by Erica Monroe
“I knew it was wrong,” he said, with the shame of a boy caught dipping into the liquor cabinet. “I tried to tell myself it was for the case. But it wasn’t. I wanted to know more about you, and I pried into your life. I should have respected your privacy.”
“And I should not have lied.” Her cheeks burned. He was not the only one who had wronged here. Her failures weighed her down.
“It was not a lie born of malice. I might wish you trusted me with your secret, but I understand, Poppy.”
She reached for his hand, and instantly, the quivers of her stomach ceased. Physical contact with him soothed her. “I do trust you. I think a part of me has always known that I could, but I didn’t want to recognize that. It seemed safer to keep you in the dark.”
“I’m aware of the basics. You don’t need to tell me the rest. I love you, and nothing in your past would change that.” Thaddeus spoke with such conviction that the last bit of her worries faded. They’d face the world together, and nothing would break them apart.
Nothing, not even Edward.
“I want to tell you,” she said, and with that vow she already felt lighter. “You know I was seventeen. Daniel had come back from London a changed man. He’d lost Kate, lost his job, lost everything when the Watch accused him of a murder he didn’t commit. I watched my brother spiral and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. He barely came home after the first month.”
“I’m sorry,” Thaddeus murmured. “I know the man that arrested Daniel. He’s a pathetic excuse for a watchman and should never been allowed to patrol the streets.”
“You helped Daniel,” she said. “You helped him when no one else would. I don’t tell you this to make you feel bad, but so that you know that when I started to work as a mantua maker’s assistant downtown in Dorking, I’d become used to being alone.”
Thaddeus filled in the blanks. “So, when that blackguard noticed you…”
“I became besotted with him.” She sucked in another deep breath. “I should have known better, of course. Edward Claremont had money and flash—what would he want with a poor Irishwoman like me? But he was so persistent. I met him in the street outside Madame Genet’s. I’d dropped the packages I was carrying, and he helped me pick them up. For a week, he came by the shop as I was finishing working. He’d take me to the inn, and we’d have dinner.”
Poppy expected a lump to form in her throat, as it always did when she told this story. Regret should wash over her, aching guilt that in a few minutes would leave her tattered. Yet this time, with his quiet support, she felt no shame. She couldn’t change what had passed, any more than she could deny her love for Thaddeus. Some things were simply unavoidable, a forceful riot that left no room for refusal.
Thaddeus nodded, urging her on.
She lifted her chin, facing the memory head-on for the first time. “The rest proceeded as you might expect. He told me he loved me, and I believed that he’d marry me. I was foolish and I was naïve. Neither are good excuses.”
“Poppy, don’t blame yourself.” Thaddeus’s voice sent a shiver down her spine, for there was this edge of firmness and resolve. “He was wrong, not you. You love deeply and fully, and you need never fault yourself for that. It is what drew me to you. You’ve got a wildness to you that captivates me.”
He leaned forward, capturing her mouth with his. When he pulled back, he tucked her hair behind her ear. “You bring out this side of me I never knew existed. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. You make me passionate, Poppy.”
The last of her defenses collapsed. She began to believe in permanence, in letting him into her life. He’d already changed her for the better. When she made a full confession, they could move forward.
“Edward Claremont was nothing like you,” she continued. “While you make sure I am satisfied…” She didn’t know how exactly to phrase that, so she let her gaze drift down to her hands. Her cheeks must be burning.
Lightly, Thaddeus placed his thumb underneath her chin and pulled her eyes back up to his face. “You can say it, Poppy. I will never judge you. The fact that I can make you moan my name thrills me immensely.”
Her words tumbled out in a rush. “Edward didn’t make me feel the things you do.” She’d balanced on his shoulders as Thaddeus licked between her thighs, and in that moment, she had not cared if she was wanton.
Next to Thaddeus on this settee, she forgot to care again, for his expression spoke volumes. She didn’t need words to know how Thaddeus loved her.
“After it was over, Edward got up to leave. I asked him when I’d see him again, and he laughed in my face.” Grimacing, she ran a hand across her skirt. “Edward said he’d bet his friends that he could take my virtue within a week. Apparently, I won him a stallion he’d been eying.”
“Son of a bitch.” Thaddeus’s face darkened, a hard glint to his eyes. “I’ll kill him, Poppy.”
“I’ve spent two years believing I deserved to be abandoned. That everything people said about me was true.” Tears dotted the corners of her eyelids, threatening to spill. “I went to him willingly, Thaddeus. Maybe I was that much of a whore that I wanted to be ruined.”
“No, Poppy, no.” His raw voice worked its way into her mind. “Please, my beautiful girl, please don’t believe that. No one deserves to be used like that. He took advantage of your innocence and the blame is on him, not you.”
“I know that now,” she said. “And I’m ready to move past it. I want to feel whole again. I’ll never be the same person I was before Edward, but I’m starting to think I like who I am now more.”
“Which is very good, as I find you infinitely desirable,” Thaddeus said, wrapping his arms around her. “Edward was a blighter, do you hear me? An absolute bloody blighter, who shouldn’t be able to breathe, let alone insult you.”
She smiled at that, for he looked so enraged at the mere thought of Edward coming near her again. It was adorable, in a sort of threatening way, and she found she quite liked this protective side of Thaddeus. He’d saved her, reminded her of who she’d always been.
Through him, she’d come to realize that she was resilient. She would not let Edward, or the people of Dorking, define her any longer.
“Now I have Moira,” she said, leaning back in Thaddeus’s arms. “If I am not to be defined by the actions of others, Moira shouldn’t be either. I must embrace her life, all of it.”
“She is the smartest of babes,” Thaddeus agreed. “No one shall be able to place her in a box. I meant it when I said I’d keep your secret, Poppy. I’ll always keep your secrets.”
“I didn’t want Moira to know. The people in my town made it clear how she’d be viewed as a bastard. But with you…” Poppy hazarded another glance at him, daring to hope that he meant his words, and this future for them could become a reality. “…If your offer still stands, that is, to marry you?”
“Of course, it does.” He tugged her closer to him, kissing him. Between breaths, he spoke against her lips. “You’d make me the happiest of men.”
“Poppy Knight does have a certain rhythm to it,” she giggled, as he tickled her side.
“We’ll go to Scotland,” he said. “We can get a quick marriage there. Hide out until the Larkers disappear. I’ve given another officer my files. Perhaps he will make headway.”
She laid her head against his shoulder. “I don’t want to leave, but I’ll go anywhere as long as it’s with you.”
He ran his hand through her hair, massaging her head. “I don’t want to leave either. But until the Larkers are caught, I want to make absolutely sure you and Moira are safe.”
“Perhaps Scotland will be fun,” she mused. “And Daniel and Kate could come visit.”
“I hear they’re doing great things with their investigative techniques,” Thaddeus agreed, his fingers working through her hair. “It won’t be forever, Poppy. We’ll come back to London when the trouble passes. Moira will get to be raised with her family.”
Poppy lifted her
head up, looking him in the eye. She saw not only him, his strong jaw and straight jaw, the sparkle in his eyes. She saw a future with him, of nights by the fire in a little cottage. Of dinners with Moira throughout the years, until the one day when Moira brought her own children to join them.
She saw everything that he was, and she knew that in the end, they would rise above the pain of their pasts.
“I think I’d like to tell Moira the truth,” she ventured. “When she’s old enough to understand.”
Thaddeus nodded. “I’ll support whatever you decide.”
“I still don’t want it to be common knowledge though. I don’t believe the world will accept her.” Poppy twisted her fingers into the cloth of his shirt. If she held onto him, kept him near to her, then she’d be able to face anything. She could admit she’d been wrong, that maybe there was a different way for Moira. “Maybe, maybe she should know where she comes from.”
“It won’t be the end, Poppy,” Thaddeus told her, with an intensity that paused her fingers from winding tight into the linen of his shirt. What he said was important, always, but this speech must have special meaning. “Edward Claremont is Moira’s father in name only. She will understand that, and she’ll move past it. Because she will not be defined by history, any more than you should be.”
“Could it really be just a part of a bigger whole?” Poppy had never dared hope that.
“I think so.” He pressed a kiss to Poppy’s forehead, and for a moment they stayed like this, held in each other’s arms.
So much had happened in Dorking. When the town had gone against her, she’d stopped believing anyone would ever accept Moira outside of her family.
But Thaddeus had. The way he’d found out about Moira hadn’t been what Poppy had wanted, but he didn’t judge Moira. He didn’t consider her less. And this gave Poppy hope that someday, Moira would find love of her own.
Moira could have a wonderful life, without the shroud of lies around her. She’d simply be Moira. Her bloodline was irrelevant. Her personality, what she did with her life, all of that would be matter.
“I love you, Poppaea not-Corrigan O’Reilly.” Thaddeus placed his hand over his heart. “Do you feel that? That’s my heart beating for you, and only you. Because you are bold and fierce, and even though life has tried to knock you down, you come back stronger than ever.”
Happy tears dotted the corners of her eyes, splashed down her cheeks. The tension of the past two weeks ebbed from her frame. She was with him, right where she was supposed to be.
“I love you too,” Poppy whispered. Palm outstretched against the muscular planes of his chest, the pound of his heart thrummed through her fingers. “I’d apologize for not realizing it sooner, but I think I knew it all along. My heart wanted you when my mind told me this was quite irrational.”
“Damn the logic,” he proclaimed.
She laughed at that, his arched brow and smirk doing wonders to dissipate her fears. “What an odd statement from a master investigator.”
“I’m not a sergeant anymore,” he reminded her.
She sighed. “I’m so sorry for that, Thaddeus.”
Pain flickered in his eyes, but he brushed away her concern, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. He’d lost his job and with it, his sense of who he’d once been. Perhaps, they’d been brought together because they both needed redefining.
“I can think of several things I’d rather think about than the Met,” he murmured, the emotion burning in his chocolate eyes leaving her little confusion about what he truly wanted.
Her hand had fallen from his chest. Sprawled across his lap, she didn’t need that contact to comprehend his need. He was kind and considerate but awakened these primal desires in her. Fresh stubble littered his chin, underneath his nose. He’d been so intent to get to her, he hadn’t bothered to shave. This look suited him, left him rugged.
His dark locks stood on their ends, as he’d run his fingers through them in the hack ride over here. She examined the planes of his broad shoulders, trailing her fingers down to his narrow waist. His eyes flashed with desire. With each touch, her body heated from the inside out, ready for the euphoria only he gave her.
“Poppy,” he murmured, capturing her hands before she got to his breeches. “Are you sure? We can wait until we’re married.” His words came out choked; the dazed glaze to his eyes told her he was already primed.
Moira’s laughter drifted upstairs, followed by Edna’s chuckle. She doubted Atlas was around still; he had a habit of slipping out into the night before anyone noticed he’d left. Moira would be occupied for hours, playing with the toys Edna had stashed on the lower level. Since they’d moved in, Atlas had upped his security, placing locks on the bottom floor doors that the handiest of dubbers couldn’t pick.
In the heart of St. Giles, surrounded by thieves and rogues, Poppy felt safer than she’d ever been.
23
If she were to be the woman society wanted, Poppy would wait. Her previous sexual experiences had been brought on by impetuousness. They’d been nights of weakness, wanting to find comfort in another’s arms when the world seemed so bleak.
Society would say she’d lost the right to happiness when she’d bedded Edward. But society was incorrect—she deserved this love. When Thaddeus looked at her, she was certain she could become a person who was worthy of his affection. He reminded her to trust her own desires.
And she wanted to make love to Thaddeus. It was her decision, damn it, and she’d give herself to him because it was a natural extension of her affection. She was done being confined to rigid morals, a map for a life that wasn’t hers to live.
She’d be her own guide from now on.
Fisting her hands in Thaddeus’s shirt, Poppy leaned into him. “I don’t want to wait. I want to be with you, always.”
She pressed her lips to his, effectively ending any further questions. Locking her fingers in his hair, she angled his head so that she could take the kiss deeper. His lips hinted of whisky, of desire and becoming unbroken.
Tentatively at first, her tongue flitted out, seeking entry between his parted lips. She’d never initiated this. Instead, she’d allowed Thaddeus to start, going off his motions. Now with him, she sought the closest forms of connection and she did not run. This man, with his integrity and his dedication, saw a side of her buried underneath the surface.
He knew her secrets, every last shameful lie.
And he’d stayed. Stayed to run his hands down the sleeves of her jade gown, stayed to pull her closer to him until his body heat warmed her almost to the point of combustion. He broke their kiss to travel down her neck, her skin branded each place his lips hit.
She’d found respite in him before, but it had been the quiet before the storm. This time, she gave herself entirely to him.
Gently, she pushed him back from her. Her gaze roved down his frame. She’d never tire of looking at him. She liked him best when he was bare, and so she reached for his neckcloth and unwound it. Her fingers, clever and skilled from picking at her aunt’s hand loom, made quick work of unbuttoning his shirt. Soon, she was sliding it off him, admiring the chiseled lines of his upper arms. When she raced her fingers down his naked skin, fingertips spread out across his chest, he groaned. This led her to push harder against him, to anchor herself in his lap, dipping her mouth down so that she could kiss along his chest. Head back, he absorbed her touches in rapture.
He spun her around, burning her neck with his kisses. He undid the buttons of her dress until it pooled in her lap. He lifted her up and off of him, long enough that the dress and her petticoat fell to the floor, but not so long that she began to feel the absence of him. No, he’d never part from her. She wouldn’t allow it. Corset followed and then shift, on and on until she was bared across his lap.
She rocked her hips against him. Urgency flooded her, building on the sparks that had begun with his words and rose with his caresses. His body on hers. His mouth at her center, tongue exploring
her folds.
She let out a whimper, moving against him once more. Sensing her need, he gathered her up in his arms, settling her down on the settee. Undoing the clasp of his breeches, he slid the fabric off his hips, taking his smalls as well. The sight of him, powerful erection standing at attention for her, sent a bolt of longing through her body. Yet she didn’t have much time to pine, for he was on the settee. He scooted further back, trailing kisses down her body until he was positioned between her legs. Sliding a finger inside of her, he moved within her until she crooned from pleasure. Another finger joined the second within her, stretching her, readying her for him. He turned his hand so that he could flick at her bud while his finger plunged inside of her.
The sensations built high and tight within her, every nerve ending acutely aware of his presence. His scent, the salty taste to his skin as she grabbed his free hand, brought it to her mouth, and nipped. It was too much. She was on the edge.
Just when she thought she’d break, he settled on the settee above her, keeping his weight off of her by crooking his elbows and pressing into the cushions.
He entered her in one long stroke. One stroke to end all others, for she knew what it meant to be filled completely to the brim. Joined together, they’d faced the worst dangers and they’d survived. She met his thrusts with her own rhythmic moving of her hips, muscles clenching around him and releasing. Reaching around him, she clasped his buttocks, urging him deeper into her. Pleasure built, and pleasure took, and pleasure seized at her cognizance until she released in a furious rush of spark and fire. He came a moment after her, groaning out her name.
They lay in each other’s arms, the haze of bliss upon them. Unlike in the Three Boars, she didn’t feel the cold slam of lonely pragmatism upon her, for she’d constructed a new reality with Thaddeus. One where she was loved and cherished, simply for being herself.
She’d been given a gift in Thaddeus’s love.
Never had Thaddeus been a possessive man, but with Poppy, he found himself wanting to declare to the world that she was his and his alone. He’d fight her battles for her if she’d only let him. Yet her past with Moira’s father was hers to own. Someday, if she wanted to face Edward Claremont, he’d stand by her side as she did so. And if she wanted to return to Dorking, he’d go with her.