Chapter Ten
“Will you move your arse?” Max growled at his friend. “But do it slowly, or you’ll tip over the damn phaeton.”
Dunkeld shifted, dropping the flannel-wrapped bricks he’d been arranging on the floor. Sinking back into his seat, he raised one burnished eyebrow. “Well, someone’s got their smallclothes in a twist. And I’m not the one who chose this dainty little contraption over our usual carriage. Why did you put two hulks like us in a phaeton?” Dunkeld peered over the side. “The springs will never be the same.”
“Who gives a flying fuck about the springs of a rented phaeton?” Max cracked his neck. A breeze drifted under his beard, cooling his throat. He tried to remember how the air felt against bare jaw, before he’d grown his beard as a way to distinguish himself from the rest of the sots of the ton. Colleen thought the beard made him look like a goat. He swallowed. That was most likely the kindest thing she would think of him from now on.
“We should have stayed for a round at The Boar’s Head after learning that your Dancer was at sea. Your demeanor would be much more pleasant with a drink or three in you.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my demeanor,” he bit out. “And the man’s not my bloody Dancer.” Absurd name.
“What’s the matter?” Dunkeld asked. “The lovely widow turn you down?”
Max clenched his jaw and refused to take the bait. If a friend couldn’t take a little unreasonable carping, then what good was he?
Dunkeld’s gaze sharpened on their target. Pinkerton emerged from a bakehouse, a long baguette wrapped in paper tucked under his arm. Twitching the reins, Max set a slow pace to follow the American.
“I ran into Lady Fletcher on St. James street the other day,” Dunkeld said. He leaned back in his seat and propped one boot up on the front bar. “She asked after you. If you need to rid yourself of excess energy, I think she would be more than willing to accommodate you.”
“Not interested.”
His friend swiveled his head to look at him. “That woman has the ripest breasts in London and she’s generous enough to share them. And you’re not interested?”
They were spectacular breasts. And Lady Fletcher was as adventurous as she was well-endowed. But his cock didn’t even twitch at the prospect. Besides, “They aren’t the ripest in London.” Those belonged to the woman who was probably even now plotting her revenge. His mouth watered, remembering the velvety softness of her nipple on his tongue. The succulent pink of her areolas. The way the delicate skin had puckered under the heat of the flame.
Shifting in his seat, Max could feel his friend’s incredulous stare. Fuck it, he didn’t owe Dunkeld any explanations. And he wasn’t going to share any stories about Colleen. His friends already knew too much about his bed sport. He wouldn’t subject Colleen to their scrutiny.
“And who, pray tell, does that honor fall upon?” Dunkeld shifted onto one hip. “Not your bonnie new manager, by any chance? Are you ranking her breasts higher?”
“Don’t talk about her that way,” Max growled. Pinkerton stopped at a haberdashery, and Max pulled the phaeton to the side of the road. The American looked up and down the street, nodding at Max and Dunkeld before slipping into the store. Max pressed his lips together. The man made a terrible spy.
“So, it’s that way, is it.” Shaking his head, Dunkeld heaved a sigh deep enough to rattle their chaise. “My bachelor friends are dropping like flies.”
“No. It’s not like that.” Max glared. “She’s a good woman and doesn’t deserve our ribaldry. Now, can we focus on the task at hand and stop talking about my sexual pastimes?”
“Or your lack thereof?” Dunkeld smiled blandly at him. “Of course, but we need something to pass the time. Zed is being most uncooperative by not trying to kill our fellow.” He shifted his weight, and the springs squeaked in alarm. “We’ve been following Pinkerton for two hours hoping someone would attack him. My arse is sore. I think the least you could do is entertain me with your sad love life to take my mind off of it.”
It had been a mind-numbing two hours. They’d told Pinkerton to go about his daily business, but to make sure to keep them in sight. With the way Zed handled betrayal and failure, Max figured eliminating the American would be his next step. When Pinkerton’s handler didn’t report back, Zed must have suspected something was awry. And the crime ring’s leader was crazy enough to kill first and ask questions later. He’d want to shut Pinkerton up permanently. But after trailing the man to the barber, the tailor, and the public library, even Max was tempted to take Pinkerton down. Anything to ease the boredom.
“Your manager seems a wee bit puritanical.” Pulling a small flask from an inside pocket, Dunkeld took a swig and handed it over to Max. “I don’t think she’d be the type to play. Perhaps you should look for a more hospitable lass.”
Max grabbed the flask and resisted the urge to chuck it at his friend’s head. “I’m cutting you off. Your civilized accent is slipping.”
Dunkeld made a rude gesture, and Max bit back a smile. He knew the Scotsman meant well. He and his friends wanted more from a lover than just a willing lay. Why choose a woman who couldn’t fulfill all one’s needs? It was only setting oneself up for disappointment.
But Colleen had responded to his play. Had arched her body into the flame. Max tipped the flask to his lips, felt the whiskey burn a path down his throat. And he’d killed her husband.
Why the fuck had he told her? If he was only to have a brief affair with her, there was no reason to confess. But she was so forthright and honest. She deserved to know who she was giving her body to.
Not like that would be an issue anymore. He and his big mouth had guaranteed the end of playtime with Colleen.
“I told her what I did.”
Dunkeld was silent for a weighted moment. “You told who, exactly what?”
Max tore his gaze off the storefront. “I told Colleen. Mrs. Bonner. And you know what.”
Dunkeld cursed, loudly and for a long time. His brogue became thick the more heated he became until Max could only understand one word in two. The horse in the phaeton’s harness skittered uneasily.
“Are you a bloody, feckin’ eejit?” Dunkeld thumped Max in the chest. “Do ya know the trouble she could cause?”
Rubbing his breastbone, Max scowled. “She isn’t like that.” He paused. That wasn’t quite true. Colleen was loyal and steadfast, yes. But she also believed in consequences for one’s actions. And her loyalty had been to her husband. Why wouldn’t she go to the authorities? He’d confessed to killing her husband. It was her logical next step.
Max’s shoulders rounded. Even though the sun shone brightly, the afternoon air was chilled, and he tucked his hands up under his armpits. “Even if she did speak, it wouldn’t matter,” he said woodenly. “I’m a member of the House of Lords and she runs a Venus club. Who do you think the courts would believe?”
His friend grumbled but settled back into his seat. “There is that. Liverpool wouldn’t like hearing the name of one of his men bandied about in the streets, but there wouldn’t be any legal consequences.”
Pinkerton emerged from the haberdasher’s. A crisp new top hat sat at a jaunty angle on his head. The American looked at his reflection in the mirror, fingered the brim, and turned up the street.
“We shouldn’t have given him any coin until after we catch Zed.” Flicking his wrist, Max turned the phaeton into the street at a slow plod. “He shops like a woman.” Not like Colleen, though, who turned up her nose at the idea of buying new clothes. She was far too practical for such rubbish. Max hadn’t missed the lustful gaze when she’d examined her new boots, however, or the way her fingers had returned again and again to the velvet trim of the spencer he’d put her in. When he returned to the club, would he find the new wardrobe nothing but a pile of ashes? He couldn’t imagine she’d want to see anything from Max again.
He snorted. Of everything he’d ruined by confessing his guilt, the fact that Colleen wouldn’t wear the clothes he’d bought her was the stupidest loss of all to mourn. He truly was an eejit.
Dunkeld elbowed him. “There,” he said, his voice quiet and deadly. He nodded across the street at a man dressed in rags. The other pedestrians veered away to avoid the man stumbling like a drunkard. For a moment, Max wondered what had caught his friend’s attention. But then he saw it. For an ape-drunk, the man was able to catch himself neatly before actually falling, and for all the zigs and zags, was walking an amazingly straight path. Right towards Pinkerton.
“Ha!” Max sent the horse galloping into motion. The phaeton zipped around a hackney and darted ahead of a carriage. “Now you see why I rented a phaeton?” The miscreant was ten feet from Pinkerton, and nobody knew better than Max how quickly a knife could be thrust between a man’s ribs, puncturing his heart. In two seconds, the assassin could have finished his job and be back on his way. The speed and maneuverability of a phaeton became important factors when a man’s life hung in the balance.
Pinkerton paused on the sidewalk, shifting one of his purchases to the other arm, oblivious to the danger bearing down on him.
Lining the chaise next to the fake drunkard, Max tossed the reins to his friend and leapt. He hit the man’s back and took him down five feet from the American. The man bounced on the dirt, his squawk of surprise cut off in a hiss of air when Max landed on his back.
A grim smile tugged at Max’s lips. Finally, something he could pound. Prey to take down. Ever since Colleen had fled his house last night, an itch had settled under his skin. An itch he couldn’t scratch. He dug his fingers into the back of the man’s neck, just until the point where he could feel the fine bones of the spine start to shift.
“Who the fuck,” he ground out, “is Zed?” Max was sure three of his friends would roll their eyes at the inelegance of his interrogation technique. Luckily, those three weren’t here. Dunkeld liked to bust heads as much as Max did. And Max was getting tired of this fuckwit Zed. The criminal mastermind was leading them on a merry chase, and it was time that came to an end.
“I think it usually works better if you give a man space to draw breath.” Dunkeld’s boots came into Max’s view, and his friend rocked onto his heels. “The man’s face is purple. I don’t think he could answer you if he wanted.”
Max grunted. But what his friend said was true, so he sat back, careful to keep his knee in the small of the assassin’s back and the man’s hands in sight.
Pinkerton stepped forward, his face pale. “That man was going to kill me?”
Max hadn’t forgotten that the American had threatened to do the same to Colleen, so felt little sympathy.
The man beneath Max shook his head, his face scaping across the dirt. He squeaked, cleared his throat, and tried again.
Nudging the man with the toe of his boot, Dunkeld sniffed. “I think he’s trying to deny that accusation.” A crowd began to form around them, and the burly Scotsman clenched his fists and glared. The lookie-loos dispersed.
“I’m not trying to kill anyone!” The man tried pushing to his hands and knees, and Max put more weight onto his back. The miscreant flopped to the ground. “I swear. I would never hurt anyone.”
“You were following this man.” Max jutted his chin at Pinkerton. “And you’re pretending to be in your cups. That leads me to believe you were up to no good.”
“Let me roll over, and I can prove it.” The man clasped his thin hands together on the dirt above his head, as though praying. “Just let me show you.”
Max glanced up. His friend reached into an inside pocket, letting his hand rest on the butt of the gun Max knew he kept there. Dunkeld nodded.
Rolling to a crouch, Max released the pressure on the man’s back.
Slowly, like a rat struggling through mud, the man rolled to his side and sat up. Keeping his eyes on Max, he flicked open one side of his coat. Row after row of handmade pockets had been sewn into the lining, most of them bulging with watches, coin, and jewelry.
Max sat back on his heels and cursed. The man was a bloody thief.
“I saw this chap spending freely and didn’t think he’d mind if I relieved him of some of his blunt.” The thief opened the other side of his coat, showing even more pockets. “But I don’t hurt people. They don’t even know I’ve lifted anything until they get home.”
Perfect. They’d been trying to chum the waters for a shark and instead they’d attracted a guppy. Just to be certain, Max patted the man down, finding a diamond-studded cravat pin and a fine lady’s bracelet but no weapon of any kind.
He stood and stretched his back. “I think today is a bust.”
Bending, Dunkeld grabbed the thief by his collar and heaved him to his feet. He pointed down the street, and the man took off without a question.
“Wait.” The baguette slipped under Pinkerton’s arm, and he hefted it higher. “You’re just going to let him go? He was going to try to rob me.”
“And we’re not bloody Bow Street.” Max turned to his friend. “If anyone else was following him, they’re not now. Let’s call it a day.”
Dunkeld nodded agreement. He jerked his head at Pinkerton. “What about him?”
“It’s not my day to watch him. That’s a fight between you and Summerset.”
“Fine,” the Scotsman grumbled. Lifting a hand, he hailed a hackney. “I’ll take him to my place. Try again tomorrow?”
Max nodded and climbed into the phaeton. He watched his friend grab Pinkerton’s baguette and rip off the end before tossing the loaf back to the American. Pinkerton juggled the bread and his satchels before dropping everything. Dunkeld hollered for Pinkerton to get his arse in the hackney, and Max smiled. The first genuine one of the day.
Turning the chaise around, Max headed back to The Black Rose. He’d let one of his footman return the contraption. Max wanted to see Colleen. Wanted to see if she looked at him with disgust or hate or …. No. Those could be the only two options.
Without Dunkeld weighing them down, Max and the horse made it to the club in good time. Max tossed the reins to the footman and gave the beast a good shoulder rub. “Find a treat for the animal and then return it and the phaeton to Haworts on Mayweather.”
The footman nodded, and Max climbed the steps and entered his club. He went to give the man at the door his hat and realized it no longer perched on his head. He must have lost it during the scuffle. Finger-combing his wild hair as best he could, he looked for his manager.
And didn’t find her. “Lucy.” He waved the girl over. “Do you know where Mrs. Bonner is?”
The blonde gathered her silk robe tightly about her. “She had an errand to run. Didn’t you get the note she sent to your home?”
“I haven’t been home.” Max narrowed his eyes. “What errand?”
She sucked her plump bottom lip into her mouth and let it out with a pop. “She got a letter and left. How am I to know where she went. She’s my employer; I don’t question her.”
“Technically speaking, I am your employer.” Something about the way the girl wouldn’t look him in the eye set Max on edge. She knew more than she let on. “And if you would like to keep your employment here, I’d suggest that you tell me what you know.”
Lucy examined her cuticles. “I only saw the letter because Mrs. Bonner has been asking me to help her out more and more. You know, like an assistant.”
Sweat gathered at the small of his back, and his fingers itched to shake the words out of the chit’s mouth at a faster pace. But he knew when to show restraint. Besides, Colleen had probably gone to visit her cousin, or the flower shop. No reason to be concerned.
“Yes, she’s mentioned how helpful you’ve been.” Max kept his voice friendly. “What was in the letter?”
“A request that she meet someone at St. Katherine’s church.” The girl chewed on her bottom lip. “It wasn’t a friendly request, at that.”
“And she went?” Max’s eyebrows hit the ceiling. “Alone? The damn fool woman didn’t take a footman with her at least?”
Lucy furrowed her brow. “Well, she first asked for Bob, but he hadn’t come in yet. Rufus said he had to wait for the wine delivery. Sam has been feeling poorly and is still out back in the—”
“When did she leave?” he interrupted her.
“About thirty minutes ago. She should be getting there about now. But—”
Max didn’t wait to hear Lucy’s next words. He ran for the door, bursting through before the doorman could open it. The footman was halfway down the block in the rented phaeton. Max pounded after them, a shout choked in his throat. That little idiot. Even with Bob, Rufus, and Sam down, there were still plenty of other servants she could have taken with her. Or better yet, she could have missed the meeting and given Max the letter, letting him handle the situation. He was going to throttle her when he found her.
The footman had set the horse at a slow clop, and Max soon caught up. Without a word, he hauled the footman down from his seat, ignoring his yelp. He put a foot on the step then changed his mind.
“Help me unharness the animal,” he shouted at the servant. In under a minute, the horse was free. Grabbing its mane, Max swung up onto its bare back and kicked his heels into the horse’s flanks. He shot forward, leaving an open-mouthed footman and listing phaeton behind.
Without hesitation, he guided the horse to his target. Thankfully, he was familiar with St. Katherine’s location. It was across from Simon’s, and he knew the way there almost as well as he knew his way home.
The horse pounded down the streets, rattling his bones. He hadn’t ridden bareback since he’d been a child and his seat wasn’t comfortable. After he throttled Colleen, he’d ask her to kiss it and make it better. If she forgave him for the fire.
If he found her alive.
Digging his heels into the heaving flanks of the horse, Max flew towards St. Katherine’s. And prayed.
He reached the creamy white cathedral and raced the horse up the broad steps. Before the front doors, he slid from his mount’s back, stumbled, and pounded into the narthex. Colleen would have been with the man for ten minutes. Ten minutes where she was unprotected. Vulnerable. A person could be beaten to death in moments. Choked to death in under sixty seconds. If the attacker had a knife or a gun …
He burst into the nave, chest heaving. The door slammed behind him, the hollow echo ringing through the empty church. Candles flickered along the walls, and a gray light filtered through the high windows.
Pacing the center aisle, Max looked down every row, expecting to see a crumpled body lying on a pew. He reached the altar and turned, resting his hands on his hips. Where was she? A shadow flickered to his right, the toe of a boot sliding behind a large pillar.
Max took a step towards the hidden figure, and the main door swung open.
A woman’s silhouette stood outlined in the rectangle of light. “Max?” Colleen called out. “What on earth are you doing here?”
His leg muscles gave way, and Max had to lock his knees to stay upright. “Colleen.” His voice was more whisper than rasp. She was alive. And whole.
Footsteps skittered to his right, running away from him. Max caught sight of the swirl of a black cloak and a squat hat. A side door clanged shut. He looked from Colleen, to the outlaw’s escape route, and back to Colleen. Shoulders tight, Max prowled towards the obstinate woman, not willing to take the chance that the man who’d fled had been the only cutthroat Zed had sent.
He grasped her elbow and hustled her from the church.
“Shouldn’t we go after him?”
“No,” he bit out. The horse was gone, and Max hoped the animal was smart enough to find its way back home. A hackney rested at the curb, the driver lounging against it, twirling his hat in his hands. He opened his mouth when he saw Colleen, but Max ignored him and pulled her around the conveyance. Max headed across the street, practically dragging Colleen behind him.
She twisted, looking back at St. Katherine’s. “I don’t understand. We’ve been afforded the opportunity to speak to another member of the blackmail ring. Why are we letting him get away?”
“Speak? Do you think all that man wanted was a conversation?” They climbed the steps of the stately building that faced the church.
A footman swung open the door at his approach and sketched a bow. “Lord Sutton.”
Max pressed Colleen into the foyer, his shoulders finally unclenching when she was safe within those four walls.
“Where are we?” Colleen tugged at the hem of her spencer, one of her new ones, Max noted, and peered around the lushly-decorated foyer. “What is this place?”
“My club.”
Her auburn brows disappeared beneath her sweep of hair.
“My other club. Simon’s. I’m a member here, as well.”
The head butler hurried towards them, deep creases marring the man’s forehead. “Lord Sutton. So nice to see you this evening.” Spreading his arms, he tried to herd them back towards the front door. “But I can’t allow your guest to enter. The members haven’t voted to allow women tonight.”
Nor almost any other night. Rothchild’s wife was the last woman to grace these halls. Max ground his back teeth together. The rules were starting to irritate him. “It’s not entry I need, but the use of a carriage. I assume my guest is allowed in one of those, even if it does belong to the club?”
“Of course.” The butler nodded at the footman, and the younger man stole from the room. “Can I bring you and your guest something to drink while you wait? A cup of tea, perhaps?” the man asked, giving Colleen an indulgent smile.
“I don’t know about you, but I could use a shot of Irish whiskey.” Colleen adjusted the brim of her hat. “It’s been a hell of a couple of days.”
Max snorted, a portion of his anger easing. The butler looked shocked at her language, and truth be told, so was Max. But she was right. It had been a hell of a couple of days.
“We’re fine,” Max told the man. “We’ll just wait here until the carriage comes around.”
“Of course.” Pressing his lips into a white slash, the butler gave one last disapproving look at Colleen and oozed down the hall.
She fingered the chain of her pocket watch. “I hope I didn’t just get you blacklisted. But I don’t like hearing I’m not welcome merely because of the accident of my birth.”
“I’ll survive.”
“Then do you want to tell me why you were at St. Katherine’s?” She cocked her head. “You received my note in time?”
Max’s anger roared back at full force. “No, I didn’t get your damn note. I went to the club and learned you were actually fool enough to go meet a stranger alone, I raced here as fast as I could.”
“I didn’t plan to come here unattended, but none of the servants were available to come with me.”
“There was still the footman at the front door, the stable boy—”
She sighed. “I had to leave some people at the club so it would function.” She nodded to the front door. “I did ask the hackney driver to wait for me so if Zed, or whoever it was he sent, tried anything outside the church, I would have a measure of protection.”
“And if he tried something inside St. Katherine’s?”
Colleen opened her mouth. Closed it. “No one would harm a woman inside a house of God. It’s a sanctuary,” she said in a hushed voice.
Max inhaled sharply. “You’d risk your life on the assumption that everyone is as pious as you?”
She lowered her gaze to the floor and toed the carpet. “By my estimations, it was worth the risk. I took precautions, and besides, Zed is a businessman.” She raised her chin and stared up at him. “I know businessmen. If he could obtain my cooperation, the information I would provide to him would potentially be worth in the tens of thousands of pounds. He wouldn’t hurt the golden goose.”
“Don’t assume everyone will act as rationally as you would.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s a good thing your driver was slow and I was able to arrive before you.” His hands tremored at the thought of what could have happened to her if she’d arrived on time, and he dug his fingers into his opposite biceps to hide it.
“The horse pulling my hackney threw a shoe.” She flicked a piece of lint off her sleeve. “I was delayed.”
He shook his head. “That horse saved your life.”
“You don’t know that.” Colleen stepped into him, and the scent of her soap tickled his nose.
The front door opened, and a footman stepped through, cutting off Max’s sharp retort. “Your carriage is here.” The boy pointed to the front steps. One of the club’s landau’s, a study in black and gold with the initial ‘S’ painted onto the door, waited for them.
Taking Colleen’s elbow, Max herded her out the door and down the steps, keeping an eagle-eye for anyone approaching. He tossed her into the carriage, one hand on her hip the other on her lower back. The feel of her warm body, alive and bristling with irritation, soothed the worry that had dug its claws into him ever since he’d fled The Black Rose.
Colleen slapped at his hands. “I’m in already.” Flopping onto the plush bench seat, she scowled at him. “We could have just taken my hackney.” She peered through the window. “Oh. He left. I owed him another bob.”
He climbed in behind her and slammed the door shut. “You thought you would purchase sufficient protection for a bob?”
She scooted to the end of the bench, as far from him as possible. “I don’t see how you can act as though you’re the injured party. We agreed last night that it would be for the best if our relationship was once again a purely business one. My employer doesn’t have the right to reprimand me unless it comes to the administration of The Black Rose.”
Max huffed. Agreed? After he’d confessed his crime, Colleen had gone white as a snowdrop flower and told him she could no longer continue with their affair. That she needed time alone to think. He hadn’t agreed to anything.
Max slid next to her, letting his thigh rest against hers. Needing the contact. “You have every right to hate me. And you have every right to keep me from your bed. But I will keep you safe, even if it goes against your will.” Pinching her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he turned her head to look in her eyes. “Is that understood?”
“Would it change anything if I disagreed?”
“It would not.”
She jerked her chin from his grasp. “Then it is pointless to say I don’t understand.”
“Perfectly pointless.” On one thing, at least, they could agree. He pounded on the ceiling, and the landau jerked forwards.
They rolled through London, Colleen staring out the half-lowered window. When she finally spoke, Max started.
“I don’t hate you.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
Max swallowed. He wanted to believe her. Needed her forgiveness. “How could you not? I took so much from you.”
She twisted, tucking one knee up on the bench to face him. Grabbing his hands, she held them close to her chest. “We all deserve forgiveness for our sins. Don’t we? There can’t be some mistakes that are irredeemable?” She dug her teeth into her bottom lip. “Can there?”
Max cocked his head. Was she letting him off the hook or asking for forgiveness herself? But then, there was nothing Colleen could have done that would warrant absolution. The greatest sin in her mind was having an affair as an unmarried woman. He didn’t want to dismiss her worries but needed to convince her that what they’d done had hurt no one. There was nothing to seek forgiveness for.
“I hope,” he said slowly, “that if the harm we caused wasn’t intentional, that if we try to do the right thing, that we can atone for anything. And if we haven’t hurt anyone by our actions, then I don’t think there is anything to ask pardon for.”
For men like him, much needed to be forgiven. The line between doing what was right and doing the right thing was blurred and bent. Did the good he and his friends secured override the less desirable methods they employed to achieve it? But on one score he was certain. “For someone like you, someone who leads a decent, solid life, mercy is always available. There is nothing you could do that would be very bad.”
She gave him a small smile. “Let’s hope you’re right.” Resting her shoulder against the bench, she sighed. She lowered their joined hands to her lap, and his fingers twitched.
So close to her heat. It was a crazy reaction. But the fear that had pounded through him had to go somewhere. And it turned into lust. He brushed his thumb along her skirt, along a small bump in the fabric that covered the crease where her hip met her thigh. A caress so small she couldn’t have felt it.
She shifted her legs. Her head, already so close to his resting on the bench back, dropped to his shoulder. “I don’t want to keep you from my bed, any more than you want to leave it.” The words were honey-coated whiskey. So sweet, and they started a low burn deep within Max.
More boldly, he palmed her thigh and slid his hand up and down her leg. The landau took that moment to grind to a stop. The footman from The Black Rose opened the door, his forehead clearing when he saw Max and Colleen inside.
“Welcome back, my Lord.” The boy reached up to hand Colleen down, but Max brushed him aside.
Bustling her into the club, he guided her directly to the stairs up to her private rooms. Lucy shouted a question across the room, and he slammed the door at the base of the stairwell in answer. All questions could wait. Colleen had forgiven him. He’d gone to bed the night before believing he’d never taste this woman again, and he’d been given a second chance.
A man didn’t waste a second chance.
Colleen pushed his hands off her bum. “I’m moving as fast as I can.”
“Not fast enough.” He turned her around on the step above him and slung her over his shoulder, enjoying her shriek. Taking the remaining stairs two at a time, he made for her bedroom.
The bottle of brandy and the candles still sat on her bureau. He couldn’t wait to tease her body. But first, he needed release. The fire could wait until he was in a clearer state of mind. Impatience and flame were never a good combination.
He tossed her on the bed and grabbed her ankles, dragging her hips to the edge. Her shrieks turned to laughter. Her skirt rode up to her hips, exposing creamy thighs and knee-high stockings. Shucking her boots, he stroked his hand down her calf, danced over the back of her knee, and drew down her stocking. The other bit of silk received the same treatment. When his hands traveled up her bare legs, they didn’t stop at her knee.
She jerked when his fingers grazed her sex then let her thighs fall wide. Finding her clit, he rubbed circles around it, loving the way her face flushed and her mouth fell open.
She popped open the buttons of her spencer and flapped the loose ends against her body. “That feels so good.”
Pressing his index finger into her channel, he glided along her slick walls. “I can see that. But trust me, it’s going to feel better.” He knelt and lowered his mouth. Colleen rested her feet on his shoulders, curling her toes into his coat at the first lash of his tongue.
Spreading her lips, Max licked the slick skin inside, lapped at the juices spilling from her opening. With his teeth, he nibbled on her outer lips, tugging at them before returning to her core. He plunged his tongue inside, wishing it were longer, wanting all of her.
“Oh God.” Her calves clenched against his ears and released. “Your beard is scratching me.”
He lifted his head, brows drawn. “Do you want me to stop?” This damn beard was becoming more cumbersome by the minute.
“No!” Threading her fingers into his hair, she drew him back down. “No, don’t stop.”
“Hmm.” She shivered, and Max vibrated his lips against her sensitive flesh again. Plunging two fingers inside her, he found her clit with his lips and pulled.
Her hips jumped from the bed, her feet digging into his shoulders. Pulling her closer to his mouth, he pinned her in his embrace. Her quim fluttered around his fingers, and his cock throbbed in response, wanting in.
But his fear from that day wasn’t forgotten. When Colleen started thrusting her pelvis, when her moans reached a fevered pitch, he pulled his head away.
She flopped to the mattress. “Don’t stop!”
“For ten minutes today, I was near out of my mind with panic,” he said. “Ten minutes where I imagined the worst. Ten minutes that I couldn’t get to St. Katherine’s fast enough. I think you owe me for those ten minutes.”
She pushed up to her elbows and glared down at him. “What are you jabbering on about?”
“For each of those ten minutes, I’m going to bring you to the edge.” A smile stretched across his face. “But not over. Never over. Not until we reach the tenth peak.” He lowered his head and paused. “Oh, and by that tenth peak, I’d better have heard an apology for making me worry and a promise you’ll never do anything so stupid again.”
“Apologize! I will no—oooh.” She bounced back on the bed, her whole body going limp as he applied himself back at her opening.
She was utterly delicious. Like smoked honey. He could spend all day feasting between her thighs. Which was a good thing, because he was going to be here awhile. Her legs quivered, her nails dug into his head, and Max pulled back, resting his chin on the edge of the bed.
Colleen cursed with feeling.
“Where did such a proper woman learn such filthy words?” he asked, nuzzling her thigh with his cheek.
“I told you I spent many an afternoon down on the docks accepting our shipments.” She rocked her hips into his face. “You pick up things.”
Max chuckled. He started in on her again. Each whimper, every curse, made him throb painfully behind his smallclothes. He had to give her credit. By the sixth time he’d brought her to the peak, he thought she would have cracked. It wasn’t until her seventh climb, when she was reaching down to bring herself her own relief and he had to trap her hands, that she finally broke.
“I’m sorry! So, so sorry.” She writhed and pounded her heels into his shoulders. She landed some solid blows. But not hard enough to make him stop.
“And?” Curling his tongue, he arrowed it in and out of her tight sheath.
“And I won’t do it again!”
Planting an open-mouthed kiss on her nub, he smiled, satisfied. “Good girl. Now, only two more climbs, and you’ll get your reward.”
She wailed, thumping her fists against the mattress. Max remained unmoved. He’d promised her ten, and he was a man who kept his word.
By the time they reached her tenth climb, Colleen was in tears. He took pity, shifting from leisurely swipes to a good, rigorous tongue-fucking. She needed to come, fast and hard. Slipping two fingers into her scalding heat, he curled them, finding that cushion of flesh that drove women mad. He locked his lips around her clit and sucked, and she came with a sob.
Her channel clamped down around his digits, the pressure so strong it crossed his eyes. Unable to wait a minute longer, Max pushed to his feet. He flipped Colleen to her stomach, her legs dangling off the bed, and shoved his trousers and smallclothes down his hips. Lining his straining cock at her opening, he pushed home, into her throbbing heat.
He fisted his hands into the coverlet and dropped his head. He wanted to stay in this woman forever.
Colleen’s knot of hair was half undone from all her thrashing, and he pulled out the remaining pins. Combing her hair out along the bed, he bent and pressed a kiss behind her ear. “You doing all right?”
A small sigh escaped her lips. “I’m lovely. Do what you will. I’ll just lie here.”
Pushing her skirt up to her lower back, he gave her arse a playful pinch. “Are you giving me permission to use your body as I see fit?” He rocked his hips back and thrust deep. “Thank you, love. I think I will.”
It didn’t take him long to get close. Her core was liquid heat, a velvet glove. Every thrust raised the hair on his arms and sent sensation shooting to the base of his spine. He forced his body to slow. Easing his cock back, he felt every tight clutch of her muscles. Only the tip of him remained in Colleen’s body, his shaft shiny with her juices. Digging his fingers into her hips, slowly, so goddamn slowly, he pressed back in, every inch she swallowed him tightening the screws on his control until he was ready to snap.
“What do you say, love?” He covered her back with his chest and bit down on her earlobe. “One more time?” He slid his hand up between her leg and the bed, his fingers questing for her bundle of nerves.
She groaned. “No more. I can’t take anymore. Just find your pleasure and be done. This was supposed to be for you.”
Max stilled. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” Wriggling her arse, Colleen glanced back over her shoulder. “It just means I want you to find release. Want to show you that I don’t hold any grudges.”
He reared up. “Is this some sort of pity fuck, Colleen?”
She tried to push up, but Max kept one hand bunched in her skirts at the small of her back. The other stayed pressed against her clit. “Honestly, do you care right now why I invited you back to my bed? And it’s not like I didn’t get anything from it. I just wanted you to know, about the fire—”
“A forgiveness fuck then.” His chest burned, and bile rose in his throat. He didn’t understand his reaction. A fuck was a fuck, no matter what was going on in his manager’s head.
He glowered down at her, trying to figure out just what he was feeling. His pulse pounded in his temples and his cock, a strange twin beat. He needed to be guided by his head more, his prick less. This uptight woman of business was getting under his skin, and no good could come from that.
But it was the throbbing in his cock that won out. Swiveling his hips, he slammed back home. Her sheath felt like a hundred greedy tongues licking him all at once. How was a man to resist that?
Pummeling into her, he took her every moan as an affirmation. She thought she could just lie there like some twisted good Samaritan, gifting her body for his release? Like she was too good to find pleasure from his cock, that this was only for him? To hell with that.
Rage. That was what he was feeling. Not usually an emotion he brought to bed. But balls deep, he wasn’t going to waste the energy. He’d probably saved her life today; given her a job three months ago when she needed one; even paid off that old flower shop owner so he wouldn’t sell before Colleen could pay him. And she was still too bloody good for him? If she thought she could spread her legs, give him a benediction, and be done, she could think again.
His fingers began a soft seduction. Swirling a slow circle around her clit with each thrust of his hips before pinching down on the nub. With his other hand, he pushed her skirt high up her back. Her arse joggled each time he slapped into her, her normally fair skin flushing pink. With his boot, he knocked her legs wider, drove deeper.
Lighting raced along his cock. Gritting his teeth, he dug deep. No fucking way he was going without her. She thought she was wrung out from her edges? She didn’t know what being so damn drained from coming and coming until her entire body quivered like one giant exposed nerve felt like. But she would.
Sliding his thumb between the cheeks of her arse, he circled her other opening, rimming the tight muscle there.
Colleen dug her nails into the coverlet, fisting the embroidered fabric. Her small white teeth speared into her bottom lip and her sheath went so tight she nearly forced him out.
“You like that?” he asked. He pummeled into her, his balls drawing tight. Colleen might be better than him. More decent. Have a heart big enough to forgive the unthinkable, and God knew he didn’t deserve her forgiveness. Pain stabbed his heart, and his fingers faltered for just a second. Jesus, he didn’t deserve her forgiveness and yet she’d given it so freely. But he couldn’t think of that now. The enormity of what he’d done, what he’d taken, would swallow him whole.
So, he focused on what made them equal. When his cock was fucking her body. His tongue, his teeth, his fingers. She might rise so far above him in her conduct and integrity and honesty that he couldn’t even reach her feet to kiss. But her body came just as hard as his when they screwed. Her surrender was just as true.
His balls slapped her arse. Hooking the tip of his thumb into her tight, rear channel, he let his body go. The bed shook and inched across the floor. Colleen kicked a foot up, her heel hitting his thigh. She tried to claw her way across the bed, but her core clutched at his length, pulling their bodies together.
She arched up, her hair falling down her back, as beautiful as a fiery sunset. He clamped down on her arse, her skin whitening around his fingertips. The soft sucking noise of her body grasping at his echoed in his ears. He grew thicker, harder. Colleen screamed, her channel fisting him hard. And he was done.
Thousands of pinpricks of fire raced up his cock. A pleasure so acute it hurt gathered at his spine and shot through his length. At the last moment, he pulled out, not wanting to leave her milking heat, but with just enough sense left to know he must.
His release spurted across her arse, marking her pink skin. Pulling his thumb from her, Max spread her wide, and speared his cock through her cheeks, drawing out each shuddering jet.
Colleen pressed her face into the mattress and groaned.
Staggering back, he stared at her, arse up, still clothed except for her skirt flung up to her waist. His seed glistened in streaks across her reddened skin. The room was silent except for their breathing.
Buttoning up his falls, Max withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket. With regret, he wiped her clean. Removed his taint. He smoothed down her skirts, shame mixing with his anger. Stepping back, he waited for her censure.
Max was good at reading people. His friends, his enemies. The most minute facial expressions didn’t go unnoticed. But when Colleen rolled over and sat up, her emotions were a complete mystery.
She scooted to the edge of the mattress and slid off, her skirt falling into place. Except for her hair falling loose and her feet being bare, she could have been on her way to work. Walking to one of her wardrobes, her stride a bit wobbly, she shrugged out of her spencer and hung it within. Still without speaking, she made her way to the far side of the bed. The thing had scooted out of place, sitting diagonally to the wall. Leaning her hip into the mattress, she pushed, trying to get it back into position.
Max grabbed the bottom post and pulled it straight.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice clipped, as proper as a fucking queen.
Max crossed his arms. “Are we going to talk about this?”
She sat on the bed, her shoulders drooping. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Max. I was right before when I said we should remain business associates. We’re not right for each other, for so many reasons.” She pulled out her pocket watch and gripped it in her hand. “And yet, when we’re together, I don’t want to think on those reasons. Or worry about the immorality of my actions. I feel like we’re going round and round but not getting anywhere.”
He sank down beside her. “Where would you like to go?” he asked quietly. Was she asking about his intentions? He wiped his palm on his trousers. Was he ready for a commitment?
Her lips twisted. “Don’t look so worried. I’m not expecting you to ask for my hand.”
Max frowned at the tone in her voice, like it was the most absurd thing in the world to think of a permanent attachment between them.
“In fact,” she added, “it might be just the opposite.”
His frown deepened. “What does that mean?”
She rubbed her thumb across the face of the watch before tucking it back in its pocket. “I married when I was quite young. I’ve only been with my husband, and now you. You’ve opened my eyes to new experiences and maybe …” She sucked in a large breath, her chest heaving. She closed her eyes. “Maybe I need to explore more to figure out what I want.”
Max clenched his fists. “Are you saying you want to fuck other men?” No bloody way.
Her face blanched. But she didn’t deny it.
“From little Miss Morality to an adventuress? That hardly sounds like the Colleen I know.”
She knotted her fingers together and pressed them into her lap. “You don’t know the real me,” she whispered.
“Apparently.” He stood, his stomach knotting, turning to stone. “Isn’t it fortunate you run a whore-house? Plenty of men available to you. Go find one to fuck and tell me how your explorations fare. See just how well your body responds when it’s another man’s hands touching you.” The second the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. The last thing he wanted to do was encourage her to find another lover. Have another man trail his fingers down her spine. Squeeze his prick into her tight—
Max’s vision blurred. He blinked away the tiny red spots that had formed.
“Perhaps I will.” She jumped to her feet and planted her fists on her generous hips.
“Good,” he bit out.
“Fine.”
One benefit to not undressing to tup, Max didn’t need to waste time looking for his clothes before getting the hell out of there. With a curt nod, he stormed from the room and pounded down the stairs. He flung the door open, and it bounced against the wall.
The three-piece band he’d hired was practicing in their raised alcove above the main room. Only a couple girls were out, chatting with the footmen before the customers arrived. A servant walked about with a candle in his hand, lighting the lamps along the wall. The man turned down the hallway to the back rooms, the corridor becoming brighter with each wick he set ablaze.
Molly sidled up to Max, a drink in her hand. She trailed a finger along his sleeve and cocked her head coquettishly. “Greetings, stranger. You’re looking awfully tense. Anything I can help you with?”
“Yes.” He took her glass and threw back a swallow of port. His tongue twisted at the cloying sweetness. He handed the glass back to her. “Thanks.”
“Not quite what I had in mind.” Playing with a heavy red stone dangling between her breasts, she raised a plucked brow. “You look like a man with a lot on his mind. Too many worries aren’t beneficial to a person’s health.” She smoothed her palm down his cravat. “I can make you forget. At least for a while.”
Rolling onto her toes, she whispered in his ear. “I can take the heat. Anywhere you want to burn me, you can. Anywhere.”
Unwillingly, his cock thickened at that invitation. Molly was a beautiful woman, but he’d never played with her before. She was too practiced. Malicious, even. To truly enjoy working with fire, a bond of trust needed to exist between the play partners. Something in Molly’s eyes warned she could never be trusted.
“Not tonight. But thank you for offering.”
She laughed, a musical tinkle. “So polite. Enough to make a lady wonder.”
Max looked back at the stairwell. Would Colleen be coming down tonight? Would she make good on her threat? “Wonder what?”
“If perhaps you might have a longing to try something different. At least for one night.” She stroked her hand lower, over his waistcoat. “Haven’t you ever wanted to lose yourself, Sutton? Let go of the reins, just for a little bit?” She stepped close, pressing her breasts into his arm. “Let me take control for the night. Relieve you of your burdens. You won’t have to think about anything except how hard I make you come.”
He grabbed her hand before it dropped lower. Blood pulsed through his length, and he was torn between pressing her palm into his groin and tossing it off of him. He knew what his cock wanted. Finding release in a woman who wanted nothing more than to make him happy. And he couldn’t deny that the novelty of taking orders from a domineering woman as skilled as Molly didn’t hold its appeal.
But this time, his big head won out. “Afraid not. That doesn’t interest me.” At least not with a woman he couldn’t trust. If Colleen ever wanted to play the strict nursemaid with him, perhaps crack a ruler along his palm, that could be another story.
His stomach sank to his toes. Colleen wouldn’t be doing anything with him anymore. His shoulders slumped, and Max desired nothing more than to be alone in his sitting room, with a book in his hand, and a gallon of whiskey by his side. There was another way to forget aside from a back room at The Black Rose, and Max intended to drown himself in it.
Molly shrugged, the wide strap of her gown slipping off her shoulder. Max was sure it had been intentional. “Your loss,” she said. “If you ever change your mind, I’ll be waiting.” She turned. “It’s the least I could do for my new employer,” she tossed over her shoulder and sauntered away.
Her employer. Max strode from the club. Ignoring the footman, he hurried down the block and hailed his own hackney. Clambering inside, he blew out a breath. At least that was one worry he didn’t have about Colleen. She would never have slept with him just because he employed her. Or to try to seduce money and gifts out of him. No, she was so damn honest she informed a wealthy baron, a man who could give her anything she desired, that she wanted to sleep with other men.
He slumped in his seat. He couldn’t fault her. Just because his emotions had become involved in their affair didn’t mean hers had to. And she was right. She’d only been with two men. How could she know from such a small sampling where her passions truly lie? He’d hoped—
He ground his fist into his thigh. It didn’t matter what he hoped.
The carriage rattled towards his home. Large and empty except for his plants and his servants. Colleen deserved better than him. She’d been remarkable enough to forgive his greatest transgression. She was a goddamn saint.
And he was a lonely bastard, still trying to figure out right from wrong. He needed his work with the Crown to end. He’d waded through the swamps of England long enough; he needed to get out before he sank. Once he was home, at his country estate, working with his plants, everything would make sense again. It would be easy to not cross certain lines. Easy to not have to hurt someone for the greater good.
Life would be undemanding. Trouble-free. Simple.
And he would be alone.
Solitude, something he’d always loved, no longer seemed easy.
He’d taken from Colleen, taken something precious.
But she’d taken from him, too. His comfort with seclusion. And he didn’t think it was something he’d ever get back.