Chapter Twenty

 

 

 

Fate was a temperamental beast. She seemed to work without rhyme or reason, changing lives in the blink of an eye without regard for whether they were saved or ruined. Some swore by her, others damned her. Those predisposed to logic did not believe in her at all.

Juliet knew that fate existed. How else could she explain meeting Yeti, and Bran, and Eddy? Without them, her life would have irrevocably different. Maybe better, but most likely worse. She’d known fate was on her side the first time she had managed to escape from Grant. It had been with her again at the Dashwood’s ball, and once more at Blackfriars Bridge.

Truth be told, fate had favored her so many times she’d forgotten how fickle the bitch could be…until she stepped across the street without bothering to look and slammed straight into the hard, immovable body of Lord Grant Hargrave.

“I am terribly sorry, my lady.” His deep, husky voice struck a chord of remembrance within her as his hands shot out and steadied her by the shoulders. “I fear I did not see – Juliet.”

She caught a glimpse of startled green eyes before she managed to slip free of his grasp and darted around a carriage. A plain looking brougham, it was pulled by a shiny chestnut gelding moving at a leisurely trot. Grabbing onto the door handle, she managed to twist it open and used the folding step to shove herself inside. The carriage’s occupants – two women in feather plumed hats – released high pitched screams as she tumbled across their laps.

“Sorry! So sorry!” Rolling onto the floor, she sat up and caught the swinging door, slamming it closed and twisting the lock just as Grant’s furious countenance appeared in the window. He slammed his fist against the door and the women screamed again, causing Juliet to wince and cover her ears.

“Excuse me!” she yelled. “Could you please desist? I don’t want to go deaf.”

Eyes wide, they both stopped at once and she sighed with relief.

“There.” Leaning back on her hands, she smiled up at them. “That’s better. Now. Do you see that angry looking man running alongside your carriage trying to get in?”

“Yes,” the woman on the left, a round-faced blonde, said tentatively.

“That is my ex-fiancé. Very nasty fellow. I’m afraid I had to end our engagement after I discovered he’d spent all of his money at a brothel and gambled away the family estate. As you can tell, he’s also the violet sort.” 

As if on cue, Grant struck the side of the carriage again and shouted something indecipherable. Juliet lifted a brow as if to say, ‘do you see what I mean?’ and the two women immediately nodded.

“How awful,” the blonde whispered.

“Just ghastly,” her companion, a pretty brunette with big blue eyes, agreed.

“Indeed. Unfortunately, I’m in a bit of tight spot.” To put it mildly. “Would you ladies be ever so kind as to make the tiniest of detours?”

“Of course,” said the blonde at once. “Anything we can do. Where do you need to go?”

“Nowhere very far. Just the edge of St Giles.”

“St – St Giles?” The two women exchanged an uneasy glance.

“Yes.” Juliet smiled brightly. “And if you could tell your driver to pick up the pace a bit, that would be lovely.”

 

Damnit!

Unable to keep up with the carriage on foot, Grant seethed in silent anger as it rolled briskly away. Juliet had slipped through his fingers again. The woman was as wiggly as an eel with the nine lives of a bloody cat. At least this time he had a good idea where she was going and a fancy carriage like that would stick out like a sore thumb in the East End, giving him a better chance at tracking her down.

Twenty minutes and two hackneys later (the first had refused to get within three blocks of the rookeries, forcing him to flag down another), and that was precisely what he had managed to do. Through sheer dumb luck and a bit of patience, he’d picked up Juliet’s trail outside an abandoned tenement building in the middle of St Giles.

The stairs creaked ominously beneath his weight as he sprinted up them to the highest floor. A board splintered beneath his foot when he ran down the hall, falling away into nothingness. Having been scorched by fire, the building wasn’t sound. There was no telling how long it would hold, but if he went down with it then so would Juliet, for he wasn’t letting her go.

Not this time.

Faced with a door to his left and a door to his right, he was forced to make a decision. One door pointed at the street and the other at the alley. If he picked incorrectly, Juliet would be gone and there’d be no telling when she would surface again. His gut told him to go left.

He went right.

Juliet was perched on the windowsill when he slammed open the door. She glanced back at him over her shoulder, and her mouth curled in a sneer.

“You’re too late, runner.”

She pushed herself quickly off the sill, but Grant was quicker. Throwing himself forward, he managed to catch the hood of her cloak. He yanked. Hard. She fell backwards into him, and the force of their two bodies colliding sent them both sprawling onto the floor in a cloud of dust.

Coughing, Juliet tried to flip herself upright and make a run for the door, but he swept out his leg and struck her behind the knees. He threw himself over her, thighs straddling her waist as he pinned her wrists together above her head in an iron grip. Hair the color of sunset flew in every direction as she tried to twist and buck, but try as she might she couldn’t throw him off.

Chest heaving with the force of her exertion, she glared up at him out of flashing green eyes and snapped her teeth, a fierce little wolf with her paw in a trap. Grant just grinned.

“Caught you,” he said smugly, his face inches from hers. Nine long months he’d been waiting for this moment, and now that it was finally here...all he wanted to do was kiss her.

So he did.

She hissed in outrage when his tongue swept into the hot, sweet cavern of her mouth. He waited for her to retaliate - a bloody lip was no less than he deserved for his bold advances - but instead of biting she moaned, and the tiny sound of surrender was his undoing.

How he’d longed to taste her again! To breathe in her delicate feminine scent and feel her lush curves pressed against him. It was all he’d thought about. All he’d dreamed out. Taking her mouth with a bruising passion that left them both gasping, he poured all of his considerable lust and frustration into the kiss. She bucked her hips again, but this time she wasn’t trying to get away and it was his turn to groan when she slipped her hand between them and stroked his swollen cock.

Releasing her wrists he tangled his hands in her hair, ruthlessly destroying what remained of her coiffure. They rolled once, twice across the dusty floor and she ended up beneath him once again, her nails biting into his shoulders.

She cried out when he ran the tip of his tongue along the curve of her ear. Arched her spine when he nibbled a scorching path down the slender line of her neck. Rubbed herself shamelessly against him when he cupped her breasts through her dress and flicked his thumbs across her hard nipples. He yanked impatiently at her bodice, exposing one breast and immediately taking her rosy nipple into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the tight little bud, tugging and licking until she yanked down her bodice the rest of the way and desperately pulled his head to her other breast. 

So many women tried to hide their desire behind a stoic façade or, worse yet, pretended to have none at all. Juliet had so much desire bundled into her curvy little body she was all but pulsing with it. He tasted it with every deep kiss, every teasing nibble, and every naughty lick.

After spending a considerable amount of time paying tribute to her lovely nipples, he rolled onto his side and took her mouth once again as his fingers began a slow, leisurely descent down towards the apex of her thighs. Her skirts proved a cumbersome barrier, but he could still feel her through them, all fiery heat and pulsing need. On a low, keening gasp pulled her dress up and let her legs fall open. With an approving growl he slipped his hand beneath the waistband of her drawers, fingers toying her damp curls before he stroked a single fingertip down her swollen clit.

She cried out his name, the first time she’d ever called him anything but ‘runner’, and his cock jerked in response. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding in out between her lips in rhythm with the stroking of his finger.

He longed to bury his finger inside of her. To feel her muscles clench and stretch around him as he slid in one finger, then two. But she was so close to coming that it would have been cruel to delay her release for even another second, and so he used her clit to drive her to a fast, reckless orgasm that left her eyes glassy and her arms limp.

He was tempted to seek his own release. But then he shifted his weight and the floor groaned, a stark reminder of not only where they were, but who they were. And it wasn’t lovers.

She sat up when he did, her cheeks flush, her hair a wild tangle around her shoulders. Without looking at him she pulled up her bodice, pulled down her skirts. Scoured the dusty floorboards for the pins he’d pulled out and managed to twist her riotous curls into something that vaguely resembled a bun.

“Well,” she said, eyeing the iron manacles he’d unclipped from his belt as she’d been tidying herself up. “I don’t suppose this is the part where I toss a shilling your way and we bid each other good day.”

Shame at having failed in his duty as a runner heated the nape of Grant’s neck. He never should have kissed Juliet, let alone made her come. And yet in spite of his failure, he regretted nothing. How could he when every moment had been more glorious than the last?

But he did regret what was to come next.

“Hold out your right hand, Juliet.” 

Eyeing the manacles as one might a venomous snake, she started to back up, but this time there was nowhere to run. “You cannot be serious!”

“Your right hand,” he repeated.

“I won’t run. I promise. You don’t need those.” She looked down at the manacles with obvious loathing. “Truly.”

The lie was so blatant he didn’t bother to dignify it with a response. Taking her hand when it became clear she wouldn’t give it of her own violation, he carefully snapped the cuff into place before putting the other manacle onto his own wrist. They were now linked together by a short iron chain that was just long enough for them to walk side by side.

Keeping a hand on her elbow, he led her back out into the hallway and down the narrow flight of stairs. To his pleasant surprise she didn’t try to fight him but rather walked along docilely, the epitome of a model prisoner.

At least until they reached Bow Street.