by Robyn DeHart
It sounded foolish coming out of her mouth in comparison to what he’d shared with her. When he didn’t say anything, she continued. “But this, lying here with you, this would definitely be my darkest secret. It’s rather scandalous.”
“Your mother is wrong. You are not wasting your time in school. Someday you will be an excellent doctor. Men are a waste of your time. You’d be hard-pressed to find one who deserved you,” he said.
“I don’t think you’re a waste of my time.” Wrapped up in the quilt and then snuggled beneath the coverlet, Anna felt as if she were constricted by the blanket rather than rolled in warmth. She squirmed out of the first quilt and allowed it to drop to the floor beside the bed. The coverlet touched against her naked flesh, reminding her how very scandalous this situation was, lying here with Drew, both of them without clothes. “You asked me once if I’d ever believed you to be the killer. I didn’t. Though I didn’t know you, I never thought you were him.”
She turned on her side, facing him. She ran one finger along the rounded muscle of his shoulder. “Did you know that this is called the deltoid?”
“Is it now?” he asked.
“Indeed. And this”—she trailed her finger down over his chest—“this is the pectoralis major. I can’t help but notice that you have a perfectly toned physique for studying muscles. That’s my professional opinion, as a future physician.” Not as a wanton woman who suddenly and inexplicably wanted to rub herself all over his perfectly toned physique. She was thankful for the darkness so he couldn’t see her blush and the lust that no doubt shimmered in her eyes.
“Perhaps I could model for your fellow students,” he suggested.
“No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“And why is that?”
“I’m not so certain I want my fellow students gawking at you,” she said. “I prefer to keep this particular knowledge about your body all to myself.”
“Greedy,” he said with a chuckle. In the next moment he had taken hold of both of her arms to hold her to him, then he lowered his mouth down on hers. He kissed her passionately, slowly, seductively.
Then his mouth found her throat, her collarbone. He nibbled and kissed. Her head fell back, pressing into the mattress. She relished the feel of his lips.
“I don’t believe I finished my anatomy lesson,” she said.
“This is better. Trust me.”
His rich voice caressed her in the darkness, shrouding them in intimacy. This was the way husbands and wives spoke to one another. Quiet murmurs in bed with the night’s darkness surrounding them. Whispers between lovers.
His body cradled up against hers. His arm snaked around her center, laying heavy on her far-too-sensitive, much-too-aware flesh. Reminding her of her nakedness. This must have been how Eve had felt in the Garden of Eden. The heat from his arm resting against her abdomen permeated the thin coverlet.
Desire coursed through her, making her focus on his every breath—every inhale and then the slow warm exhale of air that fluttered over her skin. His fingertips gently rubbed across her abdomen. Desire followed his every touch as if he were a match and she the flame.
She wanted him. Wanted him to touch her, kiss her, make love to her. She wanted him more than she’d ever desired anything else in her life. Tonight might be the only night she could have him.
She shifted her body, snuggling closer to him, and felt his erection pressing against her leg. Meanwhile, his hand grew bolder, his palm flattening against her stomach. His other hand dipped lower to rest on her thigh. Her thigh, which now lay bare of the coverlet. When had that happened? Certainly she would have felt him inching the fabric away from her skin.
His moved from her thigh down her leg, coiling desire through her veins. She longed to open herself to him. To fall onto her back and part her legs and urge him to come to her. But she held her ground. If he wanted her, he would ask for what he desired. She would not deny him.
He leaned over her and kissed her then. This was not a kiss that they’d shared before. Tonight he devoured her. His lips were hot and hard against her own, and when his tongue invaded her mouth, she met him stroke for stroke. She clung to his firm shoulders, loving the play of the muscles beneath her fingers.
He took with his kiss, demanded, and her body seemed to react on its own. Something was definitely happening inside of her.
And that was the last coherent thought Anna had as Drew advanced the seduction. She vaguely noticed when he removed the remaining covers between them. But then he continued to kiss her, his hard body melding against hers, and she forgot everything else. She was no longer cold, the gooseflesh had long since disappeared and, in its place, heat and fire skimmed across her skin.
His warm palm against her waist made her skin feel alive, as if her very flesh shimmered with sensation. His other hand slid up her stomach to cup her breast. Already her nipples were hard, tight with need. Moisture pooled between her legs, but she lay still. She wanted to hear that he wanted her.
His hand at her breast cupped and kneaded the tender flesh. He tweaked her nipple, rolling it between his fingers. She arched into him. He nibbled at her shoulder, and pressed his erection against her sex, but he made no move to enter her. She knew precisely how it worked, the coupling between a man and a woman. And she knew that no matter how delicious the current sensations he elicited, there was more to come.
His hand slid from her waist down the front of her body. His fingers threaded through the curls at the juncture of her thighs, one fingertip brushing across the tender bud hidden within her folds. She parted her legs.
Drew pulled her to him and kissed her again, this time slower and with more tenderness. The hairs along his legs and torso tickled her own flesh every time he moved over her.
His kisses continued. And desire continued to soar through her body. So new were the experiences that Anna reveled in each one, every touch, every breath, every kiss.
He continued to move his hand over her sex. As if he’d shot electricity through her body, jolts of pleasure tingled over her. She jerked beneath this touch. But he continued his exploration until he’d plunged a finger inside her. She cried out again.
He loomed over her—large, handsome and passionate. She could not see the features of his face, but knew his amber eyes would have darkened a shade. His lips brushed across hers. His tongue plunged between her teeth in a greedy and hot kiss. She held nothing back as she kissed him in return, cupping his face in her hands. They continued kissing, giving and taking from one another. His hands roamed all over her body, caressing and tantalizing wherever they touched.
His mouth left hers, then covered the tip of her breast. Hot and wet, he suckled until she thought she would go mad with desire. But he gave her no relief. Instead he moved to the other breast to continue his sweet torture.
Anna grabbed handfuls of the coverlets and clenched them at her sides. He kissed his way down her torso, barely stopping over the center of her so that she could feel the hint of his warm breath. She shivered. Then his hot mouth was on her thigh, nibbling and kissing the tender flesh. One, then the other, he kissed and teased. She bucked against the bed, knowing she needed relief and knowing only he could give it to her.
Her body was ready for him, she knew that. Thrills shimmied through her stomach when she felt him, hard and warm, settled between her thighs. Instinctively she moved her legs, pulling them up and then wrapping them around his body.
“Make love to me,” she whispered.
“I can’t.” He braced himself up on his arms so that he looked down at her. The spiraling climax that she knew had been building inside of her dissolved. “I want to—”
“Then do it. I want you to.” She tightened her legs, tried to pull him to her.
“There are things you don’t know about me, Anna,” Drew said.
“I’m certain there are things you d
on’t know about me, too.”
“No, I mean important things. Information about me that will likely change the way you see me.”
“That is doubtful. Unless you truly did kill those girls,” she said in jest.
“I’m being quite serious, Anna.” Drew’s features had darkened and his jaw ticked with tiny pulses as he clenched and relaxed his muscles.
“Are you married?” she asked.
“What? No, of course not.” He moved off of her, sat on the edge of the bed. “You know me as the third-born son to the Duke of Carrington, and that is mostly true, but my mother is not the Dowager Duchess.” He leveled his gaze on her. “Anna, I’m a bastard.”
She was quiet for a moment, waiting for him to reveal whatever else he wanted to tell her. But he said nothing more.
“Is that all?” she asked.
He turned to face her. “Is that not enough?”
“It doesn’t change anything, Drew. I care not a whit who your parents were.” She swallowed hard. “I want you, not your lineage.”
“Anna, it changes everything. I can never marry you. With this”—he motioned to the bed—“I would destroy your reputation.”
She shook her head. “We’ve already established that my reputation means very little. I had not expected to find anyone to marry me. No one has ever shown any interest. I have been perfectly content to finish medical school, become a doctor and live alone. And for the record, I can’t marry the son of a duke. It would take up far too much time away from my medical practice.”
“Anna, I am being quite serious.”
“I know you are. I also want you to know that this doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
He was silent for a moment. “What you feel for me is fleeting. Nothing more than camaraderie and physical desire. It will fade. You shall forget about me when this investigation is over. Then you can find a nice man to marry.”
“What if I don’t want anyone else?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Her question went unanswered.
A bastard? What the devil was he talking about? He was the son of the late Duke of Carrington, brother to the current. She’d heard plenty about Drew, rumors and such, but never anything about him being a bastard. As far as she knew his birthright had never been questioned. It was a peculiar thing to say and, if he was being dishonest, it was the very worst excuse to get out of touching her. He could have simply said that he didn’t want her. It would have stung, but perhaps not as much as him making up an excuse to get away from her. But it was not like Drew to be dishonest, and she’d seen, firsthand, how his mother treated him.
The very worst part about all of this, though, was the fact that she’d had the unfortunate realization that she had already fallen in love with Drew Foster. He was not the sort of man her mother would have wished for her, but certainly her matriarch would be pleased that Anna was finally showing an interest in a man.
He’d lain back down on the bed, but far enough away that no part of his body touched hers. His arms were bracketed under his head, providing him with a makeshift pillow, and as best she could tell, he’d closed his eyes. He was done talking, and by all indications, he was done with her for the night.
But she wanted him. Her body still hummed with desire and pleasure from the way he’d touched her. His hands and mouth had done devilish things to her. Once the investigation was over, they would go their separate ways. She knew that now and she tried desperately to not allow the sadness at that thought to swallow her whole.
She could manage missing Drew when this was over, but tonight, she wanted him. All of him. And she wanted to give him all of her. Certainly he could allow her to bestow her virtue upon the man of her choice. It was hers to give. So without another thought she rolled onto him. She kissed his chest, his neck, his jawline.
“This is what I want, dammit,” she said. “You are who I want. I’m not asking for marriage or anything more than this night, in this bed.”
He groaned, ran his hands over her back. She kissed him, held nothing back, to show him precisely how much she wanted him. She hadn’t covered herself again, so she let her body rub against him.
“Christ, Anna, there’s only so much temptation a man can take.”
With one swift movement he rolled them over. He groaned, then thrust into her body. There was a pinch of pain as her body took him in, but as he began to move, the delicious sensations started to build. He nibbled at her neck and her collarbone as he moved within her, and she kept her legs where they were, tightened around his waist. Over and over, he pushed in and out, and the pleasure built and built until she thought she would go mad from it. He slipped his finger in between them, but this time he found the nub hidden between her folds.
She sucked in a breath as he ran his finger against her, all the while thrusting. Oh. Oh. Yes. Her breathing was labored, and perspiration slid between her breasts and down her neck.
And then she was lost. His finger flicked one more time, and pleasure exploded within her, creating wave after wave of sensations she’d never felt before. Pleasure fractured inside of her, exploding from her center and rocketing down all of her limbs. She threaded her fingers through his hair and held on as he took her from one height to another.
Oh yes!
Then she felt Drew’s release as he fell onto her. Their labored breathing was the only sound. He rolled off of her and pulled her tight against his body, his chest against her back. He placed a gentle kiss on her shoulder.
She smiled. No matter what happened once they returned to London, she’d always have this night.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It was time to return to London. That fool, his student, was nothing more than an idiot. The Ripper had returned because it was time for the real lessons to begin. Damned fool had carved a message in the whore’s chest. The police would think the message for them, but the Ripper knew the truth. That bastard was trying to take credit for Jack’s work. That simply would not do. He was far too sloppy, too uncontrolled to take the fall for Jack the Ripper.
The carriage rolled down the familiar streets and he knew that he was home. His injury had healed, for the most part, though the arm still ached him when the weather became too damp, which was all the bloody time in Scotland.
The dark streets outside his carriage window passed by with familiar scenes. Vendor carts with people selling their wares: baked breads, roasted meats, hand-carved trinkets. Men with hats and canes walking down the sidewalk. Carriages and horses clip-clopping down the street. This was his London. And it was time to reclaim it.
It wasn’t time to find a whore yet. It was far too early in the evening; too many potential witnesses were on the street. But it would be time soon. He’d wait things out in one of the pubs. Listen to the talk, hear what people were saying about his student.
When the Ripper stepped into the pub he’d chosen, he took a table against the wall. The room was dark, so it was easy to blend in. The barmaid came over to him and took his order, but the bitch knew better than to flirt with him. He’d been here before and he’d told her not to waste such pathetic efforts on him. He sipped the foul ale for the better part of an hour, listening to the people around him talk. A few mentioned the recent murders and were foolish enough to believe they were by his hand.
Imagine Jack the Ripper being that slipshod, that crude. It was ridiculous.
When he’d waited long enough, he dropped some coins on the table, then left the pub. It was time to find the whore. He’d need to be patient, pick the right one. If he were to teach his student a lesson, then the Ripper needed to be able to take his time. Spend some time cutting her just right.
In order to find the right one, he walked the darkened streets for the better part of an hour. And then he found her, standing in the doorway of her flat at the end of Barker Street. He held out a handful of coin and she opened the door be
hind her and gave him entrance. It was a tiny room, with only a wardrobe and a bed in the corner. One lantern burned on a makeshift bedside table. She was tidy, he’d give her that. But a whore was a whore—isn’t that what his father had always said?
She came up to him and rubbed her hands up his chest, tried to remove his greatcoat, but he would have none of it. He shoved her down on the bed and her eyes widened, then she gave him a naughty smile.
“You like it rough, then?” she asked. She tilted her neck back, closed her eyes. “Do your worst.”
They were the last words she said to him. His blade sliced into her throat as he cut into her. Her eyes never reopened. Her blood spattered up to the ceiling, on the walls around her, on the paper she had covering the tiny window, across his face. But there would be time to clean himself up.
He rarely knew his girls’ names until their stories made it into the newspapers. So until then she would merely be known as the girl from Barker Street. He cut off her dress, ripped off her worn wool stockings until she lay on the bed bloody and naked. Then he cut her. Everywhere.
When he was done with her no one would recognize her. But they’d know who’d done this. They’d know that the Ripper was finally back.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Drew and Anna returned to London the following day. Neither had discussed their lovemaking, and he hadn’t touched her again. Being with her had been more than he’d imagined. She was as passionate and determined in her lovemaking as she was outside of the bedroom. He’d never had a chance at resisting her.
He knew what he had to do and he hated it for her, but marriage was the only option. He refused to bed her and then desert her. Not only that, but certainly she knew that she could already be carrying his child. He might be a bastard by birth, but he wouldn’t behave as such. He did have a sense of honor. And no child of his would ever be born outside of the confines of marriage.