Chapter Six
Colleen sucked in a deep breath, her stomach a bucket of writhing eels, and pushed open the door. Mr. Ridley’s cheerful face and clouded eyes greeted her, along with a thick cloud of perfumed air.
“Good morning, Mr. Ridley. It’s Colleen Bonner.”
“Good morning, my dear!” Keeping a guiding hand on the large table in front of him, he circled it to stand before her. “I wasn’t expecting you for another couple of days. You’re that anxious to send an old man into the country, are ye?”
She pressed a hand to her abdomen. The telling wouldn’t get any easier by delaying it. “About that, I have some bad news. I …” She swallowed, but the pressure in her chest didn’t ease. “I have to stay at my current employment for a little while longer. I won’t have the earnest money this week as I’d promised.”
“Well.” Mr. Ridley pursed his lips. “Well, well.”
Colleen felt lower than pond scum. “It shouldn’t be too much longer. The owner of the club promised he’d give me my premium as soon as a certain job is completed. And it might be finished soon. Days even.” She cleared her throat. “But it could take up to several months, too.”
Picking up a wrapped bundle of irises, Mr. Ridley shuffled to the front window and arranged the flowers in an old milk jug. “You see, it’s not just for me. My girl is going through some tough times. The money for my shop would help us both.”
“I know.” Colleen traced a pattern on the dusty floor with the toe of her boot. A thorough cleaning of the shop from top to bottom had been the first item on her to-do list when she became owner. If she became owner. “And I know I promised you I’d be ready. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I can’t keep that promise. But if you could only wait for a little bit longer. Maybe … maybe I can increase my monthly payments to you, if you’d only wait for me to sell.”
He separated the stems, the blue veins in his wrinkled hands looking like they might burst from his skin. “I’d like to. I truly would. I just don’t know how long I can wait. Not when my neighbor is making me a good offer, too.”
Colleen’s chest grew tight, her breaths short. She tried to swallow down her rising panic. All her dreams were slipping away. She’d been able to console herself after her husband’s death, after she’d become the temporary manager of The Black Rose, that from all her horror and shame, at least something good would take root.
Perhaps this was her punishment. She’d said that everyone must pay for their sins. She deserved much worse than losing the shop.
“I understand.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “I’ll check in every week. And I’ll hope that by the time I’m able to make the earnest payment, you won’t have sold the shop yet. But I’ll understand if you have.”
Mr. Ridley nodded, his posture stooped, his upper back beginning to curve with age. “Good luck, dear. Here.” He felt among the bouquets and found a spray of daffodils. He pressed the small clutch of blooms into her hand. “I always think daffodils are the brightest flower. Sure to cheer you up.”
Colleen looked around the small room, chock-full with color and growth, and thought nothing could ever cheer her. Not if she couldn’t have this. She wanted to be surrounded by the shop’s vibrancy, not locked away in a sterile office.
But an office was where she was needed. Pulling her pocket watch from her waistcoat, she popped the lid open and checked the time. She’d invited the staff of The Black Rose to a luncheon and she needed to head back to make sure the kitchen workers had everything they needed.
“Goodbye, Mr. Ridley.” She tucked her watch away and pressed her free hand to the old man’s gnarled one. “I’ll be in touch.”
And without a backwards glance at her lost dreams, she swept from the shop and marched down the street. She convinced herself that the burning in her eyes could be wholly attributed to the yellow fog that choked the neighborhood.
A hand snaked out of the alley she passed and grabbed her elbow. She yelped as the man hauled her close.
“Would you care to tell me what, exactly, you are doing out of The Black Rose without an escort?” Sutton glowered down at her. His hunter-green eyes darkened to smoldering coals.
“My lord.” Colleen sketched a short curtsy, hoping to placate him. She’d known he wanted her under watch until Zed was caught. But she’d thought she’d make it back to the club before he detected her absence.
“Don’t ‘my lord’ me. Pretending deference to my title, when we both know you have none, won’t work with me.” He pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You, little goose, forget that your life is under threat.”
She jerked her chin from his grasp and stomped from the alley. “And you forget that I’m not a child,” she threw over her shoulder. “And I’m not anyone’s wife. Not beholden to any man and not under anyone’s control. I will move as I please.” Besides, now that Mr. Pinkerton had agreed to work for Max and his friends, how much danger could she be in?
He matched her strides. “Mrs. Bonner, I know you are a most capable woman. But the escort is for your own safety. Please take pity on my nerves and abide by my request.”
His words wrapped around her like a fur cloak. She couldn’t lie. The concern in his voice did queer things to her heart. Made it twist and twirl. It had been awhile since she’d felt cared for. Mr. Bonner, God rest his soul, had looked at their marriage in a practical light. She was a companion, a help in the shop, a body to create children with.
Sutton cupped her elbow and drew her around to face him. The heel on her new boot slid on a cobblestone, and she tumbled against his chest. He didn’t step back. Neither did she.
The baron inhaled deeply, the buttons of his coat pressing against her breasts, making her tingle all over. The black centers of his eyes grew large, became so wide and liquid she thought she would drown in them. He was an enchanter, ensorcelling her, and she was unable to look away.
Cupping her neck with his warm palm, he brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek with his thumb. “I’m trying to prevent any harm from coming to you, Colleen.”
The hair on her nape raised. Hearing her Christian name on his lips … When he’d used her given name the night before in front of Pinkerton and the earl, she’d thought it a mere slip of the tongue. And she’d berated herself over the thrill it had given her. Such a small thing, hearing her name from a man’s mouth. Small, but precious. Her husband had rarely called her Colleen, preferring to address her as Mrs. Bonner. The baron’s deep rumble calling her name felt like a feather tickling her eardrum, and she wanted more.
Their chests rose and fell as one. Sutton lowered his head an inch, and her gaze dropped to his lips. What would his mouth on hers feel like? He was a hard man, forceful. Would his kiss be the same?
She’d never know. Stepping back, she ignored the chill that swept her body. Burying her head in the blooms, she inhaled, trying to replace Sutton’s raw, masculine scent. “A laudatory goal, to be sure.” She took another step back. “But as Mr. Pinkerton now works for you, I hardly see how I am in any danger.”
Sutton’s hand slipped from her arm, and their connection broke. A numbness spread through her chest.
“We can’t trust Pinkerton, not fully.” Sutton rubbed the back of his neck. His black hat sat crookedly over his large crop of dark curls. “And we don’t know how many others might be under Zed’s control. You can’t let your guard down.”
“Well, isn’t this a treat?” a lilting voice cooed from behind Sutton.
Colleen stepped to his side. Molly and Lucy stood there, each with a hat box wrapped in string dangling from their fingers. They both wore wispy gowns and tight pelisses that were just a smidge on the right side of decency, looking smarter and more daring than this neighborhood usually saw.
Sutton nodded at the women. “Ladies. How are you today?”
“Not as well as some.” Molly gave Colleen a significant look, one Colleen didn’t even try to interpret. “Lucy and I were shopping at one of my favorite milliners.”
“In this neighborhood?” Colleen arched an eyebrow. The women at The Black Rose were paid well for their talents. Colleen could hardly fathom they’d purchase any of their clothes in this working-class district.
Lucy glanced over both shoulders. “It wasn’t my first choice. But Molly insisted. And the shop did have good prices.”
“And what are the two of you doing here together?” Molly stepped forwards and laid her gloved hand on Sutton’s sleeve. She arched her back and lifted her chest. “If you were looking for female companionship, all you had to do was ask for me.”
Colleen tightened her fists, crushing the stalks of the daffodils. The strumpet was practically shoving her breasts in the baron’s face. The pair of them looked quite absurd together. Molly, dainty and delicate, and the baron a wild-bearded mass of masculinity. He needed someone much more sensible than an insubstantial lady-bird. Someone he wouldn’t be afraid to dishevel.
For the right price, however, Molly could be whatever he needed. She was by far the most skilled lightskirt at The Black Rose. Molding her personality to suit whomever she entertained. The members clamored for her time, and Colleen had spent many an hour trying to calendar the girl in so she could meet the most requests. The members loved how perfectly attuned Molly was to each of their needs; and each of their needs were quite varied. She was a chameleon in a silk gown.
The men found her mysterious and alluring. Colleen was not so easily misled. Molly liked money. She liked shiny things. And she liked telling men what to do. Colleen had witnessed the girl at the handle-end of a whip too many times to mistake the glee in the girl’s face when she made a man beg. Molly could play the servant when called upon, but her true nature reveled in being in control.
Sutton shifted closer to Colleen, and her heart warmed. “A kind offer,” he told Molly, “but I assure you I am not without companionship.”
“As I see.” She looked Colleen up and down. “But unless our new manager has an untamed side she keeps hidden under that waistcoat, I’m sure you’re not getting everything that you need. If you ever want to play, come find me. I can take the heat.” And with a wink at Sutton, she threaded her arm through Lucy’s, and the two of them strolled to a waiting hackney.
Sutton pressed his lips into a white slash. “I believe she thinks that you and I have begun a liaison.”
“Yes.” The harlot believed that Colleen was untamed enough to set aside her morals and engage in an affair with the baron, but too domesticated to meet the baron’s more exotic needs. Her shoulders sagged, her body feeling heavy. Not for the first time, Colleen wished she were that woman. The type to loosen the strings on her stays and kick off her petticoats. But that wasn’t how she was raised. She wouldn’t know how to be that woman. And even though such behavior might be pleasurable, it still wouldn’t be right.
“I’ll catch her up and set her straight.” Sutton tugged his hat down and took a step towards the hackney.
“Don’t bother.” She grabbed his sleeve. “It hardly matters.” And a tiny part of her didn’t want the boring truth to be known. She wanted someone out there to believe her just a little bit dissolute.
“Now”—Colleen pulled her pocket watch from her waistcoat and checked the time—“I need to be getting back to the club. That luncheon isn’t going to serve itself.”
Setting her shoulders, she started off down the street.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I told you.” She looked over her shoulder and lowered her brow. “Back to the club.”
“You’re walking?”
“That is how I typically make it from one point to another.” She paused when a group of dogs ran in front of her, the lead mutt carrying a meaty bone in its mouth. This morning’s walk had been almost enjoyable wearing the boots she’d pulled from the bottom of her wardrobe. The thick soles had cushioned her feet and lengthened her stride.
Sutton turned her around. “I have a carriage. I’ll give you a ride back to the club.” A footman hopped down from the back and opened the door when he saw them coming. Sutton handed her in. “Why didn’t you hire a hackney, woman? It must be seven miles to The Black Rose.”
“Hackneys cost money.” Colleen tucked her feet under the bench seat, trying to hide her new boots under the hem of her short skirt. “I’ve been saving up every penny I can.” Sutton settled next to her, and she scooted to the wall, placing the daffodils on the seat between them. Best to head temptation off where she could. “I guess that doesn’t matter anymore.”
Sutton pounded on the roof. He took off his hat and tossed it on the seat across from them. “Why does it no longer matter?”
Turning on her hip, she glared at the man. “Is that a serious question?” She didn’t wait for a response. She poked his biceps. “It no longer matters because of you. You broke your word to me, and now Mr. Ridley will most likely sell his flower shop before you give me my premium.”
For emphasis, and because she liked the contact, she poked him again.
Quick as a snake, he locked her finger with his own. “Won’t Mr. Ridley wait a bit longer?”
“Says the man with pockets as deep as a grave.” She pulled on her finger, but he refused to let it go. “To men like you, waiting a couple of months for five hundred quid isn’t of great concern. But for people like Mr. Ridley and me, it matters.”
Bringing her finger to his mouth, he pressed a glancing kiss to the back of her knuckle. His beard tickled her skin, and she repressed a shiver. His lips were as soft as she’d imagined.
“Forgive me, Mrs. Bonner. I don’t mean to make light of your situation.”
“Colleen,” she told him, her gaze trapped on his mouth. A small dent creased the center of his bottom lip, and she licked her own. “And if you feel badly, you can pay me what you owe and we’ll call it even.”
He was silent a moment. “You wish me to call you by your Christian name?”
She faced forwards, a move made awkward by her trapped hand. Their carriage rolled past Parliament, and her stomach rolled with it. She shouldn’t have opened her mouth. He was her employer, not an intimate.
But once she’d heard her given name on his lips, returning to Mrs. Bonner seemed a shame.
She jerked her head up and down.
He lowered their hands to his lap. “Well then Colleen, tell me, if I were to give you your premium now, would you stay at the club until this matter is resolved?”
“Or course not.”
The skin around his eyes crinkled. “Most people would lie, tell me what I want to hear and then take the money and run. But not you.” He rubbed his thumb on the back of her hand. “I’d be honored to call you Colleen.”
Colleen had never been so happy that she hadn’t put on her gloves that morning. His hand was bare, as well, and he circled the tip of his thumb on her skin until she felt the pattern imprinted down to the bone.
The caress was so small, so innocent. But as the seconds dragged on, a low hum started deep in her body, a heat that pulsed with every swirl of his finger. Her mind blanked of rational thought, and all she could contemplate was the softness of his lips. The scratch of his beard. Of how her whole life she’d behaved as she ought, as society dictated.
Molly had thought her adventurous enough to take a lover, and Colleen wanted to live that, if only for a day.
She took a deep breath. Two. Her desires were sinful, but she couldn’t find it within herself to care at the moment. Gathering her nerve, she crawled onto the seat on her knees and dug her free hand into Sutton’s beard. His mouth rounded in surprise, and she took full advantage. Closing her eyes, she crushed her lips to his.
Warm. Sweet. And a little scratchy on her cheeks. Altogether quite nice. A marked improvement on Mr. Bonner’s kisses, God rest his soul.
But not the fireworks she’d been expecting.
Sutton drew back. “Are you certain you want this?”
Was she? Not entirely. But she was sure she didn’t want to go through the rest of her life abiding by all the rules. She wanted to be able to look back and say that she’d stepped off the expected path once or twice.
Holding her breath, she nodded.
He circled her ribs with his large hands and lifted her into a straddle across his thighs. With one palm at the base of her spine, he wrapped the other around the nape of her neck and pulled her close.
The carriage rocked beneath them, and her sex rubbed against something hard and long. “Oh my,” she whispered, their mouths inches apart.
His breath feathered across her lips an instant before he closed the distance.
This kiss was nothing like their first. Angling her head, he took her mouth, sucking at her bottom lip, sending sparks racing to her center with each pull. He bit down, tugging at her lip, creating an opening. When he swept his tongue inside, Colleen jolted in surprise.
He explored every inch of her mouth, taking his time, making her feel like she was someone worth getting to know. Her scalp prickled, her core ached. The sensations coursing her body were so unknown her mind couldn’t determine if her discomfort was from unmet need or shock at his technique.
Never had Mr. Bonner kissed her like this.
“Colleen?” he murmured against her lips.
“Yes, my lord?” She chased his mouth, but he tugged her head back.
“If I call you Colleen, you’d damn well better call me Max.” He slid his hand from her back and down her thigh. The warmth from his palm penetrated her skirt and petticoat, but it was nothing like the scalding heat when he reached under her skirts and touched bare flesh. He skimmed back up her leg. Without anything between them.
Sweat beaded at her temple. Closing her eyes, she drowned in stimulation. Her breasts felt full, achy. And each stroke of his fingers on her inner thigh sent a longing pulsing through her core. She shifted closer, tried to open her legs wider.
“I’m waiting.” He brushed his fingertips over the crease where thigh met her most intimate flesh. He drifted so tantalizing close, before pulling away.
Colleen blinked. “So am I.” Sutton had already brought her more pleasure in two minutes in his carriage than in her entire marriage. He couldn’t stop now. “What is it you’re waiting for?”
“To hear my name from your lips.” He stared down at those lips, and without giving her a chance to comply, bridged the space and took them for another searing kiss. “Such sweet,” he nipped at her bottom lip, “fuckable,” his tongue sparred with hers, “lips.”
Moisture pooled between her legs at his rough language. She’d never heard such a word coming from a toff. Something else that was highly improper and that she enjoyed more than she ought. Her lips curved, and she mumbled “Max” against his mouth.
Wrapping his hand in her hair, he feasted on her until Colleen grew dizzy. She tried to keep up, tried to match him thrust for thrust, but the slick slide of his tongue, the rough caress of his beard, all made it impossible to concentrate. Sunlight warmed her side, and she gave a passing thought to any witnesses that might see them. But it was a small window, and they were bumping awfully fast down the streets. Her body convinced her mind that it was worth the risk.
The hand on her thigh homed in on its target. She gasped, taking more of his tongue, and her knees snapped closed on instinct. Fortunately, instinct couldn’t overcome the barrier of his hips. She was left open, exposed to his touch.
Max eased a thick finger between her swollen folds, and her muscles clutched him eagerly. He pushed deep inside, his digit sliding easily. Dropping her head back, she blinked at the carriage ceiling. She rocked against his hand and took what he gave her. How was it possible that Max with his one finger could make her feel more than relations with her husband ever had?
He dragged his finger from her body and slipped through her slick lower lips to the little bundle of nerves at the top of her sex. “So wet for me.” He circled his finger around her nub, and she stopped breathing.
“Do that again.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Hmmm.” He palmed her outer lips, a nice feeling to be sure, but not what she needed. “For someone so prim and proper, you seem to have forgotten the niceties.” Burying his face below her ear, he inhaled, and sucked her earlobe into his hot mouth. “How about a ‘please Max’? In fact, I’d very much like to hear you say ‘please Max, make me come.’”
If saying please would get her what she wanted, Colleen had no objections. “Please, Max, make me come.” Any embarrassment she might feel at saying those words was well hidden by the flush that already engulfed her from head to toe.
He pressed his finger past her walls, sinking deep into her core. With his thumb, he circled her nub, the pressure a light tease. “Will you say my name, Colleen? When I bring you to crisis, will you scream your pleasure, let all of London know just who is in here satisfying you?”
Slapping her palms to the carriage ceiling, she pressed against the upholstered top, trying to push her body closer into his touch. “Oh God.”
He smiled against her jaw. “I’ll answer to that name, too, if you wish.”
The carriage took a hard turn, and she swore the only thing keeping her on his lap was the finger pinned inside of her. He started a pattern, two hard thrusts followed by a leisurely circle of his thumb. Her muscles bunched tighter, her chest heaved. She was close, so deliciously close, she … just … needed …
Max increased the pressure with his thumb, swirling at the same time with his thrusting finger.
Her spine arched, her nails dug into the cloth canopy. All her air was sucked from her and she grew dizzy. Her heart beat once, twice, and she flew apart, pulse after pulse of pleasure flooding through her body from her fingers to her toes. She rode the waves for as long as she could, Max’s beguiling fingers never ceasing. A long moan tore from her throat.
Wrung out, she slumped forwards, her body molding around Max’s torso like a wet rag over a rock. She drifted in a haze, feeling nothing but her lower body twitching periodically and the soft kisses Max pressed against her brow.
The sounds of London made themselves heard. Their carriage turned from a cacophony of noise into a quieter side street.
Max brushed his fingers against her thigh. “The sounds you make at your completion … like a siren’s call. I didn’t think I could get any harder.” One side of his falls dropped against her skirt, and he moved his hand to unbutton the other side.
The carriage slowed, and Colleen pushed herself up and looked out the window. They rolled past a neighboring building she recognized and came to a stop in front of The Black Rose.
The Black Rose. Her place of employment. A place where she’d managed to keep herself removed from the sin that went on inside those walls. Where she’d held firm to her morals.
Until today.
She couldn’t say she regretted it. Her body was still too flushed with pleasure to acknowledge remorse. But she knew it would come.
The carriage shifted as the footman jumped off the back.
Colleen slapped at Max’s hands. “Button yourself back up. We’re here.” Grabbing the daffodils by the stems, she pulled at the bundle. Half the blooms remained under Max’s thigh where he’d sat on them. The rest of the bouquet was woefully crushed by her own knee. There was something symbolic in that, something she didn’t want to contemplate.
At least the odor of the crushed flowers filled the carriage interior, masking any other scents that might linger. She hoped.
Max pounded on the roof. “I’ll tell them to go around the block.”
“That isn’t a good idea.”
“Colleen.” Frown lines marred Max’s forehead, and he reached for her.
The door swung wide, and Colleen stumbled to the opening. She couldn’t look at the footman, didn’t want to see the knowledge of what she’d done, what he might have heard. She hurried down the steps and turned at the bottom.
Max filled the carriage doorway.
“I have to get back to work. The workers’ luncheon won’t serve itself.” Patting her pocket to make sure her watch still lay inside, she spun on her heel and marched for the club’s entrance.
She could feel the heat of his gaze between her shoulder blades. He had a right to be angry, but his ire didn’t signify. Of all her sins, leaving a man wanting wasn’t one of the top hundred.
In fact, turning the tables on a powerful man was a bit thrilling. Usually it was the man who had all the fun, with the woman left to fake a smile. She’d seen that well enough in her marriage and in The Black Rose. If the baron wasn’t going to give her the money he owed, it seemed but the smallest of recompense to put her pleasure first.
She marched into The Black Rose, head held high. Revenge tasted sweeter than she’d ever imagined.