by Lisa Kleypas
“I understand,” he murmured.
“Yes . . . I’m sure you do.”
Their gazes met, and a flush of warmth swept over him. She was so beautiful, with those upward-slanting cheekbones balancing the strength of her jawline. And the softly erotic curves of her mouth. “Doctor,” he said with difficulty, “I should probably—”
“The laboratory is over here,” Garrett interrupted, walking to another part of the room to push back a folding partition. She lit another of those scientific lamps, illuminating a space that included a stoneware sink with a hot- and cold-water supply, a heavy copper drying oven with burner plates, metal tables, and marble surfaces, and meticulously organized shelves containing bins, dishes, flasks, and intricate appliances.
Busying herself at the sink, Garrett started a flow of water. Ethan went to her side, almost dragging his feet in his reluctance. She had stuck the violet posy he’d given her into a test tube filled with water. After fitting the glass cylinder into one of the holes of a wooden rack, she removed a microscope from a rosewood case and set it beside the lamp. “Have you used one of these before?” she asked.
“Once. It belonged to a chemist on Fleet Street.”
“For what purpose?”
“I needed help to examine evidence.” Ethan watched as she adjusted tiny mirrors and lenses. “Back when I was still with K division, I was looking into an unsolved murder case. A man was said to have committed suicide with his own folding razor, which was found on the floor next to his body. But the razor was almost fully closed. It made no sense that he would have tried to fold the blade after slitting his own throat.”
Ethan regretted the words instantly. It was not at all appropriate conversation, given the company and the circumstances.
“How deep was the cut?” she surprised him by asking.
“Both carotids and jugulars were severed.”
“Instantly fatal, then,” Garrett said. “If it had been suicide, he wouldn’t have lived long enough to close the razor.”
Ethan began to enjoy the novelty of having such a discussion with a woman. “The main suspect was a brother-in-law,” he told her, “who had both motive and opportunity. Within a few hours after the crime had been committed, he was found with a bloodstain on the sleeve of his coat. He claimed he’d visited a butcher’s shop that afternoon, and had gotten the stain when his sleeve had dragged the counter. There was no way to prove whether the blood was animal or human. The case was set aside, and the evidence was stored in the division office’s property room. After I read the file, I took the razor and a sample of the bloodstained fabric to a chemist, who examined them with a microscope. He found two kinds of fiber caught in the sawtooth edge on the back of the razor. One of them was a perfect match for the blue wool coat.”
“And the other?”
“A strand of hair from a white poodle. It turned out that the brother-in-law owned just such a dog, and the hair had transferred from his coat to the murder weapon. He broke down and confessed under questioning.”
“It was clever of you to approach the case in a scientific manner.”
Ethan shrugged, trying to conceal his pleasure at Garrett’s admiring gaze.
“You may be interested to learn that now there is a way to distinguish animal blood from human,” she said. “In birds, fish, and reptiles, the blood corpuscles are oval-shaped, whereas in mammals, including humans, the corpuscles are circular. Furthermore, human ones are larger in diameter than most other creatures.”
“How do you know so much about blood cells?”
“I’m trying to learn all I can.” A shadow spread across her expression. “My father has a disorder of the blood.”
“Is it serious?” Ethan asked gently.
She responded with the tiniest possible nod.
Understanding the grief that awaited her, knowing she must always be aware of it looming in the not-too-distant future, Ethan wanted to reach for her. He wanted to hold her and promise he would be there to help her through it. The fact that he couldn’t struck a note of anger—always the most easily accessible of his emotions—and he felt all his muscles tighten.
They both glanced toward the closed surgery door as they heard the creaks and thumps of heavy feet descending the stairs. Multiple voices filled the entranceway. From the sound of it, the men who’d been playing cards with Garrett’s father were departing.
“Eliza,” one of them asked, “why didn’t Dr. Gibson come up to visit as usual?”
“The doctor came in late tonight, sir,” came the maid’s reply.
“Where is she? I should like to bid her good evening, at least.”
The maid’s voice ratcheted to a higher pitch. “Oh, you can’t, Mr. Gleig, she’s with a patient.”
“At this hour?” another man asked, sounding disgruntled.
“Indeed, Mr. Oxley.” In a moment of inspiration, Eliza added, “Poor lad broke ’is tiblin bone.”
Upon hearing the unfamiliar word, Ethan gave Garrett a questioning glance.
“Tibia,” she said, dropping her forehead to his shoulder in a defeated gesture.
Ethan smiled and curved a loose arm around her. She smelled like freshly laundered things, with a faint salty coolness beneath. He wanted to follow the fragrance along the tender warmth of her throat and down beneath her bodice.
Outside the door, Eliza proceeded to explain the dangerous nature of “tiblin” injuries, which, if not treated properly, could lead to “knee gimps,” “ankular hitchments,” and even “limputations.” Garrett fidgeted in annoyance at the maid’s authoritative lecture.
“She’s giving us cover,” Ethan whispered, amused.
“But they’ll go out and repeat her gibberish,” she whispered back, “and before long I’ll have a waiting room full of patients with tiblin complaints.”
“It’s a new field of medicine. You’ll be a pioneer.”
He heard her muffled chuckle. She continued to lean against him while the trio of constables expressed sympathy for the unfortunate patient. Eventually the men departed with a chorus of hearty farewells. Ethan discovered that his other arm had stolen around Garrett. Making himself let go of her was like trying to uncoil a steel spring.
“You should go up to your father now,” he said with difficulty.
“Eliza will look after him while I take a few minutes to show you some slides. I have insect wings . . . pollen grains . . . flower petals . . . What would you like to see?”
“The inside of a hansom cab,” he said softly. “I can’t be alone with you, darlin’.”
Garrett touched the edges of his vest, fingers clamping on the thin leather. “Ethan.” A blush rose in her face, like light glowing through pink frosted glass. “I don’t want to end this. We . . . we could meet in secret, now and then. No one would have to know. We would make no claims on each other. We’ll just . . . do as we please.”
The way she fumbled with the words, so unlike her usual precise way of speaking, devastated Ethan. He could only guess what it cost her to lay open her pride like this. He wasn’t certain what she was offering, or even if she knew. Not that it mattered. He wanted, craved, needed anything she was willing to give. But he had to make her understand that it was impossible. And even if it were, the idea was beneath her.
“Have you had that kind of arrangement with a man before?” he brought himself to ask.
Her eyes were the green of deep summer and lush growing things. “I’m a woman who makes her own decisions and handles the consequences.”
“That means no,” Ethan said softly. At her silence, he continued, “You’d be risking your reputation. Your career.”
“Believe me, I understand that better than you.”
“Have you ever shared a bed with a man? Even once?”
“Why is that relevant?”
Her evasive response sent a pleasure-pang down to the pit of his stomach. “That means no,” he said again, his voice even softer than before. He took a slow breath, trying to steady himself, whi
le his blood sang with the knowledge that she’d been waiting for him. She was meant to be his. God, he wanted her beyond any reckoning of earth or heaven. But her well-being mattered a thousand times more than his own desires.
“Garrett . . . I’m a man full o’ trouble. When I vowed to let nothing harm you, I included myself on that list.”
A frown crimped her forehead. She closed her grip on his vest until her fists were tight as pine knots. “I’m not afraid of you, or your trouble.” Her green eyes were narrowed and intent as she tugged him closer. “Kiss me,” she urged in a whisper.
“I have to go,” he said shortly, and pulled back while he was still able.
But Garrett moved with him, her hands reaching up to grip his head on either side, the way he’d taught her at Baujart’s. The strength of her fingers electrified him.
“Kiss me,” she commanded, “or I’ll break your nose.”
The threat startled a ragged laugh from him. He shook his head as he looked at her, this fearsomely capable woman who loved geese and was afraid of spaghetti, and could either wield a scalpel in a complex surgical procedure or use it as a throwing-knife.
There had always been a cold streak in him, but he couldn’t seem to find it now, when he needed it most. He was breaking apart inside. He would never be the same after this.
“Christ, you’ve ruined me,” he whispered.
His arms went around her, one hand gripping the heavy silken mass of her braided chignon. She guided his head down, and he lost the battle, all his will vanquished as he began to kiss her as if the world were about to end.
For him, it was.
Chapter 8
In truth, the kiss started a bit awkwardly. Garrett puckered her lips into an innocently round shape, as if she were pressing them against someone’s cheek. Had Ethan not been so inflamed, he would have smiled. He brushed his mouth over the gathered circle of her lips, playing softly, coaxing without words . . . Like this . . . nudging at her lips until she parted them hesitantly.
All the hungering minutes of his life, the years of bitter struggle, had led to this moment. The scars his soul had worn like armor were dissolving at her touch. She allowed the gentle intrusion of his tongue, made a little sound of pleasure, and to his eternal delight, she tried to pull him deeper. The graceful hands he so admired lifted to his head, slender fingers wandering behind his ears and into his hair, and the feel of it was so exquisite, he all but purred.
The kiss turned into something dark and dreaming, an unspoken language of heat and silk, tenderness and greed. He was so famished for her, had worshipped and wanted her for so long, but he’d never expected to have her in his arms. He’d never imagined she would yield to him like this, her response natural and searing. Nothing had ever devastated him the way she did. He pulled her closer, as if he were trying to protect her with his entire body, and she moaned softly, clinging to him as her knees began to give out like slip-joint hinges.
Lifting her easily, Ethan sat her on the edge of a metal table and collected her against him, one of his hands guiding her head to his shoulder. She conformed to him bonelessly, her legs forced to part beneath her skirts. Her breath came in flutters, like the bursts of a sparrow’s wing beats.
Take her right now, came the lust-drenched thought. He could make her want it. He could have her begging for it, right there on the table. It would feel so damn good, better than anything either of them had ever experienced. It would be worth anything.
“Don’t trust me,” he managed to warn unsteadily.
Garrett’s breath struck his neck in a little puff of amusement. “Why?” she whispered. “Are you going to seduce me in my own laboratory?”
Clearly she had no idea how close he was to doing just that.
Ethan crushed his mouth against her smoothed-back hair, his gaze wandering over shelves filled with vaguely menacing instruments and flasks of mysterious fluids. “What man wouldn’t be carried away in a setting like this?” he asked dryly. Although there actually was something provocative about it, this scientific room of cold, hard surfaces, and the pretty green-eyed creature in his arms. She was the only soft thing in here.
“Science is romantic,” Garrett agreed dreamily, missing the sarcasm. “There are secrets and wonders waiting to be discovered in this laboratory.”
Ethan’s lips twitched as he charted the length of her spine with his palm. “The only wonder I see is you, acushla.”
Garrett drew back enough to look at him, the tip of her nose brushing his. “What does that word mean?”
“Acushla? It’s . . . a word for female friend.”
After a moment of consideration, a skeptical grin crossed her face. “No, it isn’t.”
It was pure reflex to kiss her again, a response to an impulse before it had even reached his brain. Her mouth shaped to his with a willingness that drew a primitive grunt of satisfaction from his throat. He felt the innocent tightening of her thighs against his hips, and his groin pumped with heat.
Ethan damned himself as his fingers went to the buttons of her basque. Just a few minutes more, and he would live on it to the end of his days. The front of her bodice fell open to reveal a chemise fastened with a tiny silk bow, and a simple white corset with elastic panels, the kind women wore for riding or exercise. With great care, he untied the little bow and ran his forefinger inside the loosened chemise. As the back of his knuckle brushed her breast, a rush of intense excitement made it difficult to breathe. He eased the fine white cotton down to reveal a soft pink nipple peeking over the molded corset edge.
He bent over her, compelling her to lean back on his arm, and slipped his fingers beneath the boned fabric to lift the firm, silky weight of her breast. His head lowered. Taking the rosy tip into his mouth, he tugged it into a stiff bud. She gasped and trembled, her hand gripping his shoulder repeatedly, like a cat kneading her paws.
For Ethan, the sexual act had always been a transaction or a weapon. He’d been trained in the arts of seducing anyone, man or woman, into yielding their most closely guarded secrets. He knew endless ways to stimulate, torment, and satisfy, how to make someone mindless with desire. He’d done things, and had things done to him, that most people would consider beyond decency. But he’d never experienced anything like the intimacy of this moment.
He spread a path of slow kisses to her other breast, taking his time, savoring the unbelievable smoothness of her skin. As his lips reached the edge of her chemise, Garrett fumbled to pull the garment down. Even as aroused as Ethan was, he grinned briefly at her impatience. Cupping beneath her breast, he kissed the pale curve, deliberately avoiding the pink center. Her fingers slid into his hair as she tried to guide his mouth to where she wanted it. He resisted, blowing gently against the contracted point. Garrett quivered in frustration as he hovered over the nipple for a torturously long moment, making them both wait. Finally relenting, he caught the firm bud, pulled it deep, teased it with his tongue.
That was all he could stand before he had to pull his mouth away. She strained upward to kiss him, but he shook his head and held her off. He’d never been so aroused, his flesh so hard that every throb of his pulse hurt.
“I have to stop,” he said hoarsely. Now, while he still could.
Her arms crept around his neck. “Stay with me tonight.”
Filled with lust and yearning, Ethan nuzzled her flushed cheek. “Ah, darlin’,” he whispered, “you don’t want that. I wouldn’t be nice. I’d bring you to the edge of wanting, and keep you there ’til you were cursing and screaming your pleasure for all the neighbors to hear. And after I’d brought you to a long, hard come, I might turn you over my knee for being such a noisy lass. Is that what you want? To spend all night in bed with a big, mean bastard?”
Her voice was muffled against his shoulder. “Yes.”
A laugh stirred in his throat.
Her legs dangled from her seated position on the table. White cotton stockings, sensible walking boots. The way she sat with her thighs p
arted should have made her appear wanton, but instead the posture reminded him of a young tomboy. He couldn’t believe she would make herself so vulnerable to him.
He leaned forward, his mouth finding hers. She quivered and opened for him, letting him taste her. The finely wrought muscles of her leg tensed as she realized his hand had stolen beneath her skirts and was working up her thigh.
Even the most demurely styled ladies’ drawers were constructed with a long slit at the crotch. While the garments were perfectly modest when a woman was in a standing position, they opened completely when she was seated. Reaching the seamed edge of the gap, he let his thumb rest gently against the delicate skin of her inner thigh.
Garrett pulled her mouth from his and buried her face in his throat.
Ethan tightened his arm around her back, while his thumb slid higher, circling into the edge of a silky-rough patch of hair. He skimmed the tops of the curls, stirring the hairs with teasing strokes that awakened vague echoes of sensation at the roots.
Gently he murmured in the hollow space just behind her earlobe, guessing at what might excite or intrigue her. “In India, before a man marries, he’s taught how to please his wife according to ancient texts on the erotic arts. He learns about the embraces, kisses, strokes, and bites that bring fulfillment.”
“Bites?” she asked dazedly.
“Love bites, darlin’. Nothing that would hurt you.” To demonstrate, he bent to her neck and nibbled softly. She made an agitated sound and arched toward him. “’Tis said the joining of two who are well-matched is a high union,” he whispered. “And if they become so intoxicated by love as to leave faint marks on the skin, their passion for each other will not be lessened even in one hundred years.”
Garrett’s voice was wobbly. “Did you learn any of those erotic arts?”
His lips curved against her skin. “Aye, but I’m still a novice. I only know one hundred and twenty positions.”
“A hundred and . . .” She broke off as he let two fingers slide gently between the soft lips of her sex, teasing back and forth. After a convulsive swallow, she managed to say, “I doubt that’s anatomically possible.”