Sarah cursed herself for not remembering that he had asked for a report. Too late to cook up a likely story now. An abbreviated version of the truth would have to suffice. “Mr. Whitlock was making inquiries in regard to the householder’s new scullery maid.”
Ethan puzzled this for a moment. “Why should a reprobate like Whitlock fret over a mere scullery maid? Why would he concern himself?”
Sarah shrugged. “Perhaps he had some use for her.”
Ethan’s face set in grim lines, and Sarah realized what he must be thinking. As far as Ethan would know, there could be only one purpose for a man like Harold Whitlock to display an interest in a waif in the middle of the night. She could not correct him without betraying Whitlock’s true connection to Araminta, so she remained silent.
He turned to face her and fixed her with a piercing gaze. “Miss Hunt, I do not want you approaching that man under any circumstances. Do you understand?”
A tingle of warmth rushed through her and settled in her chest. “I understand,” she said, avoiding giving agreement.
In the end, it was not Vauxhall Gardens that was their destination, but a street of disreputable houses on Vauxhall Row. She nearly wept with relief when Ethan knocked sharply on the roof to signal their driver to stop, then stepped down and tossed him a coin. He turned to help Sarah, but she ignored his hand and hopped down on her own.
As the coach pulled away, she teased him. “Mr. Travis, do you want people remarking upon your courtesy to a boy?”
He laughed. “Nicely done, Miss Hunt.” He peered into the darkness and whistled softly.
A man stepped out of the alley near the end of the row. One of Ethan’s minions, no doubt. He pointed to the end house and then disappeared into the night. Ethan led her to the corner of Vauxhall Row and Glasshouse Street, where he found a darkened crack between houses.
They waited, Ethan standing close behind her. The heat of his body against her back was comforting. Within moments she forgot about Harold Whitlock and could only think of Ethan’s clean scent, the warmth of his body so close to hers, his strength as evidenced by his utter stillness and the fact that she was surrounded by him. She did not speak, because speaking was against the rules. And anyway, she did not want to break the spell.
She shifted her weight from one foot to another after a quarter of an hour, and Ethan placed his hand on her shoulder, as if to caution her. He leaned forward, his breath a tickle in her ear. “Softly, Sadie. That is not an opium den or a bordello. He cannot be much longer.”
The tickle of his breath fanned her neck and gooseflesh rose in response. What would his lips feel like there? She tilted her head to one side to invite his attention, and heard a soft exhalation of breath along with a muffled curse. He moved around her to block her vision.
“We had better come to an understanding, Miss Hunt. You cannot continue to tempt—”
The door across the street opened and Harold Whitlock rushed out, pulling on his gloves, his hat slightly askew. Sarah heard the sound of a child crying before the door closed completely. Teddy or Benjamin! She lunged forward, but Ethan caught her around the waist. His hand clamped over her mouth as he dragged her back into the shadows.
He whispered in her ear again. “Not so anxious, little one. We are following him, not attacking him. Do you want him to see us?”
She glanced from Whitlock to the house he had just left. She could just make out the address in the darkness. Number 8 Vauxhall Row. As soon as she could win clear of Ethan, she would find Dicken and Sticky Joe and come back. It was now becoming apparent that Mr. Whitlock was moving the children about, never leaving them in one place for long. Any rescue would have to come tonight.
“Damn!” Ethan exclaimed, watching helplessly as Whitlock hailed a passing coach and disappeared in the direction of the bridge. He took several steps into the street, no longer concerned that they’d be seen.
Thunder rumbled overhead and a few drops splattered on the cobblestones as a cold wind blew up from the river. Sarah groaned. She did not relish going home cold and wet, nor climbing to her bedroom window in the rain. “What a wasted night,” she complained, hoping to rid herself of him.
“There are no more coaches. We shall have to find a place to wait the storm out. C’mon,” Ethan ordered, heading down Glasshouse Street away from the river. At the corner, he entered the Black Dog Tavern and approached the publican.
Sarah stood beside him, keeping her head down while her mind whirled out of control. One of the Whitlock children was within her grasp, but she could not get to him. Dicken and Joe would have taken shelter from the storm, so she would have to wait the storm out and look for them later. Oh, pray it would not be too late!
“Ale?” the publican asked.
She lowered her voice as she had practiced. “Naw, gov’ner. I’ll ’ave a whiskey.” She’d never tasted whiskey before, but she knew her brothers partook of it regularly. It seemed a very masculine thing to drink.
Ethan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I do not think—”
“Whiskey it is, lad,” the publican said.
Ethan fixed her with narrowed eyes while speaking to the publican. “And a private room, if you have it.”
The man paused, looking from Ethan to Sarah and back again. “Upstairs to your right. That’s a guinea.”
Ethan slid two coins across the counter, seized the whiskey bottle with one hand and Sarah with the other, and led her up the narrow stairway. He threw the door open to a tiny room with a fireplace along the outer wall, a small table, two chairs and a cot in one corner. Once they were safely shut away, he turned to her with an expression somewhere between amusement and anger.
“Are you mad? You are not supposed to speak unless I tell you. And where did you acquire a taste for whiskey?”
“You are more careless than I,” she accused, still trying to think of a plan to separate from him. “Twice tonight you have given the appearance of having a taste for young boys.”
“One takes one’s pleasures where one can find them,” he snarled. “And do not think your clothing fooled anyone, Sadie.”
“Pleasures!” She gave him a cynical laugh. “Is that what you call it? I have never been able to puzzle that out.” The small room was oppressively hot so she shrugged out of her jacket and threw it over a chair in a reckless gesture that spoke more of her mood than her words. “Seems more like pain to me. A bother at best.”
“Come now, Miss Hunt. Are you telling me you have never taken pleasure from your occupation?”
“’Tis just business,” she covered quickly.
He grinned hugely, as if he were beginning to solve a puzzle. “Have you ever taken pleasure from the act at all?”
Dear Lord! How had they got into this conversation? Sarah drank her whiskey in a single gulp and winced as it burned its way down her throat. “Pleasure is a male concept, Mr. Travis. Any woman who says otherwise is lying.”
Now he guffawed. “Do you think so, Miss Hunt? Care to wager upon it?”
“No, I do not.” She eyed the whiskey bottle on the table. “How would you ever prove your point?”
Ethan walked around her in a wide circle, looking her up and down, as if measuring her for human sacrifice. “Well, well, well,” he chuckled. “Now it begins to make sense. Of course you would deny me pleasure when you have never experienced it yourself.”
“I do not know what you mean,” she muttered, edging toward the table. The whiskey had hit bottom and kindled a toasty little fire in her stomach before seeping downward. One more drink, and then she’d sit before her knees gave out.
“Yes, it is now quite apparent that you do not know what I mean,” he agreed good-naturedly. “So, I think we should level the playing field, Miss Hunt. Would you not agree?”
She shrugged. “How would you propose to do that?”
He laughed again, giving every appearance of being unaccountably pleased with some notion. He took her glass from her hand and filled it to the halfw
ay point. “Easy, Miss Hunt. You will not be needing much more when I am done with you.”
“Oh!” she taunted. “We are quite full of ourselves, are we not?” He reminded her of Andrew when he thought he was going to win some harebrained wager.
“With reason,” he bowed. He drank straight from the bottle. Two swigs, if Sarah counted right.
She watched with the first faint stirrings of misgivings as he hung his hat on one corner of a chair and shrugged out of his coat. He took a pocket watch from his vest pocket and set it on the little table. His gaze never left her as he removed his cravat, unbuttoned his vest and undid the top three buttons of his shirt. When he rolled up his sleeves with the air of someone preparing for a challenging task, a frisson of excitement raced up her spine.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he stepped closer. “I regret that my time is somewhat limited tonight, Miss Hunt, but sufficient time remains to lay the groundwork. Are you ready to begin?”
What amused him so much? “Lay on, Macduff,” she said.
Chortling, Ethan stepped forward, removed her cap and sent it sailing across the room. Next he pulled the pins from her hair and let it fall loose to her waist, fanning it out across her shoulders and back. He captured a single curl and wound it around his finger. “I’ve never seen your hair like this. You should wear it thus more often instead of trying to tame it in a prim little bun.” His head bent to drag a tantalizing kiss down the column of her throat. Then he reached for the buttons of her shirt.
“Hold,” she gasped, covering his hand with her own. “I—”
“Hold? Are you saying, ‘Hold, enough,’ Miss Hunt?”
“No, I…yes. I mean, I—”
He gave her a slow, honeyed smile that never failed to bring her up short and then placed her hand upon his shoulder. “I know what you are going to say. Lay on, MacTravis!”
The whiskey had hit bottom and she giggled in spite of herself. “Macduff,” she corrected. She had never seen Ethan in a playful mood before, and it charmed her so completely that she was not quite certain how to deal with him. “But I—”
“Did not bring any money? That’s quite all right, Miss Hunt. There’ll be no charge tonight.”
“Charge?”
“For my services,” he explained. In a quick movement, he had the buttons of her shirt undone to the waist. He raised his eyebrows when he saw the bindings over her breasts but it did not deter him for long. He removed the pin and pulled the binding away with a small tug.
Astounded, Sarah opened her mouth to protest just as Ethan’s mouth came down to cover it. He pulled her against his broad, warm chest and cupped the back of her head. She grew dizzy when his tongue moved along the line of her lips.
“You taste of whiskey, Sadie,” he murmured, “but you are twice as potent.”
She could not catch her breath, nor did she want to. What she wanted was for that kiss to go on forever. She did not want to draw breath unless it came from Ethan. She did not want to step away if it meant she would be deprived of the support and warmth of his arms.
He bent slightly and lifted her off her feet. She clung to him, tangling her fingers in his hair, holding his mouth to hers. She did not want this moment—this one perfect moment—to end. He must have sensed her fascination because he stilled, giving exquisite attention to the kiss.
When, a moment later, she found herself reclining on the cot, she fought a surge of panic. She pushed against his chest, trying to dislodge him. “No! No, I told you I will not—”
“Do you not understand, sweet Sadie? I know you will not serve me, but I intend to serve you. Tonight I will add to your education. You will learn pleasure.”
“I do not want to learn,” she gasped.
“You are lying, Sadie. Your every response tells a different story. And the most interesting element is this—you do not yet know what you want. You will not know that until I am finished here tonight. Only then will I trust you to tell me how much is enough.”
He kissed her again, and his warm, callused hand slid past the opening of her shirt. His fingers stroked her breasts and circled her nipples and she caught her breath with a groan. Her eyelids fluttered and she closed them, the better to experience the sensation. Her mind returned to the moment, in front of the looking glass, when she had touched herself and wondered what Ethan’s touch would do to her. Now she knew.
Ah, no terror here. No pain. Only delight. Could he be right? Could there be pleasure in this?
“Very nice, Sadie. Cannot say I’ve ever encountered better,” he praised.
Better what? she wondered. Breasts? Reactions to his touch? Or a better kiss?
He lowered his head to nuzzle her neck and found a spot at the base of her throat that made her moan when he kissed it. He lingered there with patient attention.
“Christ,” he sighed after a long moment, his hot breath in her ear causing her to shudder. “You defy logic, madam. It is not as if you are frigid, or slow to take fire. You respond as sweetly as an angel. I cannot believe no man has taken the proper time with you. Have you ever allowed it?”
“N-no,” she confessed.
“Then you should learn, my dear. You do not yet understand your own power,” he said. He lifted his head to look down into her eyes. “Tonight, Sadie, you become a woman in full.”
A log fell in the fireplace and crackled as it adjusted to a new position in the grate. He smiled at her little start of surprise. “The door is locked, sweetling. We will not be disturbed. May I undress you?”
“No!” She was certain she could go no further than her unbuttoned shirt.
“Too vulnerable, eh? No matter, I can do this without undressing you.” He nibbled her earlobe and his palm rubbed over her tender areola.
“You can…do what?”
But it really did not matter. By now, she would have let him do anything he wanted. She was burning for his touch. She was arching against his hand like a kitten to its master. And she was breathless with anticipation for his next move.
“Mmm,” he intoned as his head moved lower, his stubble rasping against the tender flesh of her chest as he kissed and licked his way toward her breasts. “You even taste sweet, Sadie. Like the lilacs you smell of.”
Then his mouth covered her breast and his teeth scraped against the hardened nipple, causing her to shiver with exquisite sensitivity. Fire licked through her veins and she whimpered in a voice she scarcely recognized as her own. This was beyond anything she had ever imagined! Shocked, she heard herself say, “Yes!”
“Yes,” he affirmed, his lips moving on her skin. “Talk, Sadie. Tell me what you like, what you want.”
He appeared to know the answer to that better than she. There were no words she could think of to tell him what she wanted. She only knew one. “More,” she moaned.
The rumble of his laugh vibrated along her nerves. “I shall trust you to tell me when you’ve had enough.”
She ran her fingers through his hair again and curved downward to kiss the shining cap of chestnut brown, then slipped one hand beneath his shirt and glided it across his back. His breath caught on a choke and he jerked back from her touch.
“No, Sadie. Not tonight. Do not encourage me or I will forget my promise. Lie back, sweetling, and open to me. That is all I want from you tonight.”
His hand skimmed her belly and unfastened the waistband of her brother’s trousers, folding the sides back to form a wide V ending just above her nether hair. Something deep inside her fluttered to break free and ached for deeper contact. He stroked her from her navel to the opening of the trousers with the back of his hand, his knuckles giving a deeper pressure.
She shuddered and arched, catching her lower lip between her teeth. “M-Mr. Travis, I…”
“Ethan,” he corrected.
“Ethan,” she repeated, her mind going blank when he gave attention to one firmed nipple.
“What, little one?”
She gasped as two fingers found th
eir way past the V and curved over her mons. Oh, yes! That was what she wanted! That was the touch she’d been craving. How could he have known that? Her hips arched and tilted to give him better access. “Yes,” she moaned.
“Yes?” he asked. “Yes what, Sadie? What do you want?”
“I…do not…know.”
“Then ’tis a good thing that I do,” he chortled, nuzzling her breasts.
She was panting now, truly unable to catch her breath. Coherent thought kept escaping with his every move. Each time she gathered the resources to be shocked, to stop him, he went a step further and she could not think of anything but how sensitive and strong his hands were, how hot his lips, how terrified she was, yet how safe and cherished he made her feel.
None of what Ethan did bore any resemblance to what Farmingdale and the others had done. None of the gentleness and consideration shown by this man had been evidenced on that long-ago night. And, her feeble protestations aside, she knew she could stop Ethan if she became desperate to do so.
She desperately did not want him to stop. In fact, when his hand cupped her again and two fingers stroked past the exquisitely sensitive little nubbin to make a shallow entry, she uttered an involuntary sound like a keening animal and twisted toward him.
He groaned. “You are ripe and ready, dear Sadie. God! You are so hot and tight.” He eased his fingers into her again, and then out, clearly waiting for her response.
She gave it in the form of an angry squeal as she thrust toward him again, seeking to find and deepen the contact.
Both of his hands skimmed her trousers down over her hips to her knees. He cupped her buttocks and his head went down to circle her naval with his tongue. She gripped handfuls of his dark hair, frantic to hold on to something beside the edge of the cot. The curls lying against his forehead and neck were damp, as if he was under a great strain.
“You are close, Sadie. So close. Breathe deep and let me guide you.”
Saving Sarah Page 10