They’d slipped silently out of the keep and across the bailey, unnoticed, and joined the flow of people near the western side of the Tower who had come to see either the menagerie or had come on other business. No one took any interest in a soldier and a clerk leaving the premises, but it was a monumental effort to keep her eyes ahead and not keep looking over her shoulder. Just like it was a monumental effort to keep walking at a normal, if brisk, pace and not flee as if the hounds of hell were on her heels.
They blended in with the streams of pedestrians and made their way west along Lower Thames Street, past the customs houses that lined the river and angled toward London Bridge. Just east of the bridge, they turned up Pudding Lane, where the familiar bulk of Matthews lounged against Alex’s carriage on the side of the road, an old-fashioned pipe in his hand. He saw them coming and straightened, the slight crease of his forehead at their dusty appearance the only commentary he made before opening the door.
“To Bedford Square, Matthews,” Alex instructed, the first thing he’d said since they’d left the White Tower. “We’ll take her ladyship home first.”
“Very good, Mr. Lavoie,” Matthews replied, jamming his pipe in his mouth and handing Angelique up into the waiting carriage.
Angelique ducked into the welcome dimness of the interior and thumped back on the squabs. She closed her eyes, the fear and anxiety that had nearly choked her on their flight from the White Tower draining with a sudden violence. It left her shaky and gasping.
“Angelique?” She heard the sound of the carriage door snap shut. “Are you all right?” It was the first thing he’d said to her since they’d fled the chapel.
She opened her eyes to find Alex on the opposite seat, watching her with concern.
Was she all right? She had no idea. Choking fear had been replaced by giddy relief, and the intensity of it was scattering all coherent thought and making her feel almost drunk. “I haven’t swooned if that was what you were afraid of,” she told him.
“That wasn’t what I was afraid of.” He pulled the strap from his pouch across his body and over his head and placed it on the floor.
“Right.” An illogical giggle suddenly threatened to escape. “If I was going to swoon, I would have done that earlier. At the off-with-your-head part.”
The carriage lurched into motion, and Angelique put out a hand to steady herself, the sleeve of her bulky coat catching on the seat. The bubble of laughter died as quickly as it had risen, and she suddenly needed out of the coat, out of the weighty constriction, away from the scent of gunpowder and dust that still clung to it. She yanked at the buttons, pulling on the sleeves.
Alex reached forward, helping her pull the heavy wool from her body. She shoved the coat aside as if that could distance herself from the last hour. “I thought I would give us away,” she whispered. She held out her hand in front of her, surprised that it shook only slightly.
“I didn’t.” Alex caught it and enfolded it in his, the warmth of his palm reassuring and stirring all at once. He was on the edge of his seat, watching her, his eyes searching hers in the murky light. He’d taken off his hat, and his dark hair fell alongside his face. “You were extraordinary.”
“I was terrified.”
His fingers tightened on hers.
She sucked in a harsh breath. “They were—”
“Angelique.”
“What if—”
“Shhh.” He had left his seat and was kneeling on the carriage floor in front of her. With his free hand, he reached up and removed her spectacles, then her cap. His hand trailed down the side of her jaw.
“Alex.” Her emotions were still high, and a strange recklessness was coursing through her. His nearness wasn’t giving her time to think. He wasn’t giving her the time or the space to consider what might have happened. What did happen. Or what would happen next.
And she didn’t want to think, not about any of it. But she needed something, and she was at a loss to identify what that was. “Please,” she whispered, not sure what she was asking. But it didn’t seem to matter because he seemed to understand.
“Yes,” he whispered, and then he was kissing her.
This wasn’t anything like their first kiss. This was a searing, possessive kiss, meant not to tease but to claim. Time seemed to stop, and she allowed herself to be consumed by him, to sink into his heat and his strength. She kissed him back with the same fierce abandon, her ragged emotions finding escape. He released her hand and pushed himself forward, wedging his body between her legs. She wrapped her arms around his neck and felt his hands go to her back, sliding over her buttocks, and then he was hauling them backward and on to his seat so that she was on her knees now, straddling his lap.
He was cradling her to him, his mouth hard against hers, his kiss almost desperate in its tempo. She ran her hands down his chest, feeling the ridges of muscle that lay beneath her palms and hating the layers of wool and linen that separated his skin from hers. His own hands slid over her lower back and up her ribs, and they fisted in the bottom of her shirt, yanking it from the waistband of her trousers. And then they were sliding beneath, his skin on hers, in the way she had fantasized about too many times. They roamed over her back and along the length of her spine, coming to frame her ribs just below her breasts, his thumbs running along the edge of the binding across her chest. She arched against him instinctively, wanting more. Her nipples were hard against their restraints, aching to be touched, and she made a muffled sound of frustration. She’d been here once before with this man, and this time, almost wasn’t going to be enough.
Alex was still kissing her, though his urgency had abated a little. His lips claimed while his tongue dueled, and his hands went to the back of her bindings. She could feel his fingers working on the knot, gently and carefully. And then she felt the bindings give, and his fingers pulled the fabric down and away, and the slide of it over her sensitive nipples had her gasping. Sparks of pleasure shot through her, and her kiss became more demanding, trying to communicate what she wanted when she had no words for it.
But Alex seemed to understand again because his hands came up to cup her breasts, his thumbs dragging over each nipple in deliberate movements. Her fingers curled into the front of his jacket, anchoring herself against the pleasure that was pulsing through her, directly from his hands to the very center of her. Her thighs clenched hard around his hips, and she instinctively bore down on the hard ridge of his erection straining against his trousers. She heard him make a low noise in his throat, almost a growl, and then his hands were gone from her skin. She almost cried out in disappointment, but he was shoving the hem of her shirt up to her neck, and now it was his mouth on her breasts, his tongue setting fire to her skin and making her dizzy with want.
Her head tipped back, and her eyes closed, the pleasure throbbing and centering deep within her. There was a dampness at the juncture of her thighs, her unfamiliar trousers rubbing at the sensitive skin along the insides of her legs. She rocked her hips, settling more intimately against him and sending molten heat racing through her veins.
His teeth caught the edge of her nipple as she pressed forward, a groan escaping from both of them. His hands were sliding down her bare back to the flare of her hips, and he slid them just beneath her waistband, guiding the cadence of her movements. He thrust up as her hips rolled down, and he hissed, his fingers urging her tightly against him. She gasped, grinding against the sensation, sparks of searing pleasure rocketing through her.
His lips found the curve of her neck, and her head fell forward, her forehead resting on his shoulder, closing her eyes. She let go of his jacket and twined her hands around his neck, letting her fingers tangle in the thickness of his hair. His mouth was traveling along her jaw now and she turned her head, finding his lips with hers. He plundered her mouth, and his tongue thrust with the same tempo as his hips.
He pushed her down harder against him, and blinding spots of light danced behind her eyelids. It was building, this need that was inside her, coiling and ratcheting tighter and tighter, until all she could focus on was the strength of him between her legs. This was what she wanted. Him against her. Every sensation, every movement, every breath, and every beat of his heart against hers.
“Let go, Angel,” he whispered against her mouth. She heard herself whimper, right before one of his hands slid from her pelvis and delved between them, his finger stroking her throbbing, sensitive bud and tipping her over the edge.
Nothing could have ever prepared her for the intensity of it. It ripped through her, catching her unaware and unready, every muscle within her suddenly spasming and pulsing uncontrollably. Her head dropped, her face under the edge of his jaw, her eyes squeezed shut as she rode a riptide of ecstasy. Her legs tightened around him, her fingers curled against his scalp, her hips jerked, and every muscle in her body tightened as she fell tumbling, over and over, in blinding waves of pleasure.
She came to rest against him, spent and breathing hard. The languid rapture that had saturated her entire body made her understand how men and women might forfeit everything for such. The euphoria hadn’t even worn off and already she wanted more of him, and she did not fool herself into thinking he would become anything less than an addiction. Nor did she underestimate the danger of that.
She was not in love with this man. What Alexander Lavoie had given her was nothing more than a physical release, and she could not deny that she had wanted it. Welcomed it. Enjoyed every second of it. But that was all it was.
Gradually the sounds of the streets started to filter through to her consciousness, and awareness of her surroundings returned. She lifted herself off him, sliding off his lap, and when she would have returned to the seat opposite him, he pulled her back beside him. His hand found hers and didn’t let go, even when she tried to pull away. She abandoned her impulse to retreat and settled back against the squabs beside him.
She could feel his thumb gently tracing patterns over the back of her hand. “Feel better?” he asked after a long silence.
She knew he was teasing her, trying to assuage any discomfiture on her part, but his question sent her stomach dropping to her toes.
Women use me. I am a dangerous distraction from their reality. And on occasion, when it pleases me, I let them, because I derive pleasure from it too.
In her mind, she could hear his voice in her head. Is that what she had just done? Used him and his body to distract her from her miserable reality? As a means to forget, as a means to feel better, if only for a moment?
She wanted to believe that she was above that. But when she had reached for him, she hadn’t been thinking about Alex. She’d been thinking about herself. What she craved. What she needed. And then she’d stopped thinking about anything at all.
Something that felt like shame crawled through her chest.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted to say.
“I’ve made you uncomfortable again, haven’t I?” The teasing has gone from his tone.
Uncomfortable? God, no. She’d achieved that all on her own. He had only made her feel…a perfect, overwhelming, ecstasy. Given her exactly what she had needed, as if it had always been inevitable that this man should come to know her body the way he knew everything else about her.
“No. You haven’t made me uncomfortable at all.” Her face was still on fire because, despite everything, she wanted desperately for him to do it again. “Thank you for what you did for me today.” It was the best she could do without making an utter fool of herself.
His hand tightened on hers.
“And for what you did for my brother.” It needed to be said.
“Mmmm.”
“There is no one I would rather have by my side at this moment.” That too needed to be said. Not because he had stepped forward when no one else would. Not because of what he had done and continued to do for her—he’d given her diamonds to bribe a Tower guard for God’s sake—but because, from the moment she had met this man, he seemed to understand her better than she understood herself.
Alex said nothing, only reached toward her with his free hand and gently straightened the neck of her shirt that was still gaping haphazardly. He pulled the edge of her discarded binding from where it had crumpled into her lap and balled it up, shoving it into the pocket of her forgotten coat.
“Gerald didn’t kill anyone,” she said abruptly, unwilling to dwell any longer on whatever had happened between them.
“No, I don’t believe he did.”
Hearing Alex’s agreement lit a small flame of hope. Whatever foolish, unlawful things Gerald might have done, he wasn’t a killer.
“But will the courts believe him?”
She heard Alex sigh. “I don’t know.”
And there was the crux of it. If he was found to be a murderer, regardless of what he had or hadn’t done, he would be hanged. Perhaps she should have asked Miss Moore to set Gerald on a ship to India at the outset. Gerald still thought his damn title would save him. It wouldn’t. And it would be too late by the time he realized it.
“Do you believe that someone set him up?” she asked dully.
“In my experience, things are rarely so convoluted,” Alex said gently. “More likely, it was an unfortunate coincidence. The real thief and killer beat your brother to the necklace and was already gone by the time he got there. Your brother found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Maybe the killer got the same note as my brother,” she mumbled.
“Mmmm,” Alex said, and he sounded somewhat preoccupied. “Maybe he did.”
Angelique closed her eyes, her thoughts chasing each other around in circles. She should ask Alex what would happen next. Ask him where they would go from here to help Gerald. Except she found herself resisting. She was as tired of thinking about Gerald as she was of thinking about herself.
She opened her eyes. “Who is Jonathon?”
He stiffened beside her. “Jonathon?”
“The name you gave the guards. The name that is carved into the leather of your pouch strap. Who is he?”
“What makes you think Jonathon was anyone?”
“The fact that you just answered the way you did.”
Alex looked away from her, and the carriage rolled on, the rattle of the wheels muffled beneath them. Angelique let the silence stretch. She was getting better at this.
“He was my brother,” Alex said suddenly. Her heart sank. There was something in his voice that made her regret her impulsive question. Alex’s fingers were clenched almost painfully around hers, but Angelique wasn’t sure that he was aware he was still holding her hand. “He was killed at York when the Americans attacked.”
She remained motionless, aware that Alex had retreated from her. Retreated far beyond anywhere she could see. She didn’t offer him banal platitudes or trite regrets. Just let him go where he needed to and come back when he was ready.
After a minute, he suddenly pulled his hand from hers, as if he was surprised to find it there. “I couldn’t save him. The war…” He didn’t finish whatever he’d been going to say.
She’d never been in uniform, never had to face guns like he had. But she had been battling her own version of a war for a long time, and the death and despair it left in its wake was no different. God knew she despised having to revisit her own losses.
“War leaves only survivors,” was all that she said.
* * *
Alex had understood her need for oblivion and release before she did. And God help him, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself from taking full and complete advantage of that. From taking full advantage of her.
He’d fooled himself into thinking that, by giving in to his need and desire, he’d be able to settle himself. Focus. Get her out of his system. But it had only made it worse. Touching her, exploring her, feeling her come apart in his arms had been an erotic torture unlike anything he had ever suffered. He wanted to sink himself deep within her, wanted to draw out each taste and touch until she screamed his name.
She wasn’t an innocent, but it was obvious that she did not possess much experience. Her movements had been unschooled at first, but she’d readily and skillfully accepted his guidance. Her body had responded instantly and honestly to his every touch and every kiss, liquid fire that tested his control. It made him fantasize about all the wicked ways that he might harness her raw passion, all the ways he might show her that what had happened today, on a cramped carriage seat, was nothing compared to what he might teach her when he had the gift of time and space.
He was an idiot.
He reminded himself once more that Angelique Archer was his employee. An asset to his club. A fascinating, sexier-than-hell asset, but an asset all the same. And it would only benefit him to protect such a…partnership.
To think that he was doing any of this out of anything other than good business was inconceivable. To think that she had accepted his help out of anything other than necessity was foolish.
There is no one I’d rather have at my side at this moment.
In truth, there was no one else that was even in the running. He fully recognized that she had been backed into a very difficult corner, initially when he’d found her gambling at his club and most certainly when her brother had been arrested. Her reliance on him was more of a default than a choice. Yet there was an intolerable part of him that wanted to believe that he was more than a welcome white knight of convenience to her.
It was probably that part that had let spill his brother’s name.
He didn’t talk about Jonathon. Ever. The fact that he had done so with Angelique was unsettling. There was too much regret that still came with those memories. Even if it might make Angelique realize that he understood what blind loyalty to a brother meant better than anyone else.
The carriage began to turn and then abruptly stopped. From outside, Alex could hear a hum, as if a swarm of angry bees had descended ahead of them. Above their heads, through the grate, Alex could hear Matthews’s muted voice as he soothed the horses. Alex banged on the roof of the carriage. “What’s going on, Matthews?”
“We’ve got company,” his driver replied. “Or rather, her ladyship does.”
What? Alex pulled the curtain aside. In the square, a crowd had gathered, milling in front of the Hutton town house. There were knots of angry-looking people interspersed with others who looked merely curious. Based on their clothing, the bulk of the mob was from the working class, but they were intermingled with nattily dressed men who were doing their best to stir the crowd. Small sheets of printed paper were being sold and distributed at a rapid pace, no doubt filled with the gory details of last night’s events, either made up or embellished by some entrepreneurial soul with a printer and a good imagination.
The neighboring homes had sent out servants—burly footmen from the looks of it—to push the crowd back and keep them from encroaching on their own property. Someone had propped a large, flat sign in front of the Hutton door. Across the weathered wood someone had splashed the words Hang Hutton and Murderer across it in scarlet paint.
“Drive past,” Alex ordered, but Matthews had already corrected the carriage, and it was traveling back on the street past the square. No one spared them a glance. He became aware Angelique was at his side, pressed against him. Her breath was coming in shallow gasps, and he could feel every muscle in her body coiled tensely against him.
Alex had no idea what to say to her. No idea how anything he said could make any of this any less awful than it was.
“Oh God,” she suddenly whispered. “Tildy.”
“Your housekeeper?”
“What if—what if they get into the house? What if they hurt—”
“It’s unlikely she will come to any harm,” Alex said, hoping that he was speaking the truth. But mobs could be unpredictable. “I’ll send Matthews and Jenkins back to fetch her. Is there anyone else in the house?”
“No. Just her.” Her face was white, making the freckles across her nose and cheeks stand out. “But how will they—”
“Don’t worry about my men. They are very good at what they do.”
The carriage gained speed as the square fell behind them. “Where are we going?”
“The last place anyone would ever look for a lady.”