Chapter Thirty-Four
The street was quiet and warm, with a light breeze. A perfect summer night. Yet the ache in his chest couldn’t be fixed by the pretty gold and rose sunset or the scent of roasting meat or the laughter of families. They simply didn’t know what it was like to be alone. Truly, truly alone.
He started to walk, not sure where he was going. This was the West End, where carriages bore the aristocracy to soirees and dinner parties and Parliament. This was a world he knew nothing about and couldn’t even imagine beyond what he’d seen through windows. He didn’t belong here.
She did.
He looked up at Cat’s window, because that was where he’d walked to. It wasn’t far from Langford’s townhouse, and he’d spent hours here lately. Of course he would head here if he wasn’t thinking. It was logical. Still, the ache in his chest was anything but logical, and he hated the feeling.
He shook it off and looked to the townhouse. The rear garden was empty and quiet, the mews behind him busy with grooms and horses and carriages being readied for the night’s adventures. Was she at home? Perhaps she was preparing to attend a fancy gathering. He wished she were standing at the window and could see him. She might wave, or even open the window so he could see her face.
He was pathetic for even thinking it.
Whatever was moving through him and causing this longing and need and heat was nothing she would feel for him. She was a baroness in her own right, with centuries of blue blood behind her. He was nothing but riffraff from the rookeries, with no ability to provide for her—not that she needed him. She was an heiress.
His hand fisted, heart and mind full of more emotions than he could name. He should not be standing here in front of her house. It would do him little good to stare straight into the face of a life he wanted and couldn’t have.
Langford and Angel had made it work. They had children and wives, and were by all accounts happy. They’re lives were not normal and sometimes they had to leave their families. Langford was partially retired and rarely accepted an assignment. Lilias had been pulled into the family and wasn’t alone when Angel was on assignment.
Cat would be alone. Even if Jones could marry her, when he left for assignments, she would be left alone. Not that there was any reason to think about it. There was no point in even considering what would happen in those circumstances.
He started as the terrace door opened, a figure slipping into the deepening shadows of the garden.
Cat was not at the window, but picking her way through the garden toward him. A light shawl was wrapped around her shoulders, its pale pink-and-white design twisting over the surface. Her hair was unbound and tumbled down her back, its waves shifting in the evening breeze.
It was not quite daylight, not quite dusk. Anyone who looked out the window would see them.
“Why are you here?” she asked quietly when she drew close to him. He could just make out her scent over the heavy, sweet blooms surrounding them.
He didn’t have an answer, so he said nothing. He watched and waited, hardly able to breathe for fear she would leave again.
“Jones.” His name was a sigh on her lips. “I cannot stay here long. Wycomb is at home.”
“I have no reason for being here. None.” It was an honest answer, yet he could not continue with such honesty. He couldn’t tell her he was in love with her. “My apologies, Cat.”
Her eyes were very blue as she studied his face. Twilight had fallen and any of the pale gold light left of the day had given way to blue-gray.
“You are the most exasperating man.” She reached out her hand and set it against his chest. Even through the coat and shirt he wore, he could feel the warmth of her hand.
“I don’t understand.” But his heart was thumping hard beneath her palm.
“You’re here, at dusk, when we could be seen, for ‘no reason.’”
“I only wanted to see you.” The words burst from him, though he had not intended to say them.
“Why?” Her hand stayed there, pressed against his chest. He wanted to lay his own over it and tangle his fingers with hers. He wanted to bring her hand to his lips and kiss each fingertip.
When she stepped closer, it took all he had not to touch her. Her face tipped up, the sweet, red mouth too close to his.
“I don’t know.” He could barely speak beyond the need growing inside him. Her mouth was there, full and ripe. But he did not taste. He could not.
He dared not.
Still, the need to kiss her clawed and tore at him. Desire raged beneath his skin, consumed him. Her eyes were partly lowered as she watched him, as though she were nearly asleep. Nearly dreaming.
“Why will you not kiss me?” She breathed the words. Her gaze dropped to his lips and sent lust streaking through him.
“I cannot.” A fist seemed to clutch his heart and lungs, squeezing so that he couldn’t draw breath.
“Cannot? Or will not?”
He only shook his head. They were one and the same. Kissing her would only lead to the impossible.
No matter how much he wanted to.
He shouldn’t even touch her. Yet her hand still lay over his heart, and he wanted that small contact between them. He wasn’t certain he could touch her bare skin without aching inside in a way that would cause him to do something idiotic.
He carefully laid his hand over hers.
The contact nearly brought him to his knees. Yearning for her roared through him, brightening the dark places of his soul.
He drew her in, pressed her body to his, because he could do nothing else. His mouth met hers, and he wondered if she could taste the desperation for redemption there.
Whether she could or not, her arms came around him. Lean but strong, she held him to her. “You are important to me, Jones. Not because you are a spy, or because of Wycomb. Because you are you.”
“I am nothing.” Even as he said the words, he thought perhaps he wasn’t. He’d never believed he would be more than nothing. But—now there was Cat.
“Oh, Jones.” Her lips met his, quickly, then she drew back to look at him. “Honor is stamped into your soul. How do you not see it?”
The words flowed through him, warming something he had known was cold.
“Cat, my love.” It was painful to say, and it would be more painful later when she was married to another. But he could not deny it. “I will bow out, Cat. I will not get in the way of your marriage or your inheritance, but I must say it once. Just once.”
…
She was not shocked to hear the words. They had hovered in the air between them already. She’d felt them.
“I love you.”
She set her lips to his, hoping she could infuse him with everything she felt for him—love, respect, desire. He was so honorable, his principles guiding him in ways so many other men forgot.
Jones leaned into her, his face pressing against the curve of her collarbone. “I wish I could take you away from all of this.”
“Only if you come with me, Jones.” Her laugh was giddy and melancholy, all at once. “Only if I can be with you.”
His heart beat wildly, the rhythm strong but quick. It was an echo to the pounding in her own chest. She raised her face, lips seeking his. She wanted the comfort, wanted the heat. This time he met her lips, hungrily, as if he thought it might be their last.
She met him just as hungrily, her yearning for more swirling inside her. Strong arms circled her, pulled her more tightly to him. His body was hard against hers, and she felt, too, his manhood against her belly. Her breath shuddered out and she pressed herself to that hard length.
The groan that ripped from him made the blood rush through her veins. She brought her hands to his face, cupped his cheeks. The late day’s stubble was a delicious scratch against her palms.
“Don’t make me stay here tonight, Jones.” Desperate for freedom, she met his gaze. “Please take me somewhere else, just for a little while.”
“Cat, we can’t. Your engagements.” Dark eyes were bleak, the lines at the corners deepening with something so far from laughter it made her heart stutter. “How would we—”
“When I return from ton engagements. After midnight, perhaps one in the morning, the household will be quiet. I can sneak out.” She slid her hands to his shoulders, gripped hard. She knew the risk if she were discovered missing. “I need to breathe, Jones. I need to feel free for a little while. Please take me away—to anywhere. Just for tonight.”
He was quiet a long moment. Night had settled around them, but it wasn’t full dark yet. His jaw clenched, shoulders straightened. She saw and felt both, and sensed the battle within him.
“I’ll wait for you to return.” His lips met hers firmly.
Cat slipped into Worthington House through the rear servant door. It led to the lower hallway and would, of course, be busy with the butler and housekeeper, cook and maids.
She didn’t expect Wycomb to be in the servant hall.
The fist was at her throat, tangled in her shawl and yanking her bodice up to her chin as if it had no shape or cut. Her back slammed against the wall, the scream in her lungs cut short by the force.
“Who is he?” Wycomb shoved his face close to hers, bared even, white teeth.
Cat pressed her lips closed, though she scrabbled at the hand clenched at her throat. Dimly she heard footsteps, gasps as servants gathered into a ring of black linen and white aprons around them. She did not look at those circling faces, willing them to stay away and not intervene.
“Who is he?” Wycomb repeated, shaking her so her entire body shuddered.
She braced for the blow. He wanted to do it—she saw that in the lean features and dark brows bent upon hate. His eyes flicked to the right, the left, as if gauging loyalty from the servants watching them.
“I will recognize him next time. You will not be able to hide him from me forever. If you ruin the plans I’ve put in place, it will be your life, mine, and your inheritance at stake. Fall in line, Mary Elizabeth.” The fist at her throat pressed harder, just for a moment, before releasing again. “Fall in line.”
He let her loose. She tumbled to her hands and knees, coughed to clear the pressure against her windpipe. Wycomb turned on his heel. The steps to the upper floors were not far, but they were blocked by a wall of livery and aprons. Side by side, footmen and butler and maid and housekeeper stood—two deep. Their chins were high, and just as Cat thought to call out and tell them to stand down, Wycomb spoke.
“It is not the baroness who controls this household.” He sent his gaze to the left of the circle, swung it through the remainder until he reached the end. He would have met each servants’ gaze. Cat could see nothing beyond Wycomb’s straight back, but she knew his methods well enough. “The next time she leaves without permission, it will not be she who suffers, but you. Is that understood?”
There was no agreement—but no one fought, either. Cat saw fear and defiance spread in equal measure between her people. Frantically she shook her head, hoping they would understand not to argue with Wycomb. A few of them glanced her way, but most stood silent and still.
“Good.” Wycomb set his coat back into place. “Mary Elizabeth, we will be leaving in thirty minutes for our first engagement. Brown, have the fire ready in the estate room when I return, as I will have need of it.”
“Yes, my lord.” Brown held himself still, shoulders back and eyes fixed on the ceiling far above Wycomb’s head.
“I expect the carriage to be waiting.” Wycomb’s heels struck the planked floor, every step ringing as if he were the master.
No one moved. The footsteps faded. Twenty or more people remained in the hall, and still no one moved.
They were waiting for her.
The wall was hard at her back, the cloth at her throat bunched and disorganized. Every part of her body was buzzing. But she saw them, the men and women that lived in this house. She knew each by name, could remember their family histories and often their future dreams.
They were hers to protect.
“Please, be careful and do as he orders,” she said softly. “I have some measure of protection.”
They began to disperse, murmuring to each other. Fear rode under the words, writhing just beneath the surface of sound.
“My lady.” The butler stepped beside her, leaned close so others would not hear. “Some of us are loyal—myself, the housekeeper. We will not abandon you, but there are some in your uncle’s employ. You cannot trust them.”
“Thank you.” Her knees buckled in relief that at least someone was with her. She gripped Brown’s arm, using it to hold herself upright. “If something happens to me, care for my aunt. See her to safety as best you can, and get everyone else out. Do you understand me?”
He was silent, the nostrils in his long nose widening. “Yes, my lady.”