In the Arms of a Marquess(83)

Ben’s heart racketed beneath his ribs. “Is this true?”

“Of course it is true. I cannot lie any longer.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

Her brows twisted. “Misplaced loyalty. And I believed it did not matter to you one way or the other.”

“It mattered. It matters.” He pulled her down and embedded himself deep in her, a groan breaking from his chest as she whimpered her body’s acceptance. He held her to him, unmoving, breathing in her scent of roses and perfect woman and whispered, “It matters.”

She trembled, shifting her hips, then sighing as she drew him out then into her again, her fingertips pressing into his shoulders.

“Oh,” she sighed, “this is what I want. This.”

He grasped her soft buttocks and guided her need, too hard and hot and surrounded by her not to take her harder with each stroke, to satisfy the desperate craving to have her in every way, beyond flesh. To make her his. But she needed no encouragement. She rode him faster, throwing back her shoulders and arching her neck. He spread his palm between her breasts and slid it to her throat, the vibrations of her moans a gift beneath his hand, then her tripping laughter.

“Thank you, Benjirou. Thank you for rescuing me again,” she whispered upon a sigh like rippling tide, eyes closed, her smiling lips wide, and Ben lost his soul, finally, irrevocably. He sought her, heart spilling, body surging. Her brow knit and she bore down upon him, moaning as he pulled her tight, her laughter transformed into cries of pleasure, then astonishment, then ecstasy. With each fluid shudder she branded him, and he submitted. He buried his face in her hair, crushed her sweet, supple body to his chest, and came hard and complete inside her.

She broke his hold, her shimmering eyes flying wide. “What about caution?”

“I have never been cautious with you, Octavia Pierce. Never.” He caught her hand and pressed his mouth to her palm. “I simply cannot be.”

She said nothing, her lips parted as her breathing slowed, firelight dancing across her smooth cheeks and pert freckled nose. She drew her gaze away and dipped her head to his shoulder, her hands curving around his ribs. He encircled her slight body with one arm and stroked along the length of her tumbled hair.

Finally she slipped off his lap and pulled up a corner of the bed linens to wrap around her. She looked small and vulnerable in his bed, and he wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, this time more tightly so that she would not leave. But lines of tension creased her brow, and she remained withdrawn, as though uncertain.

“What is it?” he said quietly. “Do you wish to tell me the news that brought you here tonight?”

“You brought me here tonight.” Her eyes were too wide. Wary. It stilled his heart.

“The other reason you came,” he made himself say.

“I suppose I must. I don’t wish to think about it, but until I tell you I will not be able to let it be.” She glanced toward their clothing strewn upon the floor. “It is quite unpleasant. Perhaps we should be dressed for this conversation.”

“Under no circumstances.”

Hesitation entered her eyes. “Ben, I do not—”

“Octavia, you are not going anywhere any time soon.”

“But—”

“You came here of your own volition. Pay the consequences of your folly.” He could not help smiling.

Her lips twitched. But then she frowned. “This is very important. It is also very grim.”

“I have been responsible for dealing with important and grim matters every day for the past seven years, and longer. That you are involved this time is my sole concern.”

Her warm eyes questioned, pools of liquid hope.

“Tell me about your business,” she whispered. “About what you do.”

“My business is . . .” He drew a breath. “ . . . broad.”

She nodded, rapid little movements of her head, her cheeks flushed. A sensation filled Ben like a fist opening up, releasing years of regret and resentment.

“I pursue and halt those who seek to do harm to others.”

“Halt them from doing harm in what manner exactly?”

“Enslaving people. Waging unjust war. Bankrolling tyranny.”

“Good heavens.” She released a breath, a soft swish of air. “Quite a bit broader than I had imagined.” She seemed to consider it for a moment. “Tea and woolens serve as a cover for all of that?”

“Something must. Not everyone considers the activities of my organization in a positive light.”

“I daresay. Where does all of this take place?”

“Wherever it is needed.”

She said nothing in response. They sat for a moment like that, the flame-lit night holding them in its generous embrace. Finally she drew in a long breath.

“Marcus is being blackmailed by the Mr. Sheeble he spoke of before, to aid him in shipping poor girls to India to be wives for English soldiers and Company clerks. Apparently this supply of English girls is to prevent them from taking Indian brides.”

It was the missing piece of the puzzle. Better than Ben had assumed for the girls who survived the voyage, but not by any means legal. And so many had died.

“Is that all?” he asked.

“Well, I dare say that is quite a bit of ‘all’ already. Although perhaps not to you, I suppose. But, no. There is a girl involved. Her safety is Marcus’s greatest anxiety. It seems that something untoward is occurring, and he is unhappy about it. He is assisting with this next journey only in order to protect this particular girl from danger.”