May 17, 1819
“Rather old.” She glanced toward him. “Is there a reason you—”
“Leave that.” He stalked back over. “They’re organized by date.” He tugged the newspaper from her hand and took to carefully organizing the ones she had taken out, placing them gently back into the stack they had been in.
She watched that intent expression. They meant something to him. “Why do you keep them?”
“’Tis all that remains of my da’s newspaper. ’Twas rather popular in the Irish community and was one of the few papers that printed what went on not only in New York but in Ireland. My father was treated very well in these parts because of it. That may be why so many men came to my side last night. They were honoring my da, not me.” He set his shoulders. “Now go to the door.”
Her brows rose. “What happened to your father’s paper? Does it not exist anymore?”
“No. Da entrusted a friend, who squandered all the funds of his paper on gambling and whores. Hence why we ended up here.”
She glanced toward the pile of yellowing papers, angling back toward it in renewed fascination. “’Tis a shame it was dismantled.”
“Yes, it was a shame. Can we go now?”
She paused, noting a small, crudely torn piece of newspaper that had slipped to the floor from the pile he’d reorganized. She retrieved it and turned away to read it, lest he take it.
DIED, in New York City, on the 7th of June 1826, age 53, Raymond Charles Milton, a descendent of Cork, Ireland, and a most distinguished gentleman of the ward, whose life was nobly dedicated to bettering the lives of others. He leaves behind a son, Matthew Joseph Milton, and a wife, Georgia Emily Milton. His burial will be held this Sunday at Saint Peter’s Church.
Her eyes widened. She glanced up. “Georgia was married to your father?”
He winced and cleared his throat. “Yes.”
“She never told me that. I cannot believe I never once put the two Miltons together. I often thought it odd when she kept brushing aside how she actually knew you. How old was she when they—”
“Eighteen. By a few days.”
Oh, God. She herself was eighteen when she’d been forced to marry William. “I didn’t realize Georgia and I had so much in common. She was so young, and he so old. The divide must have been...brutal.”
“Hardly.” Matthew slipped the obituary from her fingers. “I’ll have you know that girl had a thing for my da that men could only dream of. And rightfully so. He was well worth being loved.” He placed it gently back atop the newspapers and turned away. “Now, come along.”
Bernadette touched her hand to the obituary and the newspapers piled beneath it. It was like touching Matthew’s soul. It made her ache. And it also made her soar knowing she was at long last getting to see who he really was. He wasn’t a thief or a criminal. He was a good man. A man worthy of a second chance.
Knowing who he really was, she knew she had to fight for this incredible man before he broke himself in the name of pride. Pride wasn’t everything. She should know.
She glanced back at him, noting that he was quietly watching her. She would buy him a new life. It was as simple as that. “I am offering you fifty thousand dollars to do whatever you please with. And I will not accept a rejection of this offer.”
He stared. Grabbing her arms, he jerked her fully toward himself and tightened his hold, a pent-up aggression pulsing from that grip. Leaning in, until his face and that patch almost blurred in her vision, he rasped, “Not everything can be bought. Do you not understand that, Bernadette? I know you’ve been born unto a privilege few touch, but this is where your understanding of the world is that of a bloody child. Pride can’t be bought. Honor can’t be bought. Sweat can’t be bought. I have to make a man of myself without pity or charity. Do you understand? I have to do this on my own, or I won’t be able to live with myself as a man. And if that is something you can’t understand, then you will never ever understand what I represent. Nor will you ever have my respect. Not when you think everything, including me, my pride and my soul, can be bought and controlled at the toss of a dollar. Because it can’t. It can’t.”
She blinked rapidly, those words choking her.
She swallowed and lowered her gaze. “Forgive me.” She’d never felt so ashamed of who and what she was. Here was a man who had nothing, but who savagely held on to his pride because he valued what little he owned, and what did she own? Nothing but superficial trinkets that never delivered her hope or happiness or love. “You are right. Forgive me.”
His chest rose and fell, his savage hold loosening. He released her and stepped back.
She knew she had to reinstate a different offer. One worthy of him. One that would allow him to rise above his circumstances. “Allow me to amend my offer, for I only wished to honor you, not dishonor you. I would be willing to...become an investor.”
“For what?”
“To reopen your father’s paper. It would mean that I would own it until your debt is paid in full, using the funds you make through the paper itself. Once that debt is paid, The Truth Teller will become yours and you owe me nothing. Not even gratitude. You would become your own man.”
He paused, his brows rising. “Reopen The Truth Teller?” He sounded intrigued.
“Yes.”
He dragged both hands slowly through his hair, causing his patch to shift. “You would...do that?”
She smiled. “Yes.”
“I can’t guarantee that I’d be able to make enough to even repay a fraction of the costs. It could take years.”
“I place no time on the return of the loan.”
He shook his head, dropping his hands. “No. I...I can’t. I haven’t earned this opportunity you’re giving me.”
“Matthew.”
“No.”
It was obvious he needed time. And she would give it to him. Because this incredible man, who had given so much to everyone around him, despite so many missteps, had forgotten to give back to the one person who needed it most: himself. Which was why she had to adhere to patience and teach him the lesson of receiving. After last night, she owed him that and more.
But first things first. She couldn’t even breathe or think in the way she wanted to with the grit of last night still coating every last inch of her skin. She wanted it off.
Bernadette quickly rounded Matthew. Heading to the open door that led to the corridor beyond, she closed it and latched each bolt. One by one by one by
one.
He stalked toward her. “You’d best unlatch that door, woman. Because you sure as hell aren’t staying.”
“Cease being rude. I’m merely ensuring privacy for myself.” She turned and commenced undoing all of the hooks on her gown, exposing her corset to the waist. “I need to hand bathe before I leave. Is there enough water in your basin for me to do so?”
He froze. “You can bathe when you get home.”
She pulled down the sleeves of her evening gown from her arms and pushed it past her waist and petticoats. “I don’t want Cassidy’s stench lingering on me for a breath more. His grubby, sweaty hands were grabbing me all night. Please. I feel...disgusting right now. I want it off.”
Matthew sighed. “I’ll ready a basin.” He swung away.
“Thank you.” Unlacing her petticoats, she pushed them down around her legs and stepped out of them, now in only stockings, a chemise and corset.
Without offering her even a side glance, Matthew stalked over to a tin bucket filled with water set in the corner of the room, plucked it up and set it beside the chair that held his small washbasin. Grabbing up the basin she knew he’d earlier used for himself to shave and hand bathe, he carried it to the other room, opened the broken window and tossed out the water.
Slamming the window shut, he strode back in and set the basin on the chair again. He poured in some water from the tin bucket and set it down. “I’ll be in the other room.”
Bernadette rounded him and poked his arm. “Before you go, can you
undo the lacings on my corset, please?” She bit back a smile. “Without the use of a razor, mind you. For I will need to wear it again once I’m done washing up.”
He hissed out a breath. Rounding her, he tugged and unlaced, tugged and unlaced with the precision of a man who was intent on getting her out the door. He stripped the corset from around her and dangled it out to her from over her shoulder.
“Could you hold on to it for me, please?” she asked. “I don’t see any hooks on the walls.”
Jerking it back toward himself, he quickly made his way into the adjoining room with it and disappeared. “You’ve got five minutes, luv,” he called out. “Five.”
She smiled. He had called her luv. She wondered if he’d ever use it again. Stripping her chemise, she took to using the soap and water to hand bathe herself.
When she was done washing her torso and everything else down to her knees, and at long last felt clean, she used her chemise to pat herself dry. Pulling it back on, she sighed, feeling gloriously better.
In her chemise, satin slippers and white silk stockings, she walked into the adjoining room where Matthew was. “Thank you. I really needed that. Could you please assist me back into my corset? I’ll do everything else myself.”
Matthew, who’d been blankly staring out of that cracked window, with her corset still in his hand, turned. His gaze snapped to the sheer fabric of her chemise. He crushed the corset between both hands. “I can see everything, for God’s sake.”
“You have seen me naked before,” she tossed out, trying to be as casual as she could, whilst striding over to him. “And I can’t very well lace myself. I need your assistance in that.”
He jerked his chin to his shoulder, averting his gaze and thrust out the corset, dangling it. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to figure out how to do it on your own. Because the name is Matthew, luv. Not Saint Matthew.”
She bit back an exasperated smile, stepped toward him and took the corset. “I appreciate your attempt to save us both from the wrath of sin, but in truth...’twas my hope that you and I would be able to start anew. Outside of this mess we stupidly created for ourselves.”
Though he still held his chin to his shoulder and his gaze toward the direction of the far wall, he did seem to notably pause. “What are you saying?”
She fingered the corset and sighed. “I have decided to give you that second chance you had asked me for back in London. ’Tis yours. If you want it, that is.”
He edged his head back toward her and searched her face. “Why? I don’t deserve it. I haven’t earned it.”
He was more of a saint than he realized. “Because I deserve to get to know you outside of this poverty and you deserve to get to know me outside of my million. We both have a lot to learn about ourselves and each other and I want you to take my offer of the loan as a makeshift truce. And as an opportunity to make of yourself what you’ve always wished but have never been able to. Despite what you think, you did earn it. I owe you more than a second chance, Matthew. I owe you my life.”
“I didn’t think that you’d ever even consider...” His gaze ever so slowly slid its way down toward her breasts. His jaw tightened.
His gaze jumped back to her face, his shaven face actually flushing. “Sorry.” He swiped at his mouth and set his shoulders. “If I were to, uh...take this loan, what would it entail?”
She tried not to smile, knowing she had flustered him with her seminudity. Him. A gang leader from the Five Points who had seen it all. “I would have solicitors draw up a contract that would delineate any and all terms you deem acceptable.”
He moved closer, still intently focusing on her face as if he didn’t trust himself to look at anything else. “And this so-called second chance? What would that entail?”
She felt her cheeks heating. “What will be, will be. The relationship would be determined by what we do and how we do it.”
He stared. “I rather like that.”
“Good. So do I.”
He momentarily closed his eyes. Scrubbing his hair with a hand, he blew out a long breath and reopened his eyes. “If I were to accept both—which I damn well want to—I’ll need time. I’m hoping you’ll be able to give it to me. Will you?”
“Time? For what?”
“To become the man I want to be. To become the man you deserve to know.”
A small smile touched her lips. “I respect that.”
He held her gaze. “You would wait for me?”
Her heart jolted. This was where she had to accept that, sometimes, not everything could be controlled, and that when it came to what went on between a man and a woman, there were no rules. Only a blind hope that it would all work out. “Yes. I would wait for you.”
A muscle quivered in his jaw. “I’ll get your clothes. Before I altogether digress.” He quickly rounded her and disappeared into the other room, only to return with her gown bundled in his hands. Coming up to the bed, he tossed everything he was holding atop the mattress and, without looking at her, said in a low tone, “Come here.”
She swallowed, sensing something had changed between when he left and when he came back into the room. Bernadette pursed her lips and drifted toward him. She paused beside him, still fingering her corset.
He turned toward her. “What if it took me a year or two or three to redefine myself? Would you still wait?”
Trying to ease the maddening erratic beat of her heart, she nodded. “I would still wait for you. Does this mean you...intend on taking the loan?”
“Only under the provision that I repay it with interest.”
“Of course.”
He hesitated and reached out. Dragging the corset from her fingers, he tossed it onto the bed beside them and stepped closer. He lingered, lowering his gaze to hers. “Can I kiss you? Before I dress you and take you home and figure this loan out?”
She tried to calm her pounding heart. “Yes.”
He grabbed her and yanked her toward himself, startling her. He held her gaze for a long moment. “The moment we kiss, we start anew. Agreed?”
She swallowed and half nodded.
“Good.” Molding her against his muscled frame, he crushed his lips against hers, forcing her mouth open with a press of his tongue. He sucked her entire tongue into his mouth, hard, causing her to indulgently melt against him in disbelief that she was being kissed by him again.
Dearest heaven, she wanted more. She wanted more than this. She wanted all of him. And she wanted him naked. Now. Repositioning her mouth against his as she worked her tongue harder, she frantically pushed off his coat from those large shoulders.
Grabbing her hands, he broke off their kiss by jerking away and stumbled back. Between heaving breaths, he affixed his great coat back onto his shoulders and cleared his throat. “Now, now. We should get you dressed and get you back home. It’s the right thing to do and this—”
She dragged off her chemise, leaving herself naked except for her stockings and slippers, and lowered herself onto his straw mattress. “If you are going to make me wait a year or two or three, Matthew, you had best give me something to remember you by whilst I wait.”
He hissed out a breath. “As if I’m about to say no to that.” Turning fully toward her, he whipped off his great coat, heatedly holding her gaze, and unbuttoned the flap on his trousers, a visible and solid erection buried beneath.
A shiver, unlike anything she’d felt before, rippled through not just her body but her very soul. She was more or less committing to this man without knowing what it would bring. But then again...once upon a time, when she was a young girl, she had dreamed of sweeping, heart-pounding adventures, true love meant to make one sigh and unadulterated passion that no music from her piano could ever evoke. If she was ever going to try to make a grab for all of that, she knew it was now or never. And she hoped that it was now. For she was rather tired of never.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Never tie yourself to someone else’s apron strings. You never kno
w where those strings have been.
—The Truth Teller, a New York Newspaper for Gentlemen
HOLDING BERNADETTE’S GAZE, Matthew undid the flap on his trousers, trying to keep his mind and his breath steady, though he felt as if he couldn’t even breathe, let alone think, knowing that she wanted him. She still wanted him.
Propped on those hands, she lay there unmoving, damn her, on his bed, those beautiful, incredible pale limbs and full breasts whose nipples had long hardened, all on display for him.
He lowered himself onto the straw mattress, crawling toward her until he hovered like an animal over the length of her naked body. He dragged his hands up that body he remembered all too well, outlining its curves as he slowly went up and across her full, soft breasts and back down to her smooth stomach. God. This couldn’t be real.
Her full lips parted as she stilled beneath his touch.
He couldn’t believe she was giving him everything. It was more than a second chance. It was a second life. He leaned into her mouth and achingly devoured it, sliding his tongue between those lips and teeth and savoring that heat and softness he thought he would never taste again.
Her tongue worked against his and he found himself lost in everything known as Bernadette. Again.
He jerked away, his chest heaving, and hovered above her, wanting her so damn much.
She opened her eyes, those sultry eyes capturing and unraveling the last of him.
Wordlessly, he reached down between them and spread her legs wide, holding her gaze. His breaths came in heavy takes as he finished unbuttoning the flap on his trousers. Pushing away his undergarments, he pulled his rigid length out.
Tightening his jaw, he slid himself between her wet folds, letting every inch of that tightness and every sensation it brought clamp down on his cock. He pushed in and out of her, holding her gaze. He let it go deeper and deeper with each stroke and press until not only her body trembled, but his own did, as well.
She closed her eyes. “Matthew.” Her hips pushed up against him, giving in to him. “Oh, God. Matthew.”
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