Between the Devil and Desire

by Lorraine Heath

  Two plush chairs were set on either side of the window, on both sides of the car. While they waited at the station, the curtains were drawn. Olivia took one chair, while Jack—wearing a red waistcoat that matched the décor of the car—sat in the other with Henry in his lap. Ida sat at the other window.

  Jack looked so handsome, but then he always did. She was struck by how natural it seemed for Henry to be in his lap. Her son had no reservations whatsoever concerning his guardian. Jack had effectively earned his trust—but then he’d also earned hers. With him, at that moment, she felt more like a family than she’d ever felt with Lovingdon.

  Jack lifted the edge of the curtain and peered out. “Pockets ripe for pilfering. People are in a hurry, not paying attention, more interested in the railway and securing a seat. Ah, the pockets I could have picked if the railway expansion had taken place when I was a lad.”

  “Of course you no longer pick pockets because you realized it was the wrong thing to do,” Olivia pointed out.

  “No, I don’t—”

  She cleared her throat. His brows drawn together, he looked at her, then down at Henry, who was watching him with rapt attention. Jack cleared his throat. “You’re quite right. I realized it was wrong.”

  “Will you teach me?” Henry asked.

  Olivia was amazed by how greatly reduced Henry’s stammering problem was of late. She didn’t know whether to attribute it to the dog or Jack. Maybe a little of both.

  “No, lad. As your mum said, it’s wrong. However, I can teach you to have nimble fingers. Never know when they might come in handy.”

  Before Olivia could respond, the train whistle blew and the car was being pulled over the tracks. Jack returned his attention to the world beyond the window. It wasn’t long before he pulled the curtain back, and Olivia could see that the platform was no longer in sight. The train was chugging along.

  Henry scrambled up, sitting on his knees on Jack’s thighs, his nose pressed to the window. He’d made several journeys in the coach to the family estate. He hadn’t taken much interest in the scenery then. Something about the train fascinated him.

  “It’s a different view of London,” Jack said.

  “I can’t believe you’ve never left the city,” Olivia told him.

  “I know London. I’m comfortable there. Never saw any reason to leave.”

  “Why now?”

  “Thought Henry might like to drive a train.”

  Henry gasped and shifted around to face Jack. “I can drive it?”

  “During one of the stops I’ll take you down to the locomotive. The engineer, I think he’s called, is expecting you.”

  “Isn’t he a bit young for this?” Olivia asked.

  “He’ll be fine. Ida will be with him, and the engineer will keep his hands steady.”

  “I can’t believe he’d allow a child—”

  He winked at her. “Livy, there’s nothing a few well placed coins can’t buy.”

  “And where will you be?”

  “I’m going to come back and watch the scenery with you.”

  Jack couldn’t help but think it was strange to look out the window and see nothing except green countryside. No houses, no buildings, no black, no grime. He hadn’t expected to find it pleasing. A part of him had even been anxious about leaving behind what he knew. Not that he was willing to admit that to anyone except himself. He’d not known what awaited them on this journey. He’d only known he wanted to take it.

  The whistle blew and the train began to slow.

  “I can see the next platform coming up,” Livy said.

  “All right, then,” Jack said. He stood up with Henry holding on like some sort of clinging ivy. “I’ll be back. Come on, Ida.”

  “Are you sure this is safe?” Livy asked.

  “Perfectly.”

  Rising, she pressed a kiss to Henry’s cheek, bringing her sweet scent closer to Jack. “Be a good boy, Henry.”

  “I will.”

  Jack stepped onto the platform, holding the door for Ida. They walked past the open car where the poorest traveled for a penny a mile, exposed to the elements. Farther up, servants were scurrying out of the second-class cars to see to the needs of those they served, who were sitting in the first-class cars.

  “It’s generous of you to allow me to travel in your car, sir,” Ida said.

  “Nonsense, I don’t believe in treating those who work for me as less than me.”

  “I have to say, sir, the servants are often saying they’ve never worked for anyone finer.”

  “Well, we’ll see what you have to say after you’ve ridden in the locomotive.”

  “I’m actually lookin’ forward to it, sir. Can’t wait to tell me brothers.”

  Jack spotted the engineer waiting for them beside the locomotive. The man skimmed his fingers over his dark mustache as though to make certain he was tidy.

  “Mr. Gurney, this is the Duke of Lovingdon.”

  The man bowed slightly. “Your Grace, are you ready to drive my train?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “His nanny, Ida, will be staying with him.”

  He tipped his hat. “Miss.”

  “Sir.”

  Jack didn’t think he’d ever seen Ida blush. “I’ll come back for the lad at the next station.”

  “Very good, sir,” Mr. Gurney said.

  Jack stepped onto the locomotive, carrying Henry on board and watching his eyes widen. The expense of the railway car and paying for this extra privilege had seemed frivolous at the time, but now Jack thought it was well worth it.

  As he walked back to his private railway car, he slipped a crown into a pocket here and there. Yes, nimble fingers had their uses. His only regret was that he wouldn’t be near to see the delight on the faces when the people discovered the unexpected coin.

  He opened the door to his car, stepped in, and grinned at the sight of Olivia sitting on the couch. “That’s exactly where I pictured you when I took possession of the car.”

  He tossed his jacket onto the chair, began unbuttoning his waistcoat.

  “What are you doing?” Livy asked.

  “Taking advantage of the time we’ll have alone before the next stop.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’ve never been more serious in my life.” He tossed the cravat onto the chair, barely noticing when it slid to the carpeted floor.

  The whistle sounded, and the train began to rock over the tracks.

  “I suppose a kiss or two—” she began.

  “I’ve told you before, Livy, I’m not a man who settles for only a kiss.”

  “But to…here?”

  “No one can see in. No one will hear us. It’s our own little room. It’s just on a railway track.”

  “But it’s all bumpy.”

  “Which might make it all the more fun.” Chuckling, he moved in and began to nibble on her ear. “I don’t know why you’re arguing. You know you want to do it.”

  “I do,” she sighed. “I do, but my clothing—”

  His two favorite words in all the world. “No one will know.”

  He couldn’t believe he’d actually decided that first night that she had too many buttons to bother with. Considering the delectable body those buttons hid, they were well worth the trouble, and his nimble fingers were quick to get them all undone. He didn’t plan to remove all her clothes, because he didn’t think they had time for that. But there was time to loosen various ribbons so he could fill his hand with her breast, scraping his thumb over the dark nipple. He placed his mouth over hers, delighted by the eagerness with which her lips parted and her tongue parried with his.

  As he urged her down on the couch, it occurred to him that her fingers had become almost as nimble as his. He’d not noticed his buttons coming undone until she was shoving his shirt back off his shoulders.

  “We don’t have time for everything to go, sweetheart,” he murmured, before sipping at her mouth once again. Easing his hand down, he wo
rked up her skirt until it was bunched around her hips. He skimmed his fingers along her thigh, relishing the velvety feel. He took his hand higher, to where the warmth waited for him.

  Moaning, she writhed beneath him. He unbuttoned his trousers, freed himself with a groan, and eased himself closer to heaven.

  His clothes were less of a deterrent for her, and he felt her hands skimming along his skin. No woman had ever touched him as she did—as though she appreciated every inch of him. One night she’d kissed him from his big, ugly feet to a scar on his cheek—the faint remnant of the morning she’d attacked him with a poker. No matter where she began kissing him, she always stopped there, and he wondered if it would always be her final destination, a reminder of a time when trust between them hadn’t come easily—when he’d even discouraged it.

  He couldn’t remember now why he’d been so reluctant to encourage anything between them. In some ways, it seemed years ago, in others only a few hours ago. With all her ticking clocks, time should have been the one thing between them that remained steady, but everything seemed to want to change.

  His opinion of her, his desire for her.

  He wasn’t normally an impatient man. He’d learned on the streets that more and greater rewards came with patience, but he’d hardly been able to wait until he could take Henry and Ida to the locomotive. Now he was with Livy, alone, and again the time was ticking away.

  She was begging him to take her. His modest Livy, his proper Livy, was urging him toward completion. There was barely room on this couch. He had to wrap her legs around his waist, place one foot on the floor to give himself leverage so he could get the angle he needed, then he was plunging inside her, feeling the hot, silky wetness of her surrounding him.

  He rode her hard, the motion of the train whispering at the back of his mind, giving him a cadence that he matched. For some reason, he thought of the people in the open railway car. He covered Livy’s mouth, absorbing her scream as her body tightened, pulsed, and throbbed around him. It was all he needed. His body bucked, the pleasure intense, almost painful. It was always more with her, more than he’d ever had, ever known.

  Everything with her was different. Everything was better.

  As he buried his face in the curve of her neck and shoulder, he heard the train whistle signaling they’d soon be arriving at the next stop. “Damn.”

  Livy’s hand rested against his cheek, limp as though all energy had been drained from her. “I’m not certain if this was a very good or a very bad idea.”

  He lifted himself up, then dipped down to buss a quick kiss over her lips. “A good idea.”

  Olivia sat on a blanket, watching as Henry—barefoot—darted into the sea up to his ankles and darted out again, with Ida keeping a close watch on him.

  “We should have brought Pippin,” she said.

  “We will next time,” Jack said. He was stretched out on his side, raised up on an elbow, enjoying a glass of wine. They’d finished their picnic earlier and he was determined they not take any wine back home. “Why didn’t you want him to have a dog?”

  She picked at the blanket. “When I was a young girl, about ten, I had a puppy. I loved it so much. One morning I woke up and it was dead. I was inconsolable. I always suspected my brother had poisoned it.”

  “Avendale?”

  “Yes. Of course, he wasn’t Avendale then. He was a bit of a bully, though. I can’t say I was particularly sad when he died. Still I cried. I don’t do well when things die.” She glanced over at him. “Since we’re asking personal questions, why do you care so much for money?”

  “Asking about your dog didn’t seem as personal.”

  “Money is everything to you,” she insisted.

  “Not everything, otherwise, I wouldn’t have the private car so we could get away for a bit.”

  “But very, very important.”

  “Absolutely. For those of us who grew up without it, it is very important indeed. It allows you to protect yourself from those who would do you harm.”

  “Who would harm you?”

  He swirled the wine in his glass. “No one anymore.” He glanced toward the sea where Henry was now trying to splash water on Ida, who merely laughed. “Did his father give him much attention?”

  “Not really. Oh, he thanked me on the day he was born, for giving him an heir, but now I realize he was probably thanking me because he’d no longer have to come to my bed.”

  He jerked his head around. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I think I do, yes. In retrospect, I can see that he was a very sad man.”

  “I thought the same thing the first time I met him.”

  She perked up at that bit of news. “At your club?”

  Reaching out, he took her hand, pressed a kiss to her fingers. “No, years ago. I met him in the Earl of Claybourne’s garden. I think they were friends and he was visiting.”

  “I think he knew all the lords.”

  “That’s not uncommon, is it?”

  “No, not really. What did you talk about?”

  “I was thinking of leaving Claybourne’s, striking out on my own. He convinced me not to.”

  “Why were you thinking of leaving?”

  “The old gent, Luke’s grandfather, demanded perfection. He was a hard taskmaster, harder than Feagan ever was. I didn’t appreciate what he was teaching me at the time. And I suspect Henry will not appreciate what I’m teaching him.”

  She glanced toward her son. “To frolic and play?”

  “To take from life what you can, while you can.”

  She looked back at Jack and brushed the hair off his brow. “I think that’s an admirable philosophy.”

  “Now you find something about me admirable? I daresay hell will be naught but ice by the time I get there.”

  She leaned toward him and whispered, “Will Henry be driving the train on the way back?”

  He gave her a slow, sensual smile. “I imagine something can be arranged.”

  Chapter 20

  “I like this gown,” Jack said, nibbling on Livy’s ear in the library. “Can hardly wait to divest you of it.”

  As soon as they finished dinner, he would. It had been nearly a week since they’d traveled on the railway, and while she wore black during the day, each evening before dinner she surprised him with a different gown. While he always awaited her arrival with anticipation, he took additional pleasure in seeing her dressed in something other than mourning clothes. Tonight it was red. She was breathtaking in red. He was convinced that in the future, she should purchase clothing only in that shade. He trailed his mouth along the side of her throat. She moaned, a lingering sound that threatened to weaken his resolve to allow her to wear the gown at least through dinner.

  “I think the servants are beginning to talk,” she murmured.

  “I pay them enough that they won’t utter a single word, not even to each other.” He’d have never before considered paying to keep wagging tongues silent, but a proper perception was so important to her. Amazing how what was important to her was becoming increasingly important to him.

  She leaned back. “We’ve not been very discreet.”

  “I beg to differ. All they know is that in the evenings you don’t parade around in black. I haven’t been chasing you around the residence, though God knows that idea has merit. Maybe I won’t go to the club tonight, and after the servants are asleep—”

  She slapped his shoulder. “I’m serious, Jack. What began as one night of indiscretion has grown into something that consumes me. I’m hardly acting the widow.”

  “In public you do. In private, it’s no one’s damned business.”

  She glided her fingers lovingly over the faint scar on his cheek. “I suppose I just worry that Lovingdon deserves better from me in death.”

  “And you deserved better from him in life. The man failed to appreciate you.” He ran his mouth along her bare shoulder. “You must admit that is not one of my failings.”

  Her soft w
himper urged him on. There was no hope for it. He couldn’t last until after dinner. Lifting her, he sat her on the desk.

  “What are you doing?” she asked breathily, her arms wrapped around his shoulders. “We’ll be called in to dinner soon.”

  “I have a hunger for something else,” he growled. “I think I’ll inform Brittles we’re not dining this evening. We shall eat in bed later. How does that sound?”

  “Lovely. Absolutely—”

  A rap sounded on the door. She released a tiny screech, shoved him so hard while sliding off the desk that he nearly stumbled over his feet to land on his backside. He grabbed her waist to steady them both.

  “Relax,” he ordered.

  “Who can it be? It’s too early for dinner.”

  “I haven’t a clue.” He released her, watching in amusement as she righted herself, but even righted she looked like a woman who had been in the midst of being ravished. He decided for her comfort not to mention that. How things had changed since that first night when he’d taken delight in unsettling her.

  She licked her lips and angled her chin. “All right.”

  Jack turned to the door. “Come in.”

  Brittles opened the door. “Lord Briarwood—”

  “I’ve been made to wait long enough,” the man roared as he barged into the room before Brittles could make the proper announcement.

  Brittles appeared alarmed. Jack waved him off. With a nod, Brittles retreated, closing the door behind him.

  Briarwood sneered at Olivia. “I should have known he’d turn you into his whore.”

  Jack’s fist landed on Briarwood’s jaw with a satisfying thud that sent the man sprawling over the carpet. “I’d watch my tongue if I were you.”

  Rubbing his jaw, Briarwood glared up at him. “Yes, I’m well aware of your reputation for guarding those who work for you.”

  “You say that as though it’s a fault,” Olivia snapped.

  “He is a scoundrel, his morals questionable.” He staggered to his feet and barreled around Jack until he was standing directly in front of Olivia. “He seeks to bring everyone down to his level. Look at you. You are in mourning, and you look as though you should be walking the streets.”