| |
Daphne was almost asleep when the door to the bed chamber opened. She was facing the door and opened her eyes, surprised to see Colin enter, holding a candle. She debated pretending to sleep, but he was looking at her and had already seen her eyes were open.
“Did I wake you?” he asked.
“No. I couldn’t sleep.”
He approached the bed, set the candle on the table beside her, and then sat. The bed dipped, and she slid closer to him. She had donned a white nightgown with pink ribbons on the bodice, and she saw his eyes briefly lower to the ribbons then back to her face.
“I shouldn’t have walked out like I did,” he said. Her brows rose. Was this an apology of sorts? “I should have stayed and talked to you. I’ll do better next time.”
She wanted to believe him. But she wasn’t certain she could trust him. And wasn’t that ever the problem between them? He had never been there when she’d needed him. She couldn’t trust him to be there in the future. But she needed him now. She had no choice but to count on him in this moment.
“I do have a plan,” he said. “If you’re not too tired, I’d like to tell you about it.”
Daphne pushed herself up. “I’m not tired at all.” From somewhere downstairs a dog barked, and she knitted her brows. “Was that a dog?”
“Pugsly. I’ll explain later. I would like your opinion of the plan. It involves you as well.”
Her breath caught at that statement. Not only did he want her opinion, he had included her in the plan. Finally, he seemed to understand that she needed to be part of the solution with Battersea.
“Murray and Fortescue reminded me that I know something about disguises. We can use that skill against Battersea.”
“How?” she asked.
“I will dress as a wealthy Frenchman and approach Battersea at the theater tomorrow night. I will say that I am a man with particular tastes, and that I know he is a man who caters to those tastes.”
“Are there really such men?” she asked.
“Unfortunately, there are. And if a man or woman has enough money, he or she can usually acquire whatever he or she desires.”
He took her hand, and she looked down at their linked fingers. He rarely initiated such casual affection.
“I will tell him I want him to bring me you—not you specifically, but I will describe a woman who looks exactly like you, who is the daughter of a peer, and so on. If the information Jacobs gave me is correct, Battersea has a residence where he brings women—willing or not—just for these purposes. Battersea will tell me when and where to meet him, and we’ll know where to keep watch. I’ll push him to have the woman—you—in two nights’ time. He’ll probably argue it can’t be done, but I’ll offer him an obscene amount of money, and he’ll agree.”
Daphne squeezed his hand. “And then do I go out walking alone so he can abduct me?”
He gave her a horrified look before seeming to reach for patience. “No. You are never to even think about doing such a thing. You will attend a Society function. We’ll look through your invitations and accept one to a ball. I don’t care whose ball, but we make it known you will attend. This, of course, is the part of the plan I cannot control. Battersea will do one of two things. He will try to kidnap you from the ball, in which case I will catch him and expose him, and with Gladwell’s added accusations, he will be done for.”
“Or?” she asked.
“Or he will see it’s not possible to take you from the ball and find another woman who will meet the Frenchman’s needs. Mr. Murray and Mr. Fortescue have agreed to wait at Battersea’s secret lair to catch him with that woman or, on the off chance that the earl is successful in abducting you—which he won’t be”—he clenched her hand—“they will rescue you.”
“And then we’ll have him.”
“Yes.”
She went through the whole thing in her mind again. She could see no obvious flaws. There were things left to chance, she supposed. Battersea might tell the Frenchman he had no interest in helping him. Or something might go wrong, and Battersea might succeed in abducting her. He would certainly take advantage of that opportunity. But Colin had said he would not allow her to be taken, and if she were abducted, his friends would be there waiting to rescue her—provided she hadn’t already rescued herself.
“It’s a good plan,” she said. “Very good.”
“Stratford has a knack for making them, so I let him have his way with it. It was a bit more complicated, but I simplified it for all our sakes.”
“And so tomorrow night you go to the theater as Monsieur...?”
“I haven’t decided on a name yet.”
Her free hand reached out and slid down the lapel of his coat. “You have time. Right now, you should come to bed.”
His brow rose. “With you?”
She would not ask him again. She did have some pride. “Wherever.”
She saw his throat work as he swallowed. “I want to stay with you.”
She pushed hard to tamp down the hope that threatened to bubble up. “I’d like that too. I was thinking of you before you came in.” She released his hand and fingered one of the bows between her breasts. She might not have him with her much longer, but she could make the most of the time she had. Slowly, she began to loosen the bow.
“Stop,” he said.
She paused. “Why?”
“I want to do it.”
She allowed her fingers to linger on the bow, fingering the silky ribbon. He stood, stripped off his coat and stepped out of his boots. He started back toward the bed, but she shook her head. “Your shirt and trousers too.” She did not want him to have any excuse to leave her.
He pulled the shirt over his head, revealing his broad shoulders and taut stomach, burnished gold by the firelight. Then he stepped out of his trousers. He was already swollen and hard for her. Her heart leapt in anticipation when he knelt on the bed then braced himself over her. She was not used to the feel of a man’s body against hers. He nudged her lips open with his, and she forgot to think as his mouth took hers, leaving her breathless and aroused.
Bracing himself on his elbows, his fingers brushed hers out of the way, and he took hold of the pink ribbon. It looked so small and fragile in his hands. He pulled at the ends, freeing it, and revealing a small V of her skin. His hand skated down to the next ribbon. He wrapped the ends around his finger then pulled it free. Her nightgown opened wider, revealing the curve of her breasts. There were two more ribbons tied in delicate bows. He lowered his mouth, kissed the V between her breasts and took the next ribbon between his teeth.
Daphne groaned at the heat of the desire that swept through her. She wanted that mouth on her. All over her. Clenching the ribbon delicately between his teeth, he loosened it. The garment opened wider, almost revealing her fully. One of his hands traced her bare skin from neck to the top of her abdomen and then he took the last bow in his hands. Slowly he untied it, and her gown fell open, leaving her bare from the waist up.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, kissing his way back up her abdomen then detouring to lavish first one breast then the other with attention. Daphne’s hands clenched in his hair as she moaned and arched for him. At some point, he shoved her nightgown off, and her skin slid against his. She couldn’t get enough of the feel of his hard body moving against hers. His hand dipped between her legs and stroked her. Her hips bucked and she moaned her approval. When two fingers entered her, she gasped in pleasure. He touched and fondled, kissed and caressed until she could not breathe, could not think, could do nothing but feel.
When she climaxed, she called his name and bit his shoulder. He chuckled, took her waist in his hands and rolled her onto her stomach. “Little vixen. You’re dangerous.”
“Don’t stop touching me,” she murmured as he lifted her hips and wedged them open with his knee. It was strange to have him behind her like this, to be open to him. It felt even stranger when he entered her. He felt large, and the pressure was different. He rocked into her slowly, making her moan and push back to take more of him. His hands moved over her hips, then her breasts, then down to her still sensitive sex.
His movements were slow and steady and so were his fingers as they stroked and teased. She hadn’t thought she could climax again. She was already heavy and her body still tingled, but as he rocked into her and his fingers played over her tight bud, desire began to swell.
His mouth was on her back, his teeth scraping over her skin lightly. She moaned his name as well as other demands she did not think a lady should know about much less voice. He whispered encouragement as he pushed deeper into her, the sensation mixing pleasure and pain. And then he removed his fingers, licked them, and placed them back on that nub of nerves, and she spiraled into oblivion.
He thrust harder into her, his shout matching her cries of pleasure. “Colin, I love you,” she heard herself say. She hadn’t been able to stop it. He hadn’t stopped thrusting and his own cry had sounded ragged in her ears. She prayed he hadn’t heard. Her knees weak, she collapsed, and he rolled off her and gathered her to him.
“That was...” She tried to catch her breath. She tried to think of words to describe what they’d shared. He kissed her temple and pulled her close.
“I know. Sleep now.”
She knew it was his way of avoiding any talk of emotions, but she was too tired to argue. She closed her eyes and slept.
***
COLIN WOKE WHEN THE maid came in to tend to the fire in the early hours of the morning. The girl kept her gaze away from the bed, and Colin thought that was probably a good thing as he and Daphne were both still naked and tangled up in the bed sheets. Sleeping with her kept him warmer than he was used to, and he’d thrown off the covers. He pulled them back now in case the maid looked over. He tried to go back to sleep when the maid finished and scurried back out, but it was difficult with Daphne’s round bottom pressed against his thighs. He wanted her again, which unnerved him. Shouldn’t he be tiring of her by now? Instead his mind continued to think of new ways to have her or about how much he’d like to try what they’d done all over again.
He supposed he was making up for all the years living as a celibate. He’d certainly woken up many mornings in the past wishing he had a woman beside him. The difference was that having the real woman was not without complications. She’d told him she loved him at the tavern. That had been alarming but somewhat abstract. At some point in the past, she’d loved him. But he’d heard her say it last night, and it wasn’t at all abstract or in the past. The admission had startled him and also pleased him. He’d come even harder after she’d said it, and he hadn’t wanted to think too closely as to why that should be.
But had she meant the declaration or had she simply said it in the throes of passion? Or perhaps she’d said it because she couldn’t stop herself in that moment. He had pretended he hadn’t heard, but what was he supposed to say or do if—no, when—she said it again?
You’ve said that already would probably anger her.
She’d have a similar reaction to I know.
Thank you didn’t seem quite right.
He rather liked Good. Keep that to yourself from now on, but he doubted she would oblige.
Why couldn’t she just love him silently? Why did she have to say it? And why couldn’t he say it in return? It didn’t have to mean anything. It was just words. But he’d never said it to anyone. And if he said it to her, he knew he would mean it. He did...feel that way—some strong way, at any rate—for her. Hadn’t he shown her that? Why was there a need to say the words? And if he said those words, would not more words be required in the future? When did he fall in love with her? What did he love about her? What did he love most?
Colin wanted to tear his hair out at even the idea of such conversations. He could kiss her. That would shut her up, but that would not work forever.
She sighed and rolled over, one of her legs sliding over his hip. Colin glanced down at her face, and she had a small smile on her lips. “I could feel you were awake,” she murmured, her eyes half closed. His cock had indeed been awake. It was always awake in her presence, it seemed.
“And now you’re awake,” he said as she rocked against him. She was warm and wet and ready for him.
“Whatever shall we do?”
“We’ll think of something.” And he kissed her.
***
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, they’d been forced by propriety out of bed. Daphne had spent the day reading and attending to correspondence, and Colin had just about perfected his disguise. He’d shown her several incarnations, and he’d realized she had a good eye for details. As any master of disguise knew, the details made all the difference. She’d pointed out a Frenchman would style his hair more artfully with a bit of volume on top and tousled curls falling over the forehead. Jacobs had been all but ecstatic when Colin had told him to use the pomade in order to achieve the look.
She’d nodded when Colin showed her the end result but frowned at his cravat, sliding a hand over Pugsly’s fur in concentration. The dog had made himself at home in her lap. “A Frenchman at the theater would wear a more elaborate knot.”
He’d frowned. “Are you and Jacobs collaborating?”
“How so?” she’d asked.
He’d marched back to his dressing room and gave Jacobs the good news. A bit of clay and cosmetics lengthened his nose slightly and the same cosmetics applied skillfully thinned his lips. He was still studying the result in the looking glass when Pugsly erupted into barks.
“It appears we have a guard dog,” Jacobs said.
“Go see who it is,” Colin ordered. He did not want to be seen in his disguise by one of Daphne’s friends or family members. The last thing he needed was to have one of them call him FitzRoy when he was speaking to Battersea.
His valet let out an annoyed breath at the order. After all, it was not in his job description to answer doors, but he returned shortly with a bemused smile. “It is a street urchin, sir. Apparently, she has come to see you.”
“Why would a street urchin want to see me?”
“I cannot claim to know, sir, but it appears Lady Daphne knows her. She keeps calling the creature Harley.”
Colin swore under his breath and marched down the stairs. When he entered the parlor, Daphne was just finishing handing Harley a cup of what he presumed was tea. The child looked even smaller and dirtier in the late afternoon light. She must have smelled of something Pugsly found interesting as he was assiduously sniffing her foot.
“Oh, Mr. FitzRoy,” Daphne said. “Look who has come to call.”
Harley scrunched her nose at him. “‘E don’t look like your Mr. FitzRoy.”
“Doesn’t he?” Daphne said in that way all young ladies of breeding did when they wanted to avoid answering a question. She sat in the chair beside the girl, her pink dress with bows trailing at an angle over one breast quite at odds with the dark, simple garb the child wore.
“No, ‘e don’t.” Harley scrutinized him. “But it were dark the other night.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, Miss Harley, how did you find us?” Colin asked.
She shrugged. “You said if I were interested in that orphanage to come find you. I found you.”
Society ladies were obviously not the only ones capable of avoiding questions.
“Yes, but how?” he pressed.
Her shoulders hunched up to her ears, which were all but hidden by the cap she wore. Surely the butler had attempted to take the cap, but she must have refused. “I’m good at finding people. I found Captain Gladwell, didn’t I? Told ‘im to meet you at The Clipper.”
Colin considered. “You did, but we are some distance from your jurisdiction.”
Her eyes went wide. “Wot’s that mean?”
“It means you are far from home,” Daphne said, her voice soothing.
“Well, that ain’t my fault.” Harley sipped her tea, looked down at it in surprise and sipped it again. “Yer the ones who live all the way over ‘ere. Wot’s in this tea then?”
“Do you like it?” Daphne asked with a smile.
“It tastes...I don’t know.”
“Sweet?” Daphne offered. “I added a little sugar.”
Harley drank more.
Colin checked his pocket watch. He still had hours before anyone but the actors arrived at the theater. He had time to pay Neil and the boys at The Sunnybrooke Home for Boys a visit. “You said you want to go to the orphanage,” Colin said to Harley. “Are you ready now?”
“Don’t rush me, gov. I want to finish this so-called tea.”
Daphne covered her mouth with her hand to hide a smile. “Do you have time to take her, Mr. FitzRoy?”
“If we go now. I’ll have one of the servants call for a hackney and have the jarvey wait and bring me back. I should return within a couple of hours.”
“I’ll go as well,” Daphne announced. “I’d like to see the orphanage and Lady Juliana. I knew her a little before her marriage.”
Lady Juliana was Neil’s wife. As the daughter of an earl she had been a benefactress of the orphanage and then apparently simply taken over the day-to-day operations. Colin didn’t know how Neil did it, but if any man could handle a bevy of orphans, Neil was that man. He’d certainly kept Draven’s troop in line.
But Colin didn’t have time for social calls this evening. He had a mission. He’d take Harley to Neil, convince the man to allow a girl into his all-boys orphanage, and then finish his preparations for the theater.
“Not tonight,” he told Daphne. “There isn’t time.”
She nodded. “I probably shouldn’t call at this hour unannounced.”
Colin knew she was tired of staying home. For a woman who had been used to enjoying all the Season had to offer, her life had been severely curtailed. She seemed to be taking it well, but like a spirited mare, she was beginning to strain against the bridle. “This will be over soon,” he told her. She smiled brightly, almost convincing him. He looked at Harley again. “Finished?” he asked.
She drained the last of her tea. “I’m ready.” She stood and tromped heavily to the door of the parlor, acting more like she was off to prison than a clean bed and a roof over her head.
Daphne rose. “I’ll come visit you soon, Harley,” she said.
“You don’t ‘ave to do that.”
“I want to. And don’t worry. Lady Juliana and Mr. Wraxall are kind people.” At least she knew Lady Juliana was kind, but if it soothed Harley, she’d say the same about Mr. Wraxall. “They will treat you well.”
Harley scuffed at the floor with her bare foot. “Let’s go then.”
Colin escorted her into the foyer and gave the butler his instructions. Colin almost went back to the parlor to kiss Daphne farewell but decided that was far too sentimental. Instead, he squared his shoulders and rushed to the hackney, keeping his hat low over his face.