Burning for the Baron

by Alyson Chase

  He paused before sliding off her boot. “Have you signed a contract?”

  “Not yet, but an attorney is writing one up.” His hands engulfed her foot. They were large. Strong. She had no doubts they were capable of wringing a man’s neck, yet he cradled her foot as gently as though he were holding a babe. Something deep inside of her tugged. “Why?”

  His chest heaved, and he blew out a long breath, not meeting her gaze. He rubbed circles into her ankles, each thick digit a patch of warmth that soothed her tired bones. She relaxed back into her chair.

  “You can’t buy the shop. Not yet.” The baron raised his head, his piercing green eyes pinning her in place. “I’m not going to give you your premium. I need you to remain manager.”

  Jerking her feet from his hands, she shot up. “You can’t! You promised me that money for three months’ service. It’s been three months.”

  “I’m sorry, but circumstances have changed.”

  Fire burned in her chest. How dare he? Wasn’t that just like a swell? Ignoring his commitments when it suited him. “You promised,” she said through gritted teeth. “I held up my end. I’ve managed this club competently and efficiently. I’ve earned that premium.”

  “I agree.” Sutton lounged in his chair, stretching out his long legs. He might act high in the instep, but Colleen could see the tense set of his shoulders. The press of his full lips. “But the letter you received has changed our circumstances.”

  “What letter?”

  He slid a folded piece of parchment from his pocket and tossed it on the desk. “The one you showed me yesterday. The one that threatened you with harm if you didn’t provide Zed with information.”

  Colleen frowned. “No one threatened me.” Unfolding the letter, she reread the contents. The end bit didn’t sound quite friendly but it hardly qualified as a threat.

  Sutton sighed. “It’s right there in black and white.” He pointed at a couple lines.

  “There is nothing there.” This couldn’t be happening. Not another dream taken away. Her throat squeezed, and she forced the tears back where they came from. “You’re seeing something that doesn’t exist. And even if it is a threat, that is only an added reason for me to leave The Black Rose.”

  Sutton stood, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “You read things too literally, but communication is in the nuance. The threat is there. And it is a threat from a very dangerous man.”

  “How do you know that? Who is Zed? And who are you?” Normal toffs didn’t run around with dangerous criminals. But, then, she’d always known the baron was different. That there was more to Madame Sable’s disappearance and her legal troubles. She narrowed her eyes. “Who do you work for?” There was only one option that made sense.

  He ignored her questions. “I need to catch him, and in order for that to happen, I need you. Here.”

  “No.” She matched his stance. She didn’t care if he did work for the government. “I refuse to stay here any longer. I’ll take my money now, thank you.”

  “It pains me to say it, but you have little choice.” Bending, he swiped her boots off the ground and held them in one hand. “Not if you want your premium. But once Zed is in prison, I promise to make good on our arrangement. In fact, I’ll even double it.”

  “You bleed freely,” she bit out. She turned to face the wall and wiped her fingers across her cheek. “And pardon me if I don’t believe your promises. They no longer hold any weight.” The air shuddered in her chest and her lungs refused to completely fill. She’d been so close. The loss of her flower shop hurt more than it should.

  More than when she’d stood before the charred remains of her life.

  She hung her head. She was lower than scum.

  She heard a clatter before he cupped her shoulders. The weight was reassuring and warm, but she refused to find comfort. Not from the man who’d just ripped her future from her. She jerked forwards, but he drew her back.

  “I know I’ve let you down, and it pains me to do so.” His voice was soft as velvet. She didn’t want to find it attractive. There could be nothing about the brute that she liked, not after his betrayal. She’d thought him better than the rest of the Quality. He’d seemed to care about her and her dead husband, genuinely wanting to help her. And he looked nothing like the coifed and pampered swells that she’d seen rolling about in their fancy carriages.

  She’d thought he was different, but he was like all the rest. Only in it for himself. No faith behind his words, only carelessness.

  She swallowed past the thickness in her throat. “How long?” she asked, pleased with how even her voice sounded. He wouldn’t know how deep his lies had cut.

  “It could be a week. Or several months.” He rubbed her upper arms, the thin fabric of her shirt scraping against her skin. “Investigations like this take time.”

  She turned and cocked her head. “And why are you investigating? Isn’t this a matter for Bow Street? It’s not like a toff to get his hands dirty.”

  She thought his smile looked tight, but it was difficult to tell with the beard covering his cheeks.

  “Not all toffs behave the same. This man is threatening my club. Threatening my manager.” His nostrils flared. “That isn’t a situation I’ll tolerate.”

  Colleen’s mouth became moist, and she swallowed. He didn’t raise his voice or punch a wall, but his anger was intense, nonetheless. It wrapped around her, promising protection in its power. Her anger leeched away, replaced by a sharp longing. The baron wore a look she’d hoped to see on her husband, back when she’d been young and romantic.

  She stepped from his grip. Picking her boots up from the desk, she strode from the room. The baron was silent, but she could feel him following. She pushed into her chambers and placed the boots at the foot of her wardrobe. Hands on her hips, she examined her options. Without the premium, they were few. And putting her feet up and snoozing by the fire wasn’t one of them. It was time to get back to work.

  Her options for footwear were just as limited. Either the stiff boots that had caused the blisters, or … With a sigh, she slid out the discolored and frayed slippers from under the wardrobe and went to sit on the bench at the foot of her bed. She covered the guinea-sized hole the fire had burned through the toe of one of the slippers with her hand and slid it onto her foot.

  Sutton stood in the doorway, her coat tossed over one arm, his eyes tracking her every movement. “Why haven’t you purchased anything with your clothing allowance?”

  She stood and shook her skirts out. Unlike the floor-length gowns the upper class and her lady-birds wore, her skirts ended at the ankle. Doing little to hide her pitiable footwear. “I have no need to dress like a fancy lightskirt. That isn’t my position here.”

  “Forget ‘fancy’. It would be nice if my manager didn’t walk around in shoes that didn’t allow her feet to touch the floor. And didn’t wear coats”—he held out her borrowed wool one—“that would serve better as a rag.”

  She moved to him and snatched the coat from his grip. Removing the flower from the buttonhole, she hung the coat in her wardrobe. “Most of my things were destroyed in the fire. My cousin gave me this. It serves its purpose.”

  “Your cousin.” Sutton curled his upper lip. “From the little I know of the man, I suspect his act wasn’t done out of charity. Giving his old coat to you likely saved him the bother of burning it.”

  Colleen refused to feel ashamed of her appearance. All she had was honestly earned, and that meant more to her than fancy gowns or delicate kid slippers. A man like the baron wouldn’t understand that.

  She tipped her chin up. “Now that you’ve convinced me to remain on as manager, what is it exactly you wish me to do? Write back to your Zed with shocking stories? I don’t know where to address the letter.”

  Sutton rested his forearm against the doorjamb above his head. “No, the man will have to find a way to contact you again. Another letter, a courier. If Zed wants a response, he’s going to have to revea
l himself. And I’ll be waiting.”

  “So, I continue running The Black Rose and when I hear from the blackmailer again, I contact you?” It didn’t seem like much of a plan. Not the zealous and speedy prosecution Colleen would have preferred.

  He smiled, one side of his mouth curving higher than the other. His beard framed his sinful lips, and she wondered what it would be like to kiss such a man. He had the sort of smile she imagined a highwayman would have. It did funny things to her knees and made her breasts heavy and achy.

  She swallowed and fought back the illogical blush that threatened to sweep her cheeks. Just because she was standing in her bedchambers with a man was no cause to think such improper thoughts. Besides, the baron could have no way of knowing what was running through her mind. Nothing to feel awkward about.

  His smile deepened, and his gaze flitted to the bed and back to her face.

  She refused to believe it. There was no way he was that discerning of her unspoken thoughts. “My lord?” She clasped her hands together, forgetting about the flower and crushing the bloom. “Am I to contact you when I receive another letter?”

  “There’ll be no need.” He leaned forwards, that slight tilt of his shoulders feeling like he’d invaded her space. “Until this matter is resolved, I’m going to stay so close to your side it will feel like our bodies are joined as one.”

  Nothing could stop her blush that time.

  Chapter Four

  For one so small, Mrs. Bonner burst with energy. Max had been following her around for days, watching as she settled this dispute before moving on to fix that problem. She was like the commander of a ship, always walking the decks, sleeping with one eye open. He hated to admit it, but the woman wore him out. The soles of his feet yearned for a reprieve from constantly being upon them; he could only imagine how hers, in her flimsy footwear, fared.

  That, at least, was something he could fix. “Mrs. Bonner, a moment.”

  She turned from a discussion with one of the maids. “Yes, my lord?”

  “Will you follow me? I have something to show you.” Without waiting for a response, he strode across the main room and held the door to the private upper rooms open for her. His palm was slick on the latch, and he wiped his hands on his coat. It shouldn’t be so nerve-wracking presenting small tokens to a woman. Especially as these were necessary for her to do her job properly. But gift giving of any sort was a practice to which Max was unaccustomed. And to a woman such as Mrs. Bonner …

  She was so unlike the women of the ton that he knew. With her, there was no pretense. A man got exactly what he saw. A straightforward, hardworking woman who deserved more than the lot she’d received in life. Her honesty gave him hope for society, and he couldn’t help thinking that in a perfect world, all women would be like Mrs. Bonner.

  She glanced at him curiously but went through the door and led him up the stairs. Her round bottom swayed three steps in front of him, and Max shoved his hands in his pockets. Her unconventional outfits showcased the hips that most women hid behind shapeless gowns. Those hips gave him ideas. Max adjusted his cock. The urge to touch his manager was great, and it didn’t help that he saw desire trapped behind her eyes when she looked at him. If he seduced her, pressed slow, soft kisses to her neck as he lifted her skirts, would she give in to her cravings? Or slap his face and call him a fool?

  It would be better if she rebuffed him. He didn’t deserve Mrs. Bonner. Not after what he’d done. Although, if he brought her pleasure as well as himself, would it truly be so wrong?

  She hesitated at the top, and Max directed her into the sitting room. “Through here, please.”

  She strode through the doorway and stopped short. Max bumped into her back and grabbed her shoulders, making sure she didn’t topple over.

  “What on earth is all this?” She inched to the settee and fingered one of the many dresses thrown over the back. The room was littered with clothes, the garments draped over every chair and sofa. Neat rows of slippers, and with a nod to Mrs. Bonner’s practicality, several pairs of sturdy boots lined the floor.

  “Two men’s shirts, a waistcoat, two sets of skirts, two pairs of shoes, and one ratty coat seem to be the entirety of your wardrobe.” Max scraped his palms down his trouser legs. Women liked this sort of thing, right? Presents and frippery and such. Even practical Mrs. Bonner couldn’t differ that much from the rest of her sex. “I know the fire destroyed most of your belongings. You’ve done such good work here, you’ve earned a few things.”

  “A few things?” Mrs. Bonner dropped her chin and stared at him. “Perhaps to Marie Antoinette, God rest her soul, this would be a few things. But there’s no way I could wear all this in a lifetime.” She narrowed her blue eyes. “Are these guilt offerings? A new wardrobe in no way makes up for you reneging on our agreement.”

  “I know that.” This was the one thing he’d done for her that hadn’t been because of guilt. The urge to put his mark on her, even if it was only by clothing her with garments he’d paid for, was strong. He spread the fingers of his left hand and gestured at the room. “You need a new wardrobe, and as I’ve said, you’ve more than earned it.”

  She ran the tip of her finger along the lace neckline of a pale purple silk gown and bit her lip. “Highly impractical. I could never wear such things.”

  Gathering up the dress she admired, he held it to her body. “Practicality isn’t everything.” He wondered at the type of things her husband must have bought her. A clock repair man couldn’t have had much blunt, but with a woman like Mrs. Bonner waiting at home, he must have given her some small trifles. The more serious the woman was, the more Max wanted to lavish her with unserious things. She’d been dry-eyed and stoic at her husband’s funeral, showing a strength Max could respect. But it had been six months since she’d been widowed. Max wanted to see her smile.

  Mrs. Bonner had been without the resources to garb herself in widow’s weeds after the fire. She’d refused Max’s offer of financial help, and her dreadful cousin hadn’t dug within his purse to clothe her appropriately. And for that, Max was grateful. Such a serious woman would be swallowed in all black. He cocked his head. Although, perhaps the paler colors didn’t suit her personality, either.

  Tossing it aside, he plucked up another gown, a deep maroon that reminded him of her hair. “I’ll call up a maid. Why don’t you go try this one on?”

  She fingered the soft fabric. “Who do these belong to? The former proprietress?”

  “They’re yours. I had a modiste make them up.”

  “But …” A tiny furrow appeared between her eyebrows. “How did she create them without knowing my size?”

  Max didn’t need to look. He’d memorized her dimensions by their third meeting. But his eyes were greedy, and he dropped his gaze and ran it up and down her body. “I described you to the modiste.” Every last curve and inch. “She’ll come here to alter anything that needs it.”

  Alterations shouldn’t be necessary, not if the modiste had done her job right. His description of Mrs. Bonner had been thorough. The silly waistcoat nipped in at her middle, and her hips and breasts flared around it. It covered everything yet hid nothing. She was a luscious hourglass that he’d imagined spread out beneath him more nights than not. The hem of her skirt exposed a good two inches of ankle, and that tiny expanse of skin beckoned to him like an invitation. How easy it would be to slide his hands up under her skirts, under the petticoat she wore, stroking along that smooth skin until he found her hot and wet and ready for him.

  He shook his head. His fantasies could wait until he was alone. But the real Mrs. Bonner was just as alluring. She stood toe to toe with him, looking up with eyes that were wide and curious and without a hint of affectation. A lock of her dark auburn hair had come loose and coiled around her neck.

  He couldn’t help himself. Reaching up, he brushed the strand back, his fingertips trailing over her silky skin. The contact was fleeting. As light as a summer breeze.

  It made ev
ery hair on his body stand at attention.

  Her eyes darkened to a night sky. She parted her lips then stopped moving. He didn’t even know if she breathed. They stood there, motionless, as though caught in a moment between time. The air thickened around them, grew heavy with want, and Max swore he could smell her desire.

  He blinked, and time sprang forwards. The stillness broke. Colleen swallowed thickly, her neck undulating with the motion, and he bit back an oath.

  She stepped back and looked at the floor. “I don’t have time for such nonsense. Return all this. Besides, all these clothes would never fit in my wardrobe.”

  “I’ve had two more wardrobes installed in your chambers.”

  Her eyes flared wide. “Two more? Is there even room to sleep in the room anymore?”

  “Of course.” Plenty of room to do a lot of things on that bed. “Why don’t—”

  “You know I can’t accept this.” She laced her fingers together in front of her, her hands resting at the cradle of her hips. Always so proper. “You pay me a salary, and that is enough.”

  “None of this is returnable.” Max had no idea whether he could return the gowns and shoes he’d ordered. And he didn’t want to find out. He shrugged, trying to look casual. “If you don’t want the items, fine. But they will only go into the dustbin.”

  “You wouldn’t.” Her eyes flashed, shining outrage at the thought of such waste.

  Max kept his smile to himself. One of the many delights of such a forthright woman was that she was quite easy to manipulate. And like any man, Max liked to get his own way. And right now, he wanted to see Mrs. Bonner out of her rags and into his clothes.

  “I’ll have the footman hang the gowns in your wardrobes, and if you come across something you don’t want to wear, throw it out.” The new shifts and stays were already in their place. He hadn’t bothered buying her new petticoats. They were out of fashion, and for the life of him he couldn’t see why she wore the thing. There couldn’t be a more useless garment for such an efficient woman.