He saw Kathy take it all in, watched her staring at Grace, at the little girl, and then back at him. Max saw the moment when she understood, when he broke her heart, felt the shock of it ripple through him.

  “Come with me, love,” Grace said, her voice gentle now as she held out a hand to her.

  Kathy hesitated, her face ashen. She stared back at him, as if willing him to say something, anything, to explain. But there was nothing to say, no explanation he could give.

  Guilty.

  Guilty as charged.

  Worthy of being left dead in a filthy alley in the Dials.

  “Go home now?” the little girl asked her mother, casting him anxious glances from over her shoulder.

  “Yes, my sweet. We’ll go home and see Nana and Pops.”

  The child gave an excited wriggle before glancing back at Max again. She frowned, pointing at him. “Who is he?”

  Grace looked back at him, expressionless, before answering. “That’s no one, Betty, my love.”

  She took Kathy’s hand and gave a tug.

  Kathy was perfectly still except for the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She stared at the carpet, though Max willed her to look at him one last time. He knew he would never see her again, but she did not look up, and only followed Grace blindly from the door.

  Chapter 15

  Pip,

  I’m coming, but you’ve a damned lot of explaining to do, brother.

  Who the hell is the mother? Please don’t tell me you’ve ruined some poor girl?

  ―Excerpt of a letter from The Lord Thomas Barrington to his elder brother, the Hon’ble Philip Barrington, Earl of Ashburton (Sons of Lucian and Matilda Barrington, The Most Hon’ble Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu).

  19th June 1842, Fort William, The Highlands, Scotland.

  It took a moment for Louis to come to his senses, to realise they were standing in a public street, embracing in broad daylight. He grasped Evie’s hand and dragged her behind him into the carpenter’s workshop. She gasped, but did not murmur a word of protest. The door was locked but flew opened with one hard kick. He entered and pulled Evie in behind him, slamming the door shut and pulling her into his embrace, holding on tight.

  His heart was hammering so hard he felt giddy, but Evie was here, in his arms. It felt like a dream. Her head rested against his chest, her hands clutching at his lapels. There was a dull thud as her bonnet slid to the ground, but neither of them made a move to retrieve it. They just stood there, holding on tight, neither of them saying a word. Louis lowered his head, burying his face in her soft hair and closing his eyes, breathing in the scent of her. Home, his heart whispered. Though he had come in search of her, he had come home.

  “Ma petite,” he said, hardly recognising his own voice, thick with emotion.

  “Your heart is beating very fast,” she observed. She was trembling, he realised now, he could hear the quaver in her voice, the fine tremor running through her body, so close to his.

  “My heart is beating for the first time since you left me alone,” he replied, trying to mask the anger behind the words, the hurt. Not her fault, he reminded himself. She’d had no choice but to leave him. Yet the sense of abandonment remained.

  She looked up at him then, meeting his gaze. “I didn’t know until it was too late,” she said, beseeching. “I could not stop them.”

  He cupped her face with his hand, his thumb stroking the satiny skin of her cheek. She was here. She was really here. “I know,” he whispered.

  “But why are you here?” She sounded awed that he was. Uncomprehending.

  “You know why I’m here,” he said, and that had sounded angry, brutal. She drew back a little, wide-eyed.

  Louis swallowed down the emotion roiling inside him, reminding himself to step carefully, but he was all raw edges and exposed nerves. He had not felt this vulnerable and afraid since he was a child. He had sworn no one would ever have the power to hurt him again and yet, here he was, with his heart exposed.

  “I’m sorry,” he managed, drawing in a shaky breath. “I’m just… Merde, Evie. Do you have any idea how much I missed you?”

  She stared up at him, utterly guileless. “No,” she replied frankly. “I don’t. Not really.”

  Voices sounded on the street outside the shop, and she tensed, turning her head to peer through the grubby window.

  “That’s Mama and Muir. They’ll be worried when they discover I’m not in the milliners.”

  “Muir?” he repeated, his worst suspicions confirmed when she blushed. “One of Morven’s sons, I collect. Your prospective husband, perhaps?”

  She swallowed hard, and he sensed her anxiety. “He’s not asked me yet.”

  Yet.

  Louis felt sick. No. He felt savage and on the edge of violence, like slamming out of the dingy workshop and finding this Muir and explaining to him that Evie was his in terms that would leave no one in any doubt. Get a grip, Louis, he warned himself.

  “And when he does ask you?” Louis asked, the words little more than a growl. He wasn’t certain he wanted to hear the answer, but he had to. You could not win a battle if you did not know who you were fighting. And the battle for Evie’s heart was one he had no intention of losing. She looked away from him and pain lanced through his chest.

  “I d-don’t know,” she whispered, blinking back tears.

  Tension simmered between them, but she did not let him go. Her body pressed close to his, her hands still clutching at his coat.

  “I know,” he said, sliding his hand behind her neck, into her hair, tugging gently and tilting her head back. “I know, because you are mine. We both know it, even if you have been running from the truth. You belong with me, ma petite. When he asks, your answer is no. Do you hear me, Evie?”

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice was screaming at him to stop. This was not the way. He had promised to give her time, to make her own choice, to come to him because she loved him. But time was running out, and he was too afraid of what he might do if she did not make that choice at all.

  Diable.

  Louis shuddered as the evil voice whispered in his ear. No. Not that. Not now. He would not heed that voice now after working so hard for so long to silence it. Not after all this time. He concentrated on Evie, on her response to his command.

  She was breathing hard, her breath fluttering against his face, lips parted, her eyes dark. Was that fear or wanting he saw? She did not reply, did not let go of her hold on him.

  Diable.

  “Are you afraid of me?” he asked softly, his thumb stroking over the pulse point in her neck. It fluttered wildly under her skin, like a panicked bird.

  “A-A little,” she admitted, but she still did not let go. “I never was before, but now—”

  She broke off, staring at him uncertainly, but still, she did not let go.

  “I would never hurt you,” he whispered, lowering his head to nuzzle that sweet spot beneath her ear where her blood thundered. Her breath caught, and she pressed closer to him as a shiver ran through her, which pleased him. He pressed a kiss there, nipped at her earlobe, moved his lips over her jaw as her breathing became erratic. “Has he kissed you?” he asked, wondering if he could stand to hear the answer.

  Diable, mauvais esprit, démon, serpent dans le Jardin d'eden, whispered the insidious voice, reminding him his beauty was a snare for the innocent, a gift from the devil, that he was the serpent in the garden of Eden.

  She licked her lips, and the sight sent a bold of lust straight to his groin. Apparently, she could not speak the word aloud, however, so she nodded. Jealousy was a knife to his heart, a vile twisting in his guts.

  “Did you like it?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.

  She stared at him, her skin flushed pink, her eyes growing darker, her breasts rising and falling faster, pressing against his chest. “It w-was… nice,” she said carefully, watching his reaction, her gaze upon him intent.

  “Nice,” he said in disgust, remembering her saying that to him once before. “My kisses are not nice, mon amour.”

  Louis lowered his mouth to hers and she tensed, a startled gasp escaping her, allowing him entry. He took the opportunity she gave, as he would take this opportunity to make her see once and for all that she belonged with him. His tongue swept in, and he felt shock vibrate through her. To his relief, he discovered at once that she did not know how to kiss, so either this Muir was a damned fool, or he had not kissed her at all thoroughly. Louis taught her the way of it, gently teasing her response from her, triumphant when she followed his lead, sliding her tongue tentatively over his. Desire rioted through him. Control was slipping from his grasp, but for once, he found it hard to care. It had been a very long time since he'd had a woman, all because of her, because he felt as if he betrayed her every time he tried to take his pleasure elsewhere. He was a man with a ferocious libido and his frustration had tormented him to the point of madness. The darker side of his nature wanted her to understand that, to feel a little of his torment. So now, to have her in his arms… he was on the brink of behaving very badly indeed.

  Carefully, he adjusted his hold on her lush curves, pulling her hard against him, so close she could not fail to feel his arousal, his need for her. He wondered if she would shy away. He was going too far, too fast, and he knew it, yet he could not make himself stop. But the tension left her body all at once and she melted into him, and he knew such overwhelming relief that he wanted to weep with gratitude and had to fight the temptation to take her to the filthy floor and make her his, once and for all. If he ruined her, she would have to marry him. The thought nagged at him, but he could not do that to her. There were limits to his bad behaviour, it seemed.

  She pulled away with a gasp, staring at him with dark eyes as though she beheld the devil himself. Ah, sweet Evie, how right you are.

  “Oh, you… you are very bad,” she whispered, touching her fingers to her mouth and gazing at him in wonder.

  “Evie,” he murmured, nipping at her lips before tasting her again.

  Dieu, but she was so sweet, so maddeningly divine, and he was beyond thought, beyond reason, lost in the feel of her. He turned them about so she bumped up against the wall and slid his hand over her delectable bottom to her thigh, catching her leg behind the knee and pulling it up around his hip. She made a startled sound as he moved into the cradle of her body, pressing his aching cock against her with a low groan. There were too many damn layers in the way and his control was fraying, but somehow he resisted ripping the damn skirts and petticoats away.

  He canted his hips against hers and she cried out, clutching at his hair, burying her face against his neck, her breath hot and harsh against his skin. He sought her mouth, and she kissed him again, willingly, ardently, her innocent passion stirring his blood like nothing else had ever done. Louis broke the kiss, trailing his mouth over her cheek as she made a sound of protest, wanting more.

  Diable! The devil sent you from hell to tempt the innocent to sin.

  “Now do you see, my Evie? My little love.”

  He tipped her head back before she could answer. Her gown had a high neck, fastened with what seemed a thousand tiny buttons. One by one, he flicked them undone, kissing each newly revealed inch of flesh as she trembled in his arms. Down and down the buttons went, over her breasts to her waist.

  “Louis,” she whimpered, her hands clutching at his shoulders.

  “Hush,” he murmured, parting the material and staring with hazy desire at the generous swell of her luscious breasts. “Je péris de tant vous désirer, mon amour.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked, her words breathless.

  He brushed his lips over the curve of her breast, close to the lace on her chemise, speaking against her skin. “I’m dying from wanting you so much, my love,” he whispered.

  “Oh.” She swayed in his arms. “Louis, I—I can’t stand, I—” she pleaded, so he lashed his arm tighter about her and released his hold on her thigh in favour of cupping her breast. He smiled as she curved her leg about his hip all on her own and rewarded her by pressing his cock against her sex until she moaned. Her blasted corset and too many layers were driving him to distraction, but her breast swelled above its confines as he squeezed and he licked the delicious mound, hearing her breath leave her in a shocked exhalation. Though he knew he was wicked, beyond the pale, he could not resist the temptation. He held her tighter as he ducked his head again and she gave a little cry of pain. Her hands tightened in his hair, pulling, holding on as he raised his head and looked with satisfaction at the mark he’d left on her breast. No matter if this Muir was in the same house as her, she would see that for days and remember him, remember his mouth upon her breast. He could not remember ever experiencing such a devastating need to possess, to claim. It was unlike him, but he could not deny the truth of it. She made him act like a madman, like some primitive version of himself he did not recognise. He, who had always prided himself on his self-control and sophistication, had become nothing but sensation and raw need, marking his place upon her body like a randy boy.

  Though he knew he must stop this, now, for the love of God, he did not know how he could let her go. He raised his head, staring at her, knowing he must look wild, for he felt it to his bones.

  “What will you say, Evie? When this… this boy asks you to be his wife. What will be your answer?”

  Her eyes were hazy with lust, her lips red, still parted, her breath coming in harsh little gasps. She wanted him. At last. She wanted him. All the things he wanted crashed about inside him, the things he wanted to do to her, the ways he needed to love her. Merde, his sweet little innocent Evie, would be shocked to her bones if she knew the things he dreamed of.

  “Evie!” He gave her a little shake, and she shook her head with a soft moan.

  “H-How can I think when you do such… such… Oh, you are wicked,” she protested weakly, one hand hitting his shoulder in frustration and then curling back about his lapel.

  He would go mad. “Damn you, Evie. Do you not understand how I have suffered without you? I need you. Do you hear me? I need you.”

  “Do you?” she asked, reaching up to touch his cheek. He closed his eyes and turned into her caress, kissing her palm.

  “Oui,” he moaned. “Don’t make me suffer this any longer, ma petite, I beg you.”

  “I did not mean to make you suffer. I did not know,” she replied, her expression pained, fear flickering in her eyes.

  Louis saw her fear and understood that he was overwhelming her. He ought to have taken more care, used more finesse. But all his usual wiles, as Lady Balderston had called them, had deserted him the moment he had seen her. And then she had run into his arms, and nothing had mattered but that she belonged to him. He had been nothing but want and need and the anger of being left behind, which had taken him by surprise and unleashed his desires.

  “I know,” he said, gentling his voice. “And I know I… I ought to have been tender. I want to be, Evie, I will be, but I have been so wretched without you I have gone a little mad.”

  “Miss Evie?”

  They both stilled as a voice called outside, close to the workshop.

  “They’re looking for me,” Evie whispered urgently. “I must go, Louis. If they find you here. Oh, my word, there will be such a scene!”

  She pushed him away.

  “Wait,” he pleaded, holding on and kissing her again. She resisted for a moment and then melted into him, pressing closer with enthusiasm, curving her arms about his neck. Louis plundered her mouth, dropping his hands to her bottom and hauling her hard against him. Her breath hitched, and he revelled in her submission to him, but even in his overheated state, he could not ignore the people outside, searching for her.

  “Your kisses are not nice,” she admitted breathlessly, as he finally consented to let her go.

  “I am not nice, or good, or easy, ma petite,” he said, holding her gaze. “But I am entirely yours.”

  She swallowed, gazing up at him in wonder. The voice called her again, father down the street, and much as Louis wanted to consign the bastard to the devil, he knew he could not. With reluctance, he reached for the buttons on her dress and began setting her to rights.

  “When are you coming home?” he demanded, too aware of the petulant quality of his voice. He sounded like a sulky boy, for the love of God.

  “Soon, I think, but I don’t know exactly,” she replied, her eyes upon him as he worked at her buttons. The last one slid into place, and he settled his hands upon her hips, watching her. She avoided his gaze, stroking her hand over his chest, smoothing down his rumpled lapels.

  “Did you miss me, at least?” he asked gruffly. “You didn’t say.”

  Her face softened, and she looked up at him, her beautiful mouth curving. “Oh, Louis. How could you doubt it? Of course, I missed you. I missed you very much.”

  Something in his heart eased a little, and he let out a breath. “If I stay here, will you come again? I need to see you again.”

  She shook her head. “We’re returning to Wildsyde first thing in the morning, and there’s nowhere there I can meet you.”

  He wondered if he imagined the relief in her voice, but was too afraid to question her. There was one question he would have an answer to, though.

  “When he asks you, you will say no?” he queried, needing to hear her say it.

  She frowned, glancing away from him as shadows passed by the dirty windows outside. Her mother’s voice spoke low, agitated, and then the figures hurried past.

  “I must go,” she said, pulling away from him.

  Louis caught her hand, holding on tight. “Evie, please, love,” he begged her, beyond pride, needing her reassurance.

  “I won’t accept anyone, Louis, you have my word.” She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth, snatched up her bonnet, and hurried out of the door.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25