Thief of Shadows (Maiden Lane #4)(66)

“You talk revolution,” she murmured.

“And if I do?” His hands clenched into fists. “Perhaps we need another revolution—one of necessity instead of religion this time. I’m tired of rescuing orphaned and abandoned children. I want to never nurse a child through the night and see him die before daybreak, never have to bury another baby, never have to search for abandoned children only to find…” He choked suddenly, looking away from her.

Ah, they were drawing closer to what made him so edgy. She wanted to wrap her arms around him but was afraid he would rebuff such compassion. “What happened tonight?”

His mouth twisted. “I’ve been hunting for a workshop run by child kidnappers who make the children labor with no money and little food. I thought I’d found the place tonight—finally, after days of searching—only to discover the shop empty. The children are missing again, either removed to another place or perhaps even killed to leave no evidence.”

He looked at her, and she caught her breath at the anguish in his eyes. “Surely you alone cannot expect to bear this burden? Isn’t that a sin of pride, Mr. Makepeace?”

Any other man would’ve scoffed. He closed his eyes instead. “Perhaps. Perhaps I have too much pride.” His eyes flashed open. “But that does not excuse the fact that I was too late. I failed those children.”

She bowed her head. How could she help him, this man who felt too intensely, who bore all the problems of St. Giles on his shoulders? What could she offer him except what she’d already given him—her body?

She carefully put her book down on the table by her candle. Then she picked up the candlestick and crossed to the fireplace. The coals were already laid. She knelt and put fire to them.

“What are you doing?” he asked behind her.

She straightened and turned to face him. “I thought we might need some warmth for what you want.”

Then she let her wrap drop to the floor. Underneath was her night rail, a frivolous thing of lace and silk. She drew it off over her head and kicked the slippers from her feet. That left her naked and standing before him like some aging Venus. She threw her shoulders back, smiling at him defiantly.

Except his gaze wasn’t at all disappointed. In fact, he looked a little awestruck.

She wet her lips, noting that they trembled slightly, and walked toward him. “Now, what exactly do you want me to show you?”

“Everything,” he repeated.

A daunting word, for with another man it might be hyperbole. With Winter Makepeace it was not.

“Then touch me,” she said huskily.

His hand was broad and fit almost exactly over her left breast. He laid it there, hot and strong, then lifted to stroke around her areola delicately.

“Like this?” His words were rumbled, his gaze intent on what his hand touched.

“Yes, that’s nice,” she said.

His eyes flicked to hers. “Nice.”

She smiled. “Pinch my nipple.”

He squeezed gently—too gently.

“Harder.”

He frowned. “I will not hurt you.”

“You won’t,” she whispered.

The pinch this time went straight to her feminine valley. He cupped both hands over her breasts, fondling and pinching until her breath became heavy.

Then he stepped back.

“What are you doing?” she asked, a bit sharply, for simply standing there receiving his ministrations had been oddly arousing.

“Lie down,” he said. “I want to see all of you.”

She swallowed but carefully straightened her silk chemise on the hearthrug and lay down upon it. She watched as he stripped his smalls off and then knelt beside her, entirely nude.

The firelight made his skin glow, sent shadows and light dancing over the hard muscles of his arms and chest. His hair was tied back still, but as he paused to stare at her body, she reached up to pull away the simple black cord.

He looked at her, startled.

She smiled, threading her fingers through his straight brown hair. It was shoulder-length, and when it was about his face, he looked less civilized. “Fair is fair.”

Was that a blush darkening his lean cheeks?

“I want to touch you,” he said low. “Feel and… taste.”

She nodded, the breath suddenly gone from her lungs.

He bent over her, bracing one arm by her face, like a wildcat claiming its prey. She watched as he lowered his head toward her breast and then had to close her eyes as his tongue touched her nipple. He was gentle, exploring. Was this how Adam had first touched Eve? With wonder, even reverence?

He closed his teeth suddenly on her nipple and she gasped.

He released her at once, looking at her through his hair. “I hurt you?”

“No.” She bit her lip. “It’s… it’s fine.”

He stared at her a moment longer as if analyzing her reaction, then bent toward her again. This time he lapped at her nipple with long, firm strokes before suddenly sucking the tip into his mouth.

She had to ball her fists so as not to make a sound. He might stop if she did and she’d really rather he didn’t.

Abruptly he abandoned her breast, sitting back to stare at her once more. “I want to discover all of you.”

“Then do so,” she said, her voice a low purr.