her, roared to life. Maybe it was the closeness of the room or the enticing flicker of the lantern light or the sight of his bare, golden flesh—all of it, she decided. Whatever the reasons, she picked up a towel and wetted it, then drew it over his chest.
His inhalation sounded like a crash amidst the quiet. It jarred her and her hand froze against him.
“Don’t stop.” His voice cracked. She hadn’t the courage to look at his face. She barely had the courage to continue what she was doing, but she’d started this dangerous game and wanted to finish it.
She cleansed his chest and shoulders, taking particular care to wipe away the tiny specks of dried blood that had come loose from the removal of his stitches. Aside from that wound, he had several scars scattered about. There was a particularly long one that stretched from his collarbone over his sternum. She wanted to ask how he’d sustained these injuries, but didn’t want to disrupt the quiet connection that flowed between them.
The scratch from the highwayman’s bullet was merely a faint red line now. Soon it would disappear completely. Would the memory? Would their time together fade as day becomes night? She didn’t want that. She would remember their time—remember him—to the end of her days. It was suddenly imperative that he never forget her.
“Turn.” She sounded strong, commanding. She chanced a look at his face. His eyebrow arched in that damnably attractive manner that set her heart to fluttering.
He scooted around so that his back was to her. She continued his bath, dunking the towel into the basin and scrubbing his back. She attended to his neck, her fingers itching to trace the tendons there. To kiss the hollow behind his ear.
Heat flushed her face and she was glad he couldn’t see her. But then he turned. She lowered her head. “Your feet?” she asked softly.
He stretched his legs out and she cleaned his legs from the base of his breeches his toes. It was the most intimate act she’d ever performed. By the time she was finished, she was breathless and warm. She wanted to throw the blanket off her shoulders, but to do so would expose herself, and potentially her want. Could he see her desire?
She looked at his face again, tentatively, and bit down on the inside of her lip at the naked lust in his eyes. She had very little experience with such matters, but it was the way he’d looked at her that night at Bassett Manor. No, it was even more intense, she decided.
She set the towel down and told herself to go to the pallet. But she didn’t move. She simply gazed at him, at the strong line of his nose, the arc of his cheekbones, and the three days of growth on his face since he’d last shaved. He looked wild. Utterly untamable. Devastatingly handsome.
At last, she moved, reaching for the edge of the pallet. He moved too. His arm snaked around her waist and drew her back to him. He looked at her for the briefest moment, and his eyes said all that was necessary: I want you.
His mouth found hers with a desperate hunger. The blanket fell from her shoulders as she clutched at his biceps and pressed herself against his heated chest. With only her chemise to separate them, she felt him in a way she never had—his warmth, his strength, his power.
One of his hands held her fast, splayed against her lower back, while the other tangled in her hair and scattered her pins to the floor. He combed his hand through her curls and palmed the back of her head, holding her captive to his mouth and tongue.
But he didn’t need to, for she was a willing participant. She met his kiss with eager licks and longing suckles, applying what he’d taught her the last time.
He moved his hand down the side of her face to her neck. He stroked his thumb along the underside of her chin, coaxing her mouth to open even wider so he could devour her more fully. She’d never felt more vulnerable or more seductive.
Then his mouth left hers and moved to her neck. His hand drifted downward and settled gently over her breast. She tensed, but he didn’t press her. He merely laid his palm over the mound as his lips and tongue worshiped her neck.
She closed her eyes and cast her head back, unable to hold herself upright as her body melted in his embrace. His hand at her back gave her support while his mouth gave her ecstasy. Gradually, she became aware that his hand had closed over her breast—slowly and with great care. His fingers teased her nipple. A moan sounded and she realized it came from her. His mouth moved lower, taunting her flesh and driving her need ever higher. He cupped her breast and then she felt his tongue against her sensitive nipple. The linen of her chemise kept him from touching her flesh directly, but she wasn’t sure it mattered. Sensation drove through her, coaxed her to arch into his mouth. She gasped, her hands moving to clutch the hair at the base of his neck.
He pressed her breast upward, squeezing her almost roughly, but divinely as he drew her nipple to an even harder peak. Her core pulsed as a wild craving swept through her.
“Lie back.” His words pierced the sensual haze that had settled over her. She felt herself falling backward toward the pallet. Not falling exactly, because his hand was guiding her. He managed to situate them onto the bed, his hand never leaving her breast.
He paused above her and she opened her eyes. She wanted this, wanted him. But he was right that she deserved better. She’d turned her back on her former life, but that didn’t mean she had to settle for what he was offering her—which wasn’t enough. Their physical attraction was unlike anything she’d ever known, an intoxicating remedy for her hungry soul. She wanted more than that, though—she wanted him to open up to her and she wanted his trust. She wanted more than he could give.
She put her hand to his chest and pressed. “Ethan.”
He let go of her breast and an icy chill rushed over her. “Forgive me.” He sat up and turned away, then handed her the blanket that had fallen from her shoulders.
She pulled the quilt over herself and moved to the far edge of the pallet. “Forgive me as well. I didn’t mean to encourage you.”
“You are blameless in this.” His voice sounded strained. He got up and pulled on his shirt, then his boots. He plucked his coat up.
She leaned up on her elbow. Her body was still thrumming with desire. It would be so easy to call him back, but she wouldn’t. “Where are you going?”
“Out. Get some sleep. We’ll leave early so we can get to Beckwith as soon as possible.” He turned and left.
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She stared at the closed door for a long time. Tomorrow their adventure would end. Tomorrow she would fight to move forward, to encapsulate her time with Ethan into a neat package she could recall and at which she would smile fondly. Tonight, however, she would weep for the future she could never have.
Chapter Twelve
AS USUAL, ETHAN woke early. Instead of torturing himself by watching Audrey sleep, he left the pallet and readied himself. He crept down the steep, narrow stairs to the door that led to the corridor and then to the next set of stairs leading to the ground floor. He made his way to the room where they’d taken last night’s meal and encountered the innkeeper.
He was a slight, seemingly frail man, but Ethan believed his unassuming appearance masked a core of steel. He’d insisted on taking care of their horses last evening and had seen to their bath—without the aid of footmen. He squinted at Ethan. “Ye’re up early.”
“We have a lot of miles to cover today.” It was all he would say. He’d been careful to conceal their direction. Bow Street could still be behind them, particularly if Teague had managed to somehow figure out their destination. Ethan had considered the possibility that Teague might trace them to Beckwith, but he didn’t have any better ideas of where to go. He thought Audrey would be safe with Sevrin. He was the only gentleman of Ethan’s acquaintance who’d held his own among the criminal element.
The innkeeper nodded. “I’ll have a luncheon made up for you to take along.”
“Thank you.” Ethan chose his words carefully. “Might I confirm your discretion about our being here?”
The man laughed, a low, gritty sound that reminded Ethan uncomfortably of his former mentor, Gin Jimmy. “Not your sister, eh?”
Ethan pressed another coin, one of the last they had, into his hand. “I appreciate your help.”
“I hope ye’ll do right by her. I’ll go and get yer horses.” He left the room via the kitchen situated at the back of the dwelling.
Ethan could spend the rest of his life trying to make Audrey’s dreams come true and he doubted he’d ever come close to doing “right” by her.
The innkeeper’s wife plied him with toast and ham. She grinned when he asked for a mug of ale—plus a flagon to take with them. “My husband makes the finest ale in Cornwall.”
“Maybe in all of England,” Ethan said, smiling at her in return.
The creak of the stairs drew him to turn from the small table where he’d taken his breakfast. Audrey appeared, her bonnet and hairbrush in hand, her hair half up.
She patted the back of her head. “I couldn’t find all of the pins.”
The innkeeper’s wife returned with Ethan’s ale and clucked her tongue upon seeing Audrey. “Come with me, dear. I’ll set you to rights.” She held out her hand and led Audrey back through a doorway.
Ethan watched the gentle sway of Audrey’s hips as she followed the innkeeper’s wife. His mind was suddenly full of images and sensations of her—the silk of her hair, the curve of her breast, the heat of her hips as he’d moved against her on the pallet. If he didn’t curb his thoughts, he’d need to excuse himself as he’d done last night. His left hand was a sorry replacement for what he craved, but it was all he had. The alternative—surrendering to temptation—was inconceivable. That would cross a line they couldn’t come back from, and Ethan wouldn’t do that. One of the things that had ensured his criminal success was knowing when to stop before a critical error caused irrevocable damage.
A short while later, Audrey emerged from the doorway. Ethan instantly recognized the London miss who’d taught him to waltz. Her hair had been neatly coiled and she wore a fresh gown, one that actually suited her height. The style of the gown was a few years old, but its pale green color accentuated her eyes, making them appear more jade than aqua. An ivory ribbon was threaded beneath her breasts, emphasizing their delicious fullness. Again, her bearing reminded him of someone who was untouchable—at least to him.
He couldn’t contain his reaction. “You’re so beautiful.”
She blushed, and he realized he’d missed her bouts of shyness and embarrassment. Why had they become less frequent? Because they didn’t talk as much, or was it more than that? Had he ruined her innocence?
The innkeeper forestalled anything further when he stuck his head into the room. “The horses are ready.”
Ethan looked to Audrey, who was tying the bonnet beneath her chin. The innkeeper’s wife bustled in carrying Audrey’s spencer, which Ethan had nicked from an inn three nights ago.
She smiled at Audrey as she helped her don the coat. “Here you are, dear. Take good care of yourself then.”
Audrey gave the woman a quick hug. “Thank you again for the gown.”
“I’m pleased to have found someone to wear it.”
Audrey nodded, then turned to leave. Ethan gestured for her to precede him and worked to remain stoic as she passed, despite the desperate urge he felt to reach out and touch the small of her back.
They stepped outside into the dark, gray morning. They’d been blessed with mostly dry weather for their journey, but the sky looked as if it might drench their hopes for one more decent day.
Audrey raised her face to the sky. “I daresay those are rainclouds.”
“We should get moving.” Ethan helped her to mount her horse and climbed on his own.
They made it an hour before the rain started. It was, at least, a placid rain that would take some time before it soaked them. Hopefully it would stay that way.
“What is your plan when we arrive at Beckwith?” Audrey asked. “I want to be sure I play along with whatever Banbury tale you’re going to tell.”
He deserved that. He’d required her to go with whatever he determined, though she seemed to enjoy tweaking his plans from time to time—like with the hermit. “I’m going to tell him the truth, that you escaped London with me for your own safety.”
She stopped her horse and gaped at him. “The truth?”
He deserved that too. “We need to keep moving.” When she started forward again, he continued, “I have to tell him the truth,” at least about that, “in order to keep you safe. He needs to know that Gin Jimmy wanted to take you to get to me.”
“‘Wanted’? You mean wants. I doubt his plans have changed.”
“Perhaps not, but I’m hopeful he hasn’t bothered to follow us this far from London.” Especially after what Ethan had done to the men he’d already sent—but Ethan didn’t say that out loud. “I’m also hopeful that he’ll realize you won’t be good leverage against me after I leave.” He waited for her reaction, but she was quiet and the edge of her bonnet shielded her face from him. Christ, when had he cared what anyone thought of what he did or what he said? The irritation he tried to stir up didn’t even spark. That man was gone—at least with regard to her. He cared what she thought of him.
Finally she said, “Where will you go?”
Once he would’ve avoided her question. He still considered doing so, but in the end he was tired of the wall he’d constructed. With her he could be himself. Couldn’t he? Of all the people he’d come to know in his life, hadn’t she been the most patient, the most kind, the most forgiving? “I don’t know. Probably back to London. I can’t keep running.” And he couldn’t keep her in a perpetual state of danger.
She shot him a sharp look. “But you’ll hang.”
A chill settled into his bones and made his teeth ache. His damp clothes suddenly felt like they were coated in ice. “Jason will help me.” He hoped. God, could he really ask? He couldn’t even recall what it felt like to solicit assistance. Reliance and expectation were for weaker men.
“I’m glad you’re going to ask him. I’m also glad you’re telling Lord Sevrin the truth.” Her voice softened. “I think you’ll be glad too.”
Ethan spent the rest of the day brooding, even after the clouds parted and the sun dried them. The air had changed and the wind carried the not-too-distant scent of the sea, which he recalled from his
last visit here. It was late afternoon when he finally broke the silence. “We’re nearly there. Maybe another mile.”
“You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”
He nodded. “Last spring. My pugilist was to compete in a prizefight.”
“But it ended up being Lord Sevrin, did it not? Philippa told me about it.”
He hadn’t realized she and Sevrin’s wife were on such intimate terms. That could prove difficult, though it seemed as though Philippa hadn’t shared what he’d done. If she had, Audrey never would’ve gone along with him. He shoved the thought away, unwilling to give it his concern. He had far weightier things to consider, such as how in the hell he was going to simply walk away from her.
He’d spent the bulk of the day fantasizing about leaving with her. Going to America, or anywhere really, and starting a life where no one knew the names Jagger or Lockwood. He had enough money stashed here and there to take them wherever they wanted to go as well as to set them up in at least a modest lifestyle. But then what would he do? Farm? Learn a trade? He thought of Fox, and while the farming seemed beyond Ethan, the orphanage management held a surprising appeal.
However, obtaining his stashed money was another problem altogether. Perhaps Sevrin and Jason could help him with that too. That he was actually considering it and that he was prepared to solicit even more support made his head spin. Bloody hell, he’d changed on this journey.
He slid a glance at Audrey’s profile. His chest ached when he looked at her. Just as he didn’t want to ponder any difficulty with Lady Philippa, nor did he want to think about why Audrey made him feel that way.
At last they rode up the drive to Beckwith. Audrey looked up at the impressive house, which was a converted medieval fortress. It wasn’t in the best repair, but its placement on a bluff overlooking the bay was enviable. The weather in Cornwall was typically warmer and more pleasant than London. Ethan had enjoyed his stay in the nearby town of Truro.
“Was it a castle?” Audrey asked.
“I think so.” Ethan had obtained only a few details from some people in Truro. Sevrin hadn’t been terribly conversational during Ethan’s visit. Though Ethan had tried to make amends to the viscount, he wasn’t completely certain their arrival would be welcome. Now that they were here, he was having second thoughts.