“I can’t thank you enough for saving me,” Abigail said, doing her best to keep her composure and not stare at the blood staining his shirt.
“It was nothin’, miss. Didn’t really think he’d use that poker. Least not on me.” He pressed the handkerchief Weston had given him on his injury.
“Hubert, I believe I told you to stay back. You’re only supposed to gather information, remember?” Stephen asked. “Not put yourself in danger.”
“I’ll remember that from now on, my lord,” Hubert said, his smile still in place.
“Can you walk?” Stephen asked the pair of them.
Hubert nodded.
Abigail did so as well, hoping her legs would hold her. Now that everything had quieted, she realized her entire body ached. But she was grateful to be alive and out of Simmons’ clutches.
“Keep your hat on and your head down,” Stephen told her. “I’d rather polite society didn’t hear of one of its own brawling in the street.” He looked at Hubert. “Let us take you to my home and send for the doctor.”
“Excellent notion,” Lord Weston said, then supported Hubert’s elbow and led the way toward the carriage. “You’ll have quite the story to tell the other lads, won’t you? Say, what is that building over there?”
Lord Weston continued to chat about random topics Abigail thought strange until she realized he was trying to keep Hubert’s mind off his wound.
Luckily for Abigail, it worked for her as well.
“You and I are going to have a long discussion once we see to Hubert.” The grim set of Stephen’s mouth filled her with dread.
“Ah...I believe my stepmother is expecting me soon.” Abigail latched onto the excuse, certain the conversation would not be a pleasant one.
“Very well. I’ll escort you home and we can talk there. Perhaps Lady Bradford could join us.”
Abigail blanched. “You’re right. We can visit at your residence.” The last thing she needed was to have her recent activities revealed to her stepmother. She felt bad enough as it was.
“I thought so.” He watched her limp for a long moment, a scowl on his face. “Are you quite certain you’re all right?”
“More so than Hubert.”
“Simmons could’ve very well stabbed you, too.”
“I’m extremely grateful he didn’t.” She resisted the urge to put her hand to her throat where Simmons’ knife had cut her. In truth it hurt, both from the blade and his arm. Her thigh held a bone-deep ache where he’d kicked her. She could only hope he had a limp as well.
She’d thought luck had been with her when she’d spotted Simmons near the address Stephen had mentioned. She’d followed Simmons to the warehouse and decided to watch the entrance to see what he was up to. It hadn’t taken her long to realize she wasn’t the only one watching the building. Knowing Stephen already had someone in place made her realize how stupid she’d been to doubt him. Of course he was on top of the situation. Why had she worried about it?
She’d been careful to remain hidden from view. At least she’d thought she had. When Simmons had come running out of the entrance straight toward her, she’d frozen with fright. Obviously, she was not well equipped to deal with that sort of situation. Her trembling body attested to that fact.
As they walked toward Stephen’s carriage, she couldn’t help but continue to look for Simmons, fearful he’d sneak up behind them or jump out from a building they passed. She was grateful when they were safely ensconced in the carriage.
Hubert winced from pain as the carriage swayed, and Abigail’s guilt mounted. She was well aware his injury was her fault. Her reckless actions had put him in danger. The boy’s pallor increased; his breathing was shallow, and sweat beaded on his brow. All caused her worry to deepen.
The ride to Stephen’s residence on Park Lane passed in a blur as she watched the red stain growing on the white handkerchief Hubert pressed against his wound. Stephen and Lord Weston spoke of mundane matters, but their conversation no longer distracted her.
When they arrived, a flurry of activity ensued. A doctor was sent for while Hubert was made comfortable in a guest room. Lord Weston departed with the promise to see what additional information he could discover. Stephen disappeared into his library with two of the other lads who worked for him to apprise them of what had happened. Apparently they were friends of Hubert’s and concerned over his injury. In short order, the doctor arrived, seeming to be a very capable man. He hardly batted an eye at Abigail’s attire.
Then the activity halted, leaving Abigail to wait in the drawing room alone, anxious for word of Hubert’s prognosis. She paced awkwardly, her injured leg complaining with each step, but the pain seemed a minor penance for what she’d done.
How could she possibly live with herself if her rash action of investigating the warehouse caused the boy’s death? The longer she waited, the more convinced she became that his injuries were life-threatening.
At last she collapsed in a chair, her hands covering her face as she tried to hold back her tears.
The door to the drawing room opened and she looked up, hoping with all heart the doctor had arrived with good news.
Her chest tightened when she saw Stephen, his brow creased with worry.
She put her hand to her heart, wishing she could somehow change the events of the day. “Is Hubert all right? Please, just tell me. Will he live?”
“Of course he will.” Stephen closed the door behind him and knelt before her to gather her into his arms as she started to cry. He should’ve realized how worried she’d be as she waited here alone.
But even as he held her, he tried to shore up his guard against her anguish. How was he to maintain any sort of distance when she was crying? Watching Simmons drag her away at knife point had taken years off his life. Even the memory of it had his heart squeezing.
He pushed aside the image and attempted to reassure her. “The doctor says he’ll be fine in a few days. The blade didn’t penetrate any vital organs.”
Rather than reassuring her, the news seemed to break the fragile hold she had on her emotions. She burst into sobs, her slim body shaking with them.
Defenseless, Stephen held her tighter. “Shh. He’s going to be fine. Didn’t you hear me?” His words only seemed to make her cry harder.
“I—I’m—so—rry!” She clung to him for dear life, as though she’d never let him go.
He drew a deep breath to keep his thoughts focused on consoling her, but her sweet lavender scent filled him. Traitorous desire curled through him.
Ruthlessly shoving it back, he simply held her, rubbing her back through the coarse men’s jacket she still wore. He did his best to give her the comfort she sought. His fingers strayed to the curls that had come free of the knot at the back of her head, then to the delicate skin at the back of her neck. Somehow that seemed to soothe them both.
When her sobs subsided to shudders, she pulled back to look at him, her blue eyes luminous. “You’re certain Hubert will be all right?”
“Yes. He’s resting comfortably.”
“I never meant for any harm to come to him. Truly.”
“I know.” He shook his head. “But you mustn’t take such risks with yourself or others. What possessed you to go down to that warehouse?”
She closed her eyes, regret etched in her face. “I wanted to know what was going on. Why it was taking so long. What Simmons could possibly be up to in that building.”
“Didn’t you receive my message?”
“Two days ago.”
“I told you I’d let you know when I discovered more.” He gave her a little shake. The day could’ve ended in tragedy. He could be mourning the loss of her right now. Anger pulsed back through him at the thought. “We can’t simply barge in and ask what they’re up to. These things take time.”
She lowered her damp lashes. “I fear patience is not one of my strengths.”
He placed his finger over her lips to stop her from saying more. “You nearly los
t your life today. Never will you take such a risk again.”
Her blue eyes reflected distress as she looked up at him but he held firm. “Promise me,” he demanded.
At last she nodded, and he removed his finger. “Don’t underestimate Simmons. Remember, he’s capable of killing and may do so again. I’ll post a guard outside your home.”
“That’s not necessary. We’ll—”
“You’ll what? You haven’t even told your family of the danger you’re in, have you?”
“I won’t unless I absolutely have to. It took years after Father’s death for us to feel safe. I vowed we’d never live with that sort of fear again.”
“Abigail, you don’t have to protect your family alone. Let me help you.”
Her breath hitched as tears once again filled her eyes. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”
Her strength, intelligence, determination to protect her loved ones, and even her blasted independence all combined to create this beautiful woman whom he admired and respected.
But what he felt for her was so much more than that.
Emotion swelled through him, and he was helpless beneath the onslaught. His gaze dropped to her lips and the lure of them proved too much. He took her mouth with his.
Heat filled Abigail as Stephen’s lips met hers. A lovely eddy of sensation unfurled inside her, and she melted against him. His strength felt so good, so right.
Her heart raced when he drew back to look at her for a long moment, those green eyes full of secrets. He moved his hands to cup her face, his touch gentling as he melded her lips to his once again.
She moaned and lifted her hand to cover his.
This was heaven! Of that she had no doubt.
His tongue, hot and wet, danced along the seam of her lips, and she opened to welcome his invasion. The spinning inside her deepened, spearing into the very core of her.
“Abigail,” he muttered against her lips.
She could only sigh as liquid heat filled her. A gentle tug released her from her bulky jacket. The cool air contrasted with Stephen’s warmth. Her body trembled inside and out.
His hands moved to her waist, then shifted to her ribs. His thumbs rose to just beneath her breasts and she caught her breath as he kissed her again. She ached everywhere he touched her and everywhere he didn’t.
“Stephen—”
“Yes. I know. We must stop.” He leaned his forehead on hers and drew a long slow breath.
“No.” That was the last thing she wanted. This was the opportunity for which she’d been hoping. “Surely one more kiss will cause no harm.”
He opened his eyes to look at her, their depths drawing her in, making her want to do something—anything to ease the shadows there.
She pressed her lips to his, pouring her heart into the kiss, hoping he’d let her in.
He hesitated for the briefest moment, then wrapped his arms around her as though he’d never let her go. “One last kiss to remember,” he murmured.
Her heart fluttered at his words. Surely it wouldn’t be their last. She kissed him again, eager to persuade him otherwise. To seduce him if she could.
Instead of meeting her lips, his mouth trailed along her jaw, slowly down her neck, lingering at the sensitive spot below her ear that she hadn’t realized was there.
With great care, he kissed the spot near the cut Simmons’ knife had made. “I’m sorry he hurt you,” he whispered.
His lips continued to her collar bone and warmth pooled low in her belly, her breasts tingling. “Oh, Stephen.”
“Yes.”
“I need...” Her voice trailed off as she tried to put words to what she felt, to what she wanted. “I need more.”
“Yes. More,” he agreed and at last his lips captured hers.
Deep and hungry, his mouth moved over hers with a thoroughness that intoxicated her. She startled as his fingers touched the bare skin of her waist. Gently, he eased her shirt off her shoulder and kissed the bruise forming there.
Eager to keep pace, she unfastened his morning coat and waistcoat and pushed them off his arms. He shed them without complaint. Then she untied his neck scarf and he quickly removed it. The soft linen of his shirt felt marvelous over the contours of his muscled chest. His strength excited her yet made her feel weak.
“Abigail.” Her name was half groan, half sigh.
She smiled. How extraordinary that her touch could make this powerful man tremble. With shaking fingers, she unfastened his shirt, revealing the binding on his shoulder where she’d shot him. Remorse filled her at the sight.
He lifted her chin to look in her eyes and smiled. “Don’t regret that. It brought us together.”
Smiling now, she returned her attention to his chest. With a gentle finger, she traced a long, jagged scar that ran beneath the bandage, diagonally across his chest. “What happened here?”
He caught her hand and pulled it away as though he didn’t care to be reminded. “It was a long time ago.”
She pressed her lips to the scar, wondering what horror had befallen him to leave such a mark. But she let it go and continued her exploration. The wiry hair on his chest felt marvelous, his flesh hot beneath her touch.
“My turn,” he whispered, then removed her shirt, leaving only the thin linen of her chemise between them.
She hadn’t donned her corset with the hope she’d look less feminine in her boy’s clothes and now was grateful she hadn’t. All her thoughts fled as he trailed his fingers along her ribs, and at last brushed the tips of her breasts through the thin linen of her chemise. Longing spiraled through her and she arched her back.
“Yes,” he encouraged and filled his hands with her breasts, kneading them gently.
She wanted to give him the same glorious sensations flooding through her and started with the sculpted firmness of his chest. He was beautiful. She stroked the pebbled hardness of his nipples in wonder.
One of his hands remained at her breast while the other lowered and worked at the fastening of her trousers. He helped her ease them off and they fell forgotten on the floor.
“I only want to touch you,” Stephen murmured in her ear. “Please.”
“Oh, yes,” she agreed, reveling in the sensations flooding through her. She’d never felt anything so right.
He kissed her again, long and slow, as his fingers found the bare skin of her waist and belly beneath her chemise, circling lower and lower. He eased apart her thighs and moist heat spread through her. She ached with need, but for what she wasn’t sure.
“So soft,” he whispered, his mouth moving along her neck and ear as he continued to kneel before her.
She writhed against him, searching for more of the pleasurable torture.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, then took her mouth with his, demanding she respond. Still his fingers worked their magic, moving lower.
All thoughts vanished. Only feeling remained, igniting her. Her breath came in gasps as he touched her center, seeking the dampness there.
“Oh!” she cried out, stunned that he could create such amazing sensations within her.
He continued to touch her, enchanting her into a vortex of need. “Let go, my sweet,” he muttered between kisses. “Just let go.”
She tipped her head back, unable to do anything except what he asked, to trust him in this moment.
Her world spiraled, then burst. Waves of pleasure poured through her, over her, under her. She delighted in the onslaught of sensation, knowing she was safe in Stephen’s arms.
***
Stephen watched as Abigail’s aura glowed, her passion enhancing the golden light with vibrant pinks, her whole body infused with it. He ached so badly that the mere brush of her leg against his trousers pained him.
Still he continued to kiss her, to murmur in her ear as she made the journey back down to earth. How he longed to have gone with her. But that could never come to pass. He had this moment and intended to hold onto it for all he was worth.
“That was...” Her loss for words only made him smile broader.
She shifted, bumping against his body. She frowned at his hardness and, before he could stop her, pressed her fingers on him.
The breath whooshed out of his lungs at her touch. He jerked her hand away.
“But what of you?” she asked. “I would bring you pleasure too.”
“You have, Abigail. You have.” He wove his fingers through hers to make certain they stayed in his.
“Not enough, surely.” Her blue eyes searched his face.
“As much as I can handle at the moment.”
She stretched up to kiss him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Desire resurged in an instant, and it took every ounce of his self control to loosen her arms and stand.
But she came with him.
Her warm, soft body against his made him try desperately to remember why he was pushing her away. The lady had no idea what havoc she was wreaking.
“I would finish what we started, Stephen.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
The throbbing in his loins made it difficult to form words that would make her understand. Hell, it was difficult for him to understand. “I can’t give you what you want...what you need. There are things about me you don’t know.”
She trailed a finger down his scar again and his breath caught. Could she read his mind? That damned scar was a visible reminder of the day his life had been forever altered. If it weren’t for that terrible day, perhaps things would be different.
But regret served no purpose.
“There’s nothing you could tell me that would change my mind,” she said. “In fact, I’ve wanted to ask you...”
Dark shades appeared in her aura, and he knew he wouldn’t like what she was going to say, yet he had to ask. “What is it?”
“I—I have a proposition for you.”
A dark spear appeared in her luminous pink aura. He waited silently while she worked up the courage to ask him whatever crazed notion she’d come up with.
Unraveling Secrets (The Secret Trilogy) Page 16