An Unexpected Encounter ( Half Moon House, Novella 1) (13 page)

He wanted to argue—but the words didn’t come.
“I . . . I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Don’t say anything. We’ve had an eventful
few weeks. The best of my life.” Another step and she was almost
upon him. “I’m so proud of what you’ve done for Aurelia. I know it
was difficult to let her burrow in as close as she needed to
come.”

“Without you I wouldn’t—”

She took the last step and stopped him with
the soft press of her fingers against his lips. “You’ve helped me,
too. You’ve made me see myself in a better light. I’m so grateful
to you. And proud of myself, too. I’m stronger now. Strong enough
to face my difficulties instead of running from them.”

She inhaled and he felt it all along the
front of him. “I’m going home. Heaven knows I don’t want to, but
I’m going back and I’m going to have my say, stand my ground.
Thanks to you, I know I can take care of myself as well as
others.”

His heart twisted. “Good.” Her hand still
covered his mouth. The word emerged hot against her fingers.

She was leaving. It wasn’t good. But it was
likely right.

She took her hand away. “I’m starting now,”
she whispered, leaning full up against him, firing his blood with
the press of her long torso to his. “I know you can’t give me
everything I want, but this may be it, the last chance I have to
feel this way.”

Plain words, but they seared his soul,
ignited a hot pool of desire—and chilled him to the bone.

“I’m asking,” she said. “Whatever you can
give—I want to take it with me.”

God, what she did to him. He’d been dead and
dry inside for so long—now he felt bursting with life and need. Not
new—but reborn. She’d reintroduced him to the entire gamut of
emotion; interest, building desire, flaring passion, want. Fear,
too, because he was alive again—with all of his experience and
wisdom intact.

Gratitude flared too, because without her
generous spirit and shining example he might never have found his
way back.

She asked for reassurance and validation. He
was going to give it to her—no matter how it hurt to let her go
afterward.

They were mere inches apart now. Impossible
for her to jump into his arms, but she managed something close,
pressing tight and raising her hands to lock behind his head. She
kissed him, demanding, nipping, and then melting, softening into
the sweetest of supplications.

Impossible to resist. He was the dragon tamed
by the sweet maiden’s touch. Except suddenly her innocent kisses
were too sweet to fulfill the hunger roaring inside of him. He
stood, pulling her with him and the kiss turned rough again. Their
tongues clashed, danced while he wrapped his arms around her and
hitched her hard against him. His cock surged against her, rock
hard and insistent. He fought for control, bent and tucked a hand
under her and lifted her into his arms.

Lisbeth broke the kiss, laughing a little,
but her trembling betrayed her nerves. He carried her to the
corner, to the chaise his mother had placed here, where she’d
busied herself while his father lost himself in his studies.

Edmund stopped beside it. He let Lisbeth
slide the long, slow way down the front of him. When her feet hit
the floor he buried his face in the curve of her nape and drank in
her hiss of pleasure.

With his big hands he covered her breasts.
She gasped again and arched into him. Such a struggle to go slow,
to be gentle. But he managed. He pushed her wrapper off her
shoulders instead of tearing it away, tugged her night rail until
one lovely breast sprung free. Her nipple hardened instantly. He
raked it with his thumb, knelt to take it with his mouth. He set to
teasing it with the graze of his teeth and the flick of his tongue.
He palmed her other breast and she groaned long and low, then
pinched her lips together and buried her hands in his hair.

Long moments later, he slowed. Lifting her as
easily as he would a babe, he laid her down, settling her back into
the corner of the chaise. Caught, he stood, just drinking her
in.

Long and elegant. Creamy skin flushed with
pink. Disheveled braid snaking around to rest against her luscious
bare breast. He looked up, past kiss-plumped lips to midnight
eyes.

He was hard and full, almost painfully
aroused. He wanted nothing more than to claim her, mark her as his,
once and forever. Instead, he sank down onto a knee and stretched
out beside her.

Lisbeth reveled in his heat, lifted for his
kiss, arched her breast into his caress. More. She wanted more.
She’d gone wild with desire, reckless with need. In this moment he
was hers and she wanted to drown in it.

So large, his hands. They made her feel
delicate as they moved over her, fanning across her ribs and
sliding down her hip. All the muscles in his chest rippled against
her as he reached for the hem of her night rail, tugged it high.
She let him, losing herself in the delight of his touch against her
bare leg.

Her heart skipped when his touch skimmed
inward, teased the delicate skin inside her thighs, urged them
apart. Feeling wicked and wonderfully wanton she allowed it—and
reeled when he touched her between her legs, right where she’d gone
wet, slick and aching.

Bliss
.

Her toes curled. She groaned deep and he put
his mouth to hers and swallowed it.

He knew better than her what her body wanted.
Where to circle slow, when to stroke gently, when to rub harder,
faster until she nearly burst with pleasure.

“I feel like one of your gadgets,” she
gasped.

“So much better than a gadget,” he growled.
“But I am building you higher.” His finger entered her, just a bit,
and her pelvis rocked involuntarily. “Higher still,” he whispered
and flicked her with a steady rhythm that had her reaching,
spiraling, leaving her body entirely behind while she condensed
around one straining pulse of erotic pleasure.

She moaned, she thrashed—and she went over a
precipice that she never knew existed. Falling, falling, she shook
and tumbled and gloried in the tumult.

Minutes passed before she came back to
herself. A new self, sated and feeling thoroughly feminine with the
press of his hard body against her and the sound of his harsh
breathing in her ear.

“Oh,” she said. A most selfish moment, but
strangely she didn’t feel guilty. Feeling confident and strong, she
reached down and cupped the enormous swell of his manhood, where it
pressed against her hip.

He moaned and thrust hard into her. Then
reached down and gently disengaged her hand.

“No.”

“No? But—”

“You’re going home,” he whispered. “It would
be wrong to hold you here, to clip your wings.”

Everything inside of her stilled.

“I send you with every wish for your
happiness—and I want you to remember this moment, remember that you
deserve to be worshipped, my dear.”

A tear got away, slid down her cheek. He
wiped it away.

“Whenever you are alone, facing your mother
or stepfather, some moldy squire or any other obstacle, remember
that you can fly, that you are a lovely, giving woman and that you
possess power of your own. Enough to change your fate. Enough to
save a little girl. Enough to conquer a lonely, prickly recluse and
pull him back into the world again.

Almost, she asked. Couldn’t he come just a
bit farther? Far enough to make room for someone beside him?

But she’d already asked, hadn’t she? And this
had been her answer. A lovely, shattering interlude. But not
enough.

She was done with
not enough
.

So she kissed his temple, laid a hand on his
craggy, strong jaw. “Thank you,” she whispered.

She rose, scooped up her wrapper, pulling it
on as she crossed the room. At the door she stopped and smiled back
at him through a sheen of tears.

“Goodbye,” she said. “And welcome back.”

Turning, she went to her room. And on with
her life.

Chapter Nine

Edmund tossed down the suspension spring and
lead he’d been fiddling with for too long and dug his fingers into
his scalp instead. The problem lay not with the mechanical parts,
but with his lack of concentration.

The agency had sent a new candidate for
governess this morning. She’d met with him and with Aurelia. Having
heard something of their situation, she’d brought along a book on
the flora and fauna of Cornwall, where she’d grown up. He’d thought
it well done of her. The gesture had won Aurelia’s hesitant
approval.

Lisbeth was leaving today. He’d heard the
servants discussing it. She’d spent the morning packing and meant
to spend the night at a coaching in, so as not to miss the pre-dawn
boarding tomorrow.

She and Aurelia had only just left for the
party in Richmond. Lisbeth had not bid him goodbye or seen him at
all since last night. She’d be back long enough to gather her
things this afternoon, and then she’d be gone.

He could comfort himself knowing she’d find
her rightful sphere. A home and family of her own to look after,
guard zealously, run efficiently. An unknown husband to spoil and
comfort, to kiss with abandon, to fall apart beautifully
beneath.

He didn’t feel a damned bit comforted.

A timid knock sounded on the door.

He sat up, only to find he’d kept a hold of
the spring earlier and now it was tangled in his hair. He wrestled
it free and called, “Enter.”

A footman came in, carrying a message. “This
was just left by a messenger boy, my lord. I wouldn’t disturb you,
sir, but he said it was urgent.”

Edmund unfolded it.

Meeting today. Two o’clock.

Your presence is required.

Regarding: the future of Miss Elisabeth Mills
Moreton.

It was signed by someone named Thorpe and
gave a Dorrington Street address.

Edmund looked up. “Bring the boy to me.”

“He didn’t wait, my lord. Left even before
collecting a vail.”

“Very well.” There was no decision to be
made, really. He stood. “Have the carriage brought `round.”

Less than an hour later he was admitted to a
respectable looking home. Obviously expected, he was taken straight
toward the back of the house. Puzzled, he looked about. There was
no hint of whose house it might be. No portraits, no sound, no
warmth, either. The place felt bleak and empty.

Until a set of doors swung open and Edmund’s
temper flared. “Vickers! What in hell are you about?”

The other man turned, brow arching.
“Answering a summons, the same as you, I suspect.” He turned and
gestured toward a small statured man standing behind a cluttered
desk in the one bright spot in the room. “Thorpe, I presume?”

“Aye. Come in, the pair of you.” The balding
man stepped from behind the desk and gestured toward a grouping of
chairs before a cold hearth. “Let me say my piece and get this over
with.”

If Lisbeth’s name had not been involved,
Edmund would have walked out.

“I’ll get right to the point. I’ve been
persuaded, against my better judgment, to interfere with Elisabeth
Moreton’s stepfather on her behalf. She won’t be entering into
service or marrying a cattle-mad squire twice her age. She will be
given a come-out or a trip abroad or whatever she has her heart set
on now. But in order for this to work, we must change the story a
bit. She’s been staying on with me these weeks in London. Is that
understood? Only the two of you can truly contest it. I urge you
not to.” He pointed to them both. “That means you keep quiet and
your servants, too. Will this be a problem?”

“Who the hell are you to Miss Elisabeth
Moreton?” Edmund demanded.

Thorpe huffed. “I am her legally appointed
trustee. You will agree to stay silent if you want what’s best for
the girl. I want this wrapped up quickly or I shall wash my hands
of it. This was not the agreement I entered into with her
father—”

The man launched into a grievous list of
complaints and Edmund looked about. This then had been the business
she’d pursued. And met with . . . what? What had happened to the
strange man to bring him to such a manner of existence? He stared
at a nearby map of Asia and an attached list of exports. Surely
there had been an inciting incident. Perhaps just a slow slide
brought on by grief, loss, or disappointment?

Edmund had known all three. He hadn’t been
smart to wall himself off from the world in response, to replace
human interaction with mechanics and equations and long hours in
his lab, but he’d been so weary. Heartsore. And yes, a little
afraid.

Afraid. But he’d never been a coward. He
straightened. Until last night.

He stared about with dawning horror. This.
This is what the path of cowardice could so easily lead to. It
wasn’t even a stretch to imagine himself in a similar dungeon of
his own making, surrounded by metal bits and gears instead of maps
and charts. Instead of life and love.

He stood. Strode out of the door without a
word.

“Cotwell?”

He ignored the call. Only stopped on the
outside stoop when Vickers grabbed his shoulder.

“Cotwell. Will you give Lisbeth a message for
me?”

Edmund ran an eye over his former friend. He
looked more rested. His eyes had lost their dark circles and he
appeared less . . . haunted.

“What is it?”

“Tell her I’m sorry. That I’m glad things
worked out for her. That I’d like to see her.”

“To what purpose?” Edmund barked.

“To make amends.” Vickers paused. “And then,
well, we shall see.”

Edmund bristled. “Stay the hell away from
her.”

Vickers stared. “You’ve no right to dictate
who she sees.”

“Not yet.” He spun about and climbed into his
carriage. “We’re going to Richmond,” he told the coachman.

* * *

James watched him go. When Cotwell’s vehicle
turned a corner, he walked the few steps to his own waiting
carriage.