B
en had been disappointed to find
The London List
’s door locked when he finally dragged himself out of his house. He used his own finally found key and stepped into the hushed space. Hard to believe it was the site of so much frenzy yesterday. He felt a little guilty for following Evie’s instructions to stay away this morning, though he’d needed the sleep. Every muscle in his arms and back still ached, but he had a far greater ache to see Evie. She had turned up like clockwork in his dreams, her coltish body bare and beautiful, her tongue mercifully tamed as she sweetly invited him to do all manner of things to her in nocturnal bliss.
What would convince her to make his dreams come true? She was unimpressed with his standing in society, his fortune, his pretty face. It was only when he was able to steal a kiss that she had melted somewhat. If he asked her to become his mistress, he imagined inkpots flying and withering invective as they did so.
To think of Evie living in his little house on Jane Street . . . Ben would dress her in scarlet to show off her pearl-white skin and insist she grow her hair back, although she looked very fetching with her cropped curls. They could have a few good years together before he finally succumbed to a loveless society marriage. That’s probably all they could manage together without driving each other insane.
What was he thinking? She had her own funds now, and the care of her father. Evie didn’t need Ben for anything—in fact it was rather the reverse. He still knew next to nothing about
The List
’s operations, despite his tremoring tendons and a week at Evie’s feet.
He glanced around the office. What might he do to be useful and ingratiate himself to her? Everything seemed to be in place, save for a small canvas bag on the center of the desk. He picked it up, marveling at its heft. Curious, he pulled the drawstring and peered inside to find it filled with lead tiles stuck together by something sticky. How odd.
His own fingers were ink-stained now, so he thought nothing of examining the contents of the bag.
Honey?
Perhaps this was a secret cleaning solution—there were a great many strange remedies that Ben was aware of. Champagne to polish one’s boots, for example—a dreadful waste of good libation, in his opinion. He licked his finger and returned the sorts to the bag.
Where could Evie be? He missed her. He paced the perimeter of the office, finally coming to a stop at the door on the back wall. He’d yet to thoroughly inspect his property—he’d been far too busy trying to publish the infernal paper—so he opened the door and climbed the dusty stair to the floor above. Motes swirled in the gray December light in what was a mostly empty space. Drums of paper rested near the stairwell, and back issues of the paper were stacked in chronological order on shelves under the eaves, going back further than the Ramsey family had owned
The London List
. Idly Ben picked up an issue from five years ago—there was no salacious headline to draw the reader in, just a deadly dull article about keeping one’s tenants content in the country now that Napoleon had been defeated. An old gate-leg table stood in the center of the room, flanked by two plain chairs.
Ben sat and traced his name in the thin layer of dust on the table. If he’d had hopes to rent out the space above the office, they were dashed now. He’d have to spend money to convert the room into an apartment, and even then he couldn’t imagine who would be satisfied with one grimy window that overlooked a back alley. Add the deafening sound of the press all day Monday, and the amenities were bleak indeed.
But if they needed to offer housing to a pressman and his family to sweeten the offer, Ben supposed the room might do. Having someone on the premises twenty-four hours a day might discourage brick-throwers, too.
He walked across the scuffed wood floor from wall to wall, estimating how large a carpet he’d need for the parlor space. There might even be something rolled up in his attic, as his mother was forever redecorating his townhouse. He probably had a bed or two that would make them comfortable. A small cookstove, properly vented, could heat the space as well as help in meal preparations. Ben felt a flutter of interest in this project, and sat down on one of the chairs, drawing a floor plan in the dust on the table. He rose again and walked the perimeter of imaginary walls.
Ben was so lost in his sudden architectural thoughts that he never heard Evie creep up the stairs until she was directly behind him. He was fairly sure he grinned at her like a loony when he turned, so happy was he to see her at last.
She shook her cane at him. “I heard footsteps and thought you were an intruder. You scared me half to death!”
“And you came up here expecting to brain me with that?”
“If necessary. I’ve a knife in the knob as well.” She twisted the silver bird that topped her cane and drew out a deadly-looking blade.
“How reassuring. You could gut me as I lay witless on the floor.”
“Don’t tempt me. What are you doing up here?”
“I was thinking about turning the place into suitable lodging for our new employee. To sweeten the deal, and also be on the spot to watch for any further trouble.”
“I’m sure the throwing of that brick was a random event.”
“I don’t want to take any chances with your safety.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Ben! I am not made of spun sugar and feathers.”
Ben studied Evie, who was wiry as a spring and just as sharp. “No, I can see you are a formidable foe, what with your killer bird. How many times have you used that thing?”
Evie’s thick black lashes dropped to pink-stained cheeks. “You never know what will be necessary in my line of work.”
“Another reason why I’m glad you’re not sneaking about looking for dirt in the dark. Running off to riots. It’s a wonder you’ve escaped ruin these last two years.”
“I didn’t escape
you,
” Evie muttered.
“Aye, but I bought you out with a generous offer, not bludgeoned you. It’s a good thing you mostly picked on me and not some other idiot. I’m famous for my good temper.”
“Hmm.”
Ben expanded his arms. “What, have I not demonstrated I’m the soul of equanimity?”
“You are the soul of annoyance.”
“You’re impossible to please. Come see what I’ve planned for this space.” He led her over to the dust-coated table. “See, if we put up a wall here, we can separate sleeping quarters from a kitchen cum sitting room.”
Evie bent to study the straight lines he’d drawn, exposing a shell-pink ear from the outrageously high shirt points she wore to conceal her femininity. A curl at the base of her skull also captured his attention, and his dusty finger itched to touch it. Her top lip had the faintest trace of chocolate. He took a breath. Had she also been drinking brandy so early in the day? He could kiss her to find out, taste the chocolate and the liquor and lose them both to whatever was between them.
Foolishly brave, she’d come up here armed, though, so perhaps he shouldn’t. Could he be satisfied just breathing a whiff of sandalwood and brandy and Evie?
The answer was no.
Her face was still cold from being out-of-doors but so soft as he touched her cheek. Her mouth opened in objection but he silenced her swiftly with his own. Definitely brandy, the wicked girl. Cherries, too. Ben’s hunger ripped through him, but it was not for food.
Her hesitation did not last long—it never did when they came together. Ben was proud of himself that he could overcome her good sense so swiftly. This really was a form of madness. Evangeline Ramsey was the most vexing woman. A vexing woman who was wearing far too many layers of clothes against this frigid winter day and who had knotted her damn neckcloth so tightly he was afraid he might strangle her in the undoing of it.
She was far more fleet of finger than he, her hands already upon the portion of his chest exposed by suddenly undone buttons. Thank God she soon moved lower.
He should probably throw those old newspapers on the floor to make a bed for them, but then he’d have to stop kissing and touching her. Unthinkable. In fact, thinking was highly overrated, so he simply stopped doing it.
Evie was thinking enough for both of them. Somehow she’d clambered up on the table—there went his conversion plans—and had shimmied out of her trousers. He cupped her sex, twining his fingers in her luscious dark curls. Her dew was on them, proving to him that she wanted him as badly as he wanted her.
This wanting . . . its intensity was unnatural, but Ben didn’t seem to have much choice about it. She stroked his manhood in her cool hand, but instead of dampening his ardor, the chilly friction drove him to deepen his kiss. He sought the warmth of her tongue, the heat of her folds, the silk of her skin.
She shifted her arse on the gate-leg table and spread her thighs so she was furled open to him. It was almost too easy to enter her, as if they’d been temporarily separated but now back in their rightful place. As they were meant to be. No impediments. No cross words. Just one smooth slow dance to their own orchestra, Ben’s hand on Evie’s supple back, the other placed between them to bring her to ecstasy. She pulsed beneath his fingertips, crying through his kiss.
Christ. If only this could last forever. The chill and dust of the attic room had disappeared, leaving nothing but Evie’s wet heat surrounding his cock. Primal. Perfect.
Until he heard a sharp crack and the table toppled downward, taking them both with it. Their noses bumped, and they wound up in a tangle of wood and wool. The absurdity of it all should have stopped them, but they were still connected where it counted, and Ben was not quite done. Evie smiled and shifted, forcing his denouement, which was only slightly uncomfortable as he found himself kneeling on a turned walnut leg. She held him tight and laughed, but he knew it was not because she felt his efforts were in any way paltry. There was pure joy between them, as though ten years had been erased and they were in their first flush of love.
For it
had
been love, at least on his part, even if he’d been so very young.
Sometimes, first was best.
He came with a profound sense of peace, a beautiful, laughing woman in his arms, just where she was supposed to be.
But of course, she had other ideas. Full of ideas, was his Evie.
“I think I’ve got a splinter. Let me up.”
Ben sighed. “Not just yet.”
“You are finished, aren’t you?”
Couldn’t she tell? He felt as if they were absolutely one being there at the end. Their hearts were thumping together right now, chest to chest, although she seemed to still be wearing her bindings.
“Someone might be downstairs right now wanting to pick up their mail or pay for an ad.”
“Let them wait.” He nibbled on her ear, the very appendage that had started all this.
“Ben.”
She spoke his name softly, but there was no mistaking her determination to buck him off her.
“Don’t ask me to apologize. I can’t.”
It was her turn to sigh. “We cannot keep doing this. It’s not right.”
No, it wasn’t right. It was beyond right. There really was no word for it in Ben’s vocabulary, and he considered himself a fairly well-read man.
But if these indiscretions continued, there might be consequences. Evie might be exposed as a woman, which would not be a half-bad thing, but she also could fall pregnant. Just because she had not all those years ago did not mean she would not now. Ben was ordinarily far too careful when it came to intimate relations—had been since he was spurned by Evie. As far as he knew, there were no little Grays littering London. But he’d taken no precautions each time he and Evie combusted together.
That was irresponsible. While Evie thought the worst of him—that he was a thoughtless, useless blight on society—he didn’t want to prove her right.
Of course he would provide for a child—the problem would be providing for Evie. She wouldn’t permit it, he was sure. She was damnably independent, thinking the damn bird-knife on her cane would protect her from harm.
He rolled until she was on top, still embedded in her. “There. Better? I’m a human cushion. No more discomfort.”
She stared down at him, her dark hair as fluffed as a chick’s. “I mean it. You are my employer now. It’s not proper that you take advantage of me like this.” But she made no move to leap off.
“I think we took advantage of each other, Evie. We’re more partners than employer-employee. I don’t know my way around here yet—what would I do without you?”
“You certainly know your way around
me
. I—I don’t want to be hurt.”
“I’ll pick out the splinters.” He cupped her bottom and gave it a squeeze.
“It’s not the splinters, you bloody man! I know I’m not a virgin. You saw to that long ago. But I have been relatively chaste. I’m happy as I am. I don’t need—this.”
Every recent moan and shiver indicated that she had in fact needed and
wanted
“this.” But Ben was not going to argue with her now. Arguing with Evie, while occasionally quite stimulating, was not on his agenda at the moment. She had a point about the broken table being splintery. And hard. But having the length of her draped over him was a soft delight, even though her waistcoat button was piercing his stomach.