The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6)(18)
“I haven’t forgotten your rule, lover.” Now that she’d gotten her way, Kitty’s manner turned conciliatory. “You never sleep with customers. I wouldn’t expect you to.”
“Widows can be clingy.”
“For the twenty pounds she paid, I told her she’d get an hour of your time and no more.”
He went to the battered washing stand and cleaned himself up. He did a final inspection in the cracked looking glass: the eyes that stared out of his youthful face were cool, flat. Ready.
Straightening his cravat, he turned to his bawd. “Take me to her.”
Chapter Six
Heart hammering, she raced down the shadowy corridor.
She didn’t know what she was running from, only that it was close, too close, and she needed to hide. She arrived at a dead end, three doors surrounding her: which one should she choose? She grabbed the closest handle, her clammy hands fumbling to get it open. Stumbling inside, she slammed the door shut.
Silence. Darkness. The carpet beneath her slippers was thick as a bog, slowing her clumsy steps toward a flickering in the distance. A fireplace? As she got closer, she saw the back of a massive wingchair. Someone was sitting there. Smoke rose in ghostly spirals, the distinct fruity scent churning her stomach.
A man’s disembodied voice floated to her. “Come here, my little flower…”
Sweat leaked down her palms; on shaky legs, she ran from the room, through another door.
She found herself in a garret room, small, bare… at least no one was there. Her feet took her to the only window: through the glass, dawn’s first rays spilled over the rooftops and streets below. She blinked as the light grew brighter and brighter, a strange orange glow glazing the buildings and blazing into the sky…
Then she smelled it. Smoke.
She whipped around: the room was aflame.
Fire swirled, advancing hungrily toward her. Terror seized her as flames rose higher and higher, thick black smoke choking her lungs. Only one way to escape. She turned, threw open the window, stepping out onto the ledge. Her belly lurched as the cobblestones spun dizzily in her vision, so far away…
The fire exploded, a fist of air punching her out the window, and she screamed as she plummeted backward through darkness…
“Open your eyes, little one.”
Blinking, she found herself staring into the face of a god.
“Wh-where am I?” she stammered.
“You’re safe now.” His brown gaze was warm, his deep voice reassuring. “I’ve got you.”
She was on a bed, she realized, and he was on his side next to her, a wall of masculine strength.
“Who are you?” she murmured.
“You know who I am.”
“I don’t…” Yet staring into his beautiful countenance, she felt recognition stir. Like an autumn wind, it swirled through the leaves of her memories: feelings without images, familiarity without facts. I know you. She reached up, her hand curling against his jawbone.
His eyes smoldered. He bent his head, and her eyes closed in anticipation.
His kiss was like coming home to a place she’d never been. The touch of his lips, soft yet firm, threw open the curtains, dazzling her. So this is desire. Longing flooded her. His taste made her crave more, the disciplined forays of his tongue making her shiver and shake. She arched closer— “Rosie, darling, are you awake?”
Rosie’s eyes flew open. Her heart thumped in her ears, and it took her a moment to recognize the chintz canopy and buttercup yellow walls, the cabinet of dolls. Her bedchamber. She touched her still-tingling lips, the dream slow to recede, ethereal tendrils clinging to her mind.
Beneath her nightgown, her breasts surged, achy and full. The tips were stiff and throbbing, a syrupy warmth gathered between her legs. Shame and horror collided.
Dear Lord, what is the matter with me? Why did I have such a wanton dream… about him?
“Rosie?”
“Coming, Mama!” Jumping out of bed, she hurriedly donned a flannel wrapper, took a breath, and opened the door.
Mama stood there in a lilac promenade dress.
“Good morning, dear,” she said pleasantly. “Odette said that you were not yet up, and I thought I’d check on you myself.” She made her way inside, the dark-haired maid following in her wake. “You may set the tray down, Odette. I’ll help my daughter with her ablutions this morning.”
Odette bobbed a curtsy and left after drawing open the curtains.
Mama waved Rosie to the rosewood vanity.
Obediently, Rosie took a seat. “You’re up early, aren’t you?”
“I have Sophie to thank for that.” Mama’s smile was rueful as she poured steaming water from the ewer into the basin. “Libby brought her to me at dawn.”
“You ought to hire a wet nurse like other fashionable ladies.”
“I like nursing Sophie. I did the same for Edward and…”—Mama lined up the grooming implements with undue care—“as long as I could for you.”
The reminder of their separation was there, always. Rosie knew it wasn’t her mother’s fault: Mama’s late and unmourned husband, Baron Draven, had stolen Rosie from her. Nonetheless, Rosie couldn’t squelch her bitterness at the infamous start to her life. Unlike her half-siblings, she’d been born on the wrong side of the blanket, and she’d been kidnapped by that bounder Draven, and God knows what else had happened in the period before Sir Gerald Coyner had become her guardian.