Lorelie Brown (14 page)

She smirked. She tugged her skirt up a fraction above where it had already been lifted.

He swallowed. Hard. His chest jerked and clenched on such a forbidden hint.

“Here,” she said on a soft coo. “Lock that door and we’ll spend those hours doing…something.”

He wet his lips. The turn of her ankle was a mystery he hadn’t been privy to. Such a simple thing and only eroticized by the fact of its status as a withheld item. Buried under silks and wool and linen and kept secret from men at large. Her delicate bones tempted his hands. “No.”

She dropped her skirts. “You are absolutely no fun.”

“You’ve no wish to be tumbled and taken in a cramped, dirty office.”

“My office is certainly not dirty,” she said on an offended gasp.

“You get my point.”

“I don’t, as a matter of fact.” Her smirk demonstrated she knew exactly what other sort of meaning could be inferred.

He couldn’t help but grin at her. She was astute. Fast. Though she had a terrible sense of humor. “Did you just pun at me? How very unfortunate.”

“Don’t lie.” She leaned back in her armed desk chair, a woman in charge of her world. While true, he wondered how many people realized that was only part of the story. “You want to laugh.”

“It’s not pointed.” He did want to laugh. He was talking about taboo subjects when it came to ladies, and yet rather than feeling risqué, he wanted to revel in humor. “I’d say blunt.”

She sat up. Eagerness turned her into something less humorous and more enticing. “Blunt? That has promise. Would you say…thick?”

“You’re rotten. I’ve completely lost track of this conversation.”

“I haven’t.” Her voice was full of good humor. “I’ve been distracting you.”

He had to concede the point, so he tipped his chin. “Indeed you have been. Rather effectively. But I’m easily returned to the topic at hand.”

“Or not at hand, as the case may be.” She grinned so hard that her nose wrinkled across the bridge. “You
could
put your hands on me. I wouldn’t mind.”

“Patricia,” he said, attempting vainly to get his mind on task. Utter temptation infused her every breath. She was reckless. Exciting. “I came here for a reason, and that reason is named Patricia.”

“Oh, pooh.” She flicked her fingers. “Fine. She’s not here. She hasn’t been seen at work or anywhere respectable in quite a few weeks.”

“And what about places that are less respectable.”

Her head tilted to a cheeky angle. “How clever you are. I ought to make you provide a fee. For every answer I give you, I get a kiss.”

“Isn’t that blackmail?” He crossed his arms, mostly to avoid displaying how very much he liked that idea.

She shook her head and pressed her mouth together as if she were considering the question with great seriousness.

Really, she didn’t seem to have a serious bone in her body, or so she’d have the world believe. Couldn’t be possible considering how much she put into her charity, into making sure girls were prepared for the world and to improve their lot in life. He’d seen more of her. A more he quite liked.

“No,” she finally said, drawing the word out into a tease. “I’m fairly sure this is extortion, not blackmail.”

“All the same. Illegal as can be.”

“True.” She kicked a foot, popping at the insides of her skirt and turning her into a vision of youth and happiness. “Report me to whomever you like. I shan’t mind. And you won’t get your kisses or your information.”

He hooked one foot in the bottom of her chair and pulled. Tugged. She came near with the same happy excitement he’d come to expect. Locking one hand on each arm of her chair caged her in. Surrounded her. She didn’t care. Her chin lifted so that her mouth hovered under his.

“Where is she?”

“Kiss me first.”

He’d kiss her first and he’d kiss her after too. So much temptation could only be resisted so long. Her beauty was second to none, but all that ended up falling by the wayside when he’d grown entirely more fascinated with her mind. Though her want for him seemed to grow with every kiss, it didn’t explain everything.

It didn’t explain her desperate sort of hunger when she sealed her mouth to his. The jolt of their coming together went through his bones every time. Woke his body and made him want to claim and take.

Except he couldn’t shake the conviction that something was not quite right. A goal or insistence of hers struck false.

Not that he belabored the issue when his mouth skated over hers and tasted that sweetness. Wet and warm and he couldn’t stop thinking about how her creamy skin would taste all over. Whether her nipples would be pale and barely pink-tinged or a secret rose.

Which was definitely his signal to end the kiss before it got out of hand. He rested his forehead on hers in a firm press. “You could tempt priests out of their cassocks.”

“I don’t want a priest.” Her eyes drifted shut. “I want you.”

He still doubted that. But he thought the truth of it grew. “Now I want my answers.”

“There’s a cardroom run by someone I know. I’ve word she’s reputed to be a regular attendee, when she has the blunt.”

His mind tossed over and through the possibilities, sorting them out. “If she hasn’t been to work for days, she might not have the money to play.”

Lottie shrugged. “Those deep in the cards always seem to find ways to gather cash, so long as there’s a game available.”

“I’ll need the address. As well as when they play.”

She curled both her hands around the back of his neck. Sweet, heavy pressure dug into the muscles there, which gave up their tension. Until she spoke. “No.” Her words were matter-of-fact. “I believe I’ll make you take me with you.”

“Why in the name of God would you do that?” He sat bolt upright. “A disreputable card game is no place for a lady of stature.”

Her smile turned so smug, he wanted to put his fingers across it and make her feel something else. Real desire or want. “I think you’ll be surprised how well known I am around there.”

“Because you troll the underbelly of the city all the time?” He couldn’t help the heavy measure of doubt that laced his voice.

“Not exactly.” Her smile was radiant, and he had the strangest feeling whatever she was about to say was going to give him a massive headache. “But I have friends in low places who will be so very happy to see me.”

Chapter Eleven

By Friday night, Lottie was more convinced than ever that she’d made the right choice in insisting on going with Ian. She stepped from the carriage with her hand in his. Down the narrow, crooked street, a single streetlamp at the corner threw a sickly glow over a circle’s worth of city.

The building before them wasn’t much. Only two stories, and the windows were small and dirty. A sign over the door swung in a desultory breeze. The scent of it, thick with salt and rot, implied the air came from the docks a street or two away. If only it had stayed there.

She lifted gloved fingers to her nose as her stomach gave a little twist. “Such a dreadful smell.” She dropped her hand and intentionally took a deep breath, the best to acclimatize.

“The city at its finest. And this is supposed to be superior to the country in which manner?”

She bent her mouth inward to hide a smile. “I certainly didn’t mean
this
part. The environs I normally cling to are much more amenable. You’ll have to take me to Hyde Park tomorrow to alleviate this memory.”

“Wet fish rot does have a particular clinginess to it.” He presented his arm and tipped his head toward her. His beaver-pelt top hat tilted at a rakish angle. His cheeks pinched on dimples that inspired reckless thoughts. “Tell me your friend’s name and I’d be glad to return you to Chelsea so you can avoid the stench.”

He’d been right the other day. She hadn’t wanted him, not in the body-deep way that grew every time she looked at his mouth. Not really. This was something new. Something that expanded with every smart quip or teasing grin. She liked him. Just like he’d said the other day that he liked her. She appreciated who he was as a person, the way he was determined to shield his sister from the brunt of her choices.

“You’ll know the name in a moment. When we go inside. I won’t risk you running about without me.” She wouldn’t pass up such an expedition.

He didn’t like it. He’d protested the entire way that she didn’t need to be attending any gambling halls, much less one of the lower classes. Then she’d caught him looking when he hadn’t realized she could see. The way his gaze lit. The intensity that absorbed him. She liked it. She loved it. Plenty of men had admired her over the years. But never had she felt quite so…fully enfolded. He already knew about her mother and wasn’t put off.

“As you wish,” he finally said.

The groomsman darted around them and opened the door, releasing a flood of noise and smoke. The air clashed with layers of sounds. Gamblers cheered each other on. Bone-carved dice rattled in cups. The clatter and clink of glasses.

Inside was a madhouse. Tables of all sorts and sizes crammed the room. Across the right wall, narrow stairs led to an upper level. Opposite of that was a long bar which bustled like a beehive with people coming and going at a fast clip.

She let herself lean toward Ian. He was so much larger, he could take the brunt of the crowd’s impact. She’d allow him that privilege. Being the big, strong man got rewards such as her clutching his arm more closely.

The way he bent his head toward hers left her feeling sheltered and protected. “It’s not too late to back out.”

“Do I seem like the sort likely to back out of anything?” Her heart took a strange tumble, and somehow she found herself oddly hopeful.

It mattered, to her, whether he found her good and worthy. Whether she counted in the larger scheme of things, if a girl liable to go crazy as soon as she accomplished her female purpose ever did count.

“You don’t.” He tucked a carefully pressed ringlet behind her ear. She thought it might be an excuse to touch her because his fingertip strayed over her temple. “You have more fortitude than most men I’ve met.”

Her chest eased and bloomed open. So stupid, yet she couldn’t seem to help it. “That’s about to be put to the test. Come along.”

She led him inexorably toward a plain door at the far back of the room. They had to wade through crowds. Bodies pressed in on all sides, and unlike usual, Lottie hardly noticed. She didn’t like strangers touching her—invading her space. But with Ian walking close at her back, she was safe.

She knocked on the unremarkable door and was surprised that it wasn’t answered immediately. She had to knock again, her heartbeat trebling with worry that maybe her note had gone astray, before Sera opened the door. Her friend was dressed in a fine evening gown covered all over with silver lace. The cleavage displayed by the plunging neckline was red with a blush, and she was breathing hard.

“I can’t believe you actually came again, and at this hour,” Sera exclaimed. She hauled Lottie into the room. “You foolish girl, you couldn’t at least come through the back entrance like I did?”

“Back entrance,” Ian echoed behind her with no small measure of dry wit infusing his voice. “There’s a back way?”

“Of course there is. Through the alley, but we keep it well lit and fairly clean back there.” Sera led the way to another door.

“So there was no reason for us to arrive at the front of the rooms and make our way through the crowd?”

“Certainly there was,” Lottie said. She looked at Ian out of the corner of her eye because there was no way she’d miss his response to this one. “I wanted to.”

“Of course.” His mouth quirked up on the left, and he glanced at her. “I should have guessed. Isn’t that the reason for most of the things that we’ve done lately?”

She swatted his shoulder, unreasonably pleased with the fact that his firm muscles didn’t give. “We shouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for your wishes. Don’t fault me for taking some small measure of pleasure out of it.”

“Pleasure?” he scoffed. “You have no idea of what pleasure is if that qualifies.”

Opening the door to another small room revealed a study that was surprisingly cozy for the surrounds. Sera moved to stand beside her husband. Fletcher Thomas sat in an ornately carved chair with red upholstery and gold trim. The thing was as ostentatious as a throne. Any other man would have looked absurd in it. Not Fletcher. He sprawled in the thing like a king of old. A man who’d look more at home grasping a battleaxe than wearing his finely tailored suit.

He scooped up Sera’s hand from the chair back and lifted it to his lips for a silent kiss. Sera’s blush started in a pink wash at her temples and scored across her cheeks. Her gaze stayed steady on Lottie’s as if she didn’t feel the kiss. Liar girl.

The glimpses of Sera’s marriage that Lottie saw were the few things that made her doubt her resolve to not marry. But then, Sera didn’t have the same sort of risks as Lottie did. Childbirth raised the odds of her losing her grip on the world more than anything.

Lottie lived for knowing her friend was happy. She patted Ian’s arm. “Sir Ian, allow me to present Fletcher Thomas.”

When two men of equal power were introduced, particular magic charged the air. Both Fletcher and Ian were gentlemen of top standing. It was so much energy that a girl couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement. She held back a shiver, but Ian still saw it.