A Secret Surrender, page 22
Beatrix sat forward in her chair, her eyes wide. “But we weren’t finished. We don’t have enough money.”
“We received a good amount of donations at the tour last Friday. It will be enough.” Selina hoped it was. She’d just cut some expenses. They could walk to balls, couldn’t they?
“I wouldn’t get caught,” Beatrix grumbled, sitting back in her chair.
“We can’t take the risk.” Especially if Harry was on the case. He was already too close. “It’s best if Madame Sybila leaves town, and you must stop stealing. I mean it.” Selina pinned her with a severe stare. “Please don’t risk everything we’ve worked for—the future you deserve.”
Beatrix said nothing as she lifted her glass and took a long drink of the wine.
“Beatrix,” Selina hissed. “Tell me you understand. It all ends now.”
“I understand.” Beatrix shot her a disgruntled glower. Then she took a breath and nodded. “I do understand. We’re done.”
Exhaling with relief, Selina’s mind churned as she considered what she had to do tomorrow. And then what? Then she had another six or eight weeks of this interminable Season. Unless Beatrix achieved her goal of winning her father’s approval and support before then.
She would also have six or eight weeks of Harry.
The past week—the times she’d shared with Harry—had been a dream. But it couldn’t continue, as much as she wanted it to. She wanted more riding lessons. She wanted to read his treatise about the trial of Sir Thomas Overbury. She wanted to spend time with his oversized, boisterous family and feel as though she were a part of something more than herself. But none of that was to be.
As soon as the Season was over, she would leave London. She had to. She couldn’t afford to stay. Part of her screamed to end things now, that it was wrong to continue. No, that it was wrong to have started. She owed him the truth, but telling him would expose Beatrix and ruin her hopes. If it was just Selina, she’d tell him.
Finishing her wine, she stood and bade Beatrix good night before going up to her chamber. The moment she opened the door, she knew something was amiss.
Harry stepped out from behind the curtain hanging around the window. “Oh good, it’s you.”
A line of cold sweat beaded along the back of her neck. Had he overheard her and Beatrix’s discussion? “Good heavens, Harry. I see you’re better at stealing into places than you are at spying in gardens.”
He came toward her, his lips curving into a smile. “I was particularly motivated this evening. I couldn’t wait to toss a pebble at the window.”
Relief coursed through her. No, he couldn’t have heard anything. He kissed her, a now-familiar touch of his lips followed by the sweep of his tongue and the answering sway of her body as she melted into him. Suppressed emotion swelled inside her: sadness, anticipation, regret…desire. Shame.
She pulled back. “Harry, I need—” The words stalled in her throat. She wanted to tell him who she really was, who she pretended to be—who she longed to become.
“What do you need?”
“You. I need you.” Eager to lose herself, she pushed his coat off and steered him toward the bed.
Grinning, he began to pluck the pins from her hair. “Did you lock the door?”
“Damn,” she breathed before going to set the lock.
She removed her shoes with haste and strode toward him.
“In a hurry?” Harry asked with a smile.
“Don’t talk.” She cupped his face and kissed him with ardent need, as if he were what she needed to survive. Not whatever she had planned for tomorrow or next week. Just him. Now. This.
He finished pulling her hair down, letting the pins fall to the floor. Stroking his hands through her locks, he kissed her again and again, their lips parting and meeting between sighs and darker sounds of need.
She pulled his cravat away and hurriedly unbuttoned his waistcoat. Grasping the hem of his shirt, she pushed it up, exposing the hard plane of his abdomen and chest. He tossed the garment to the floor as she put her mouth on him, her lips and tongue moving over his nipples and up to the hollow of his throat.
He clasped her head, moaning as she stroked her hand over the ridge of his cock straining against his breeches. He abruptly turned her and furiously unlaced her gown, pushing it down over her hips as soon as it was loose enough. Her petticoat followed, then he attacked the laces of her corset. That garment joined the others at her feet, leaving her clad in just her chemise and stockings.
His hands moved over hips, pulling her back against him so that she felt his erection against the top of her backside and the small of her back. He skimmed his palms up her front and cupped her breasts through the chemise.
“No talking?” he whispered against her ear before kissing along her neck.
Sensation and need throttled her. “I can’t,” she managed between gasps.
“Then let me. What do you want, Selina? My hands here?” He tugged on her nipples. It wasn’t enough. She pulled the chemise up, and he helped take it over her head before throwing it away.
He put his hands on her again, cupping and squeezing, then pinching. “Better?”
She cast her head back into the crook of his shoulder, closing her eyes. One of his hands moved down over her belly, then pressed over her mound. Arching into his palm, she moaned softly, her legs parting.
He slipped a finger into her folds. “Better still? Do you want to come like this?” He speared into her, filling her so she cried out. She pumped her hips forward, desperate for more.
But no, she didn’t want to come like this. He’d told her she could be on top of him. She wanted that.
Turning, she kissed him, using her teeth to tug on his lower lip before she spoke. “On the bed. Show me how to be in control.”
He smiled against her mouth. “Everything about this will be yours to manage.”
He stripped away the rest of his clothing, then climbed onto the bed. Sprawling atop the coverlet, he looked up at her. “Straddle me.”
She looked at the nest of dark reddish-brown curls between his legs from which his cock stood, thick and rigid. Reaching for him, she knew she’d find moisture at the tip. She leaned over the bed and touched him. Without thinking, she put her mouth over him, tasting his salt.
His hand twined in her hair. “God, Selina.” He guided her to move. “Like that. Use your tongue.”
She curled her tongue around him as she glided her mouth down then back up.
“And your hand.” He sounded as if he couldn’t breathe.
He curled his hand around hers, showing her where to clasp him at the base. “Go as fast—or slow—as you like. But I do prefer fast. At least right now.” The last word came out on a guttural groan because she’d started to move more quickly, sliding her mouth up and down, taking him deeper each time.
He clasped her shoulders and pulled her up. “Stop. Please. Or I’m going to come straight down your gorgeous throat.”
His words enflamed her. She looked up at him, saw the anguished need in his gaze and in the lines of his face and felt a power she’d never imagined. It wasn’t a power over him, but over herself and her choices. She wanted this. She wanted him.
“Straddle me,” he repeated.
This time, she followed his command, climbing onto the bed and throwing a leg over his thighs. She splayed one hand on his chest and curled the other around his cock. His hand met hers there as he moved her over him and guided himself to her sex.
His gaze was locked on where they would join. “Lower yourself. Gently.” He swept his tip against her folds, then began to pierce her as she moved her hips down.
“God, this is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. You are so beautiful.”
She’d said no talking, but his words were as arousing as his body and his touch. He clasped her hips as he filled her completely. Just the position of him inside her nearly made her climax.
“Move, Selina.”
Putting her hands on his chest, she braced herself as she began to move over him, rising and falling, slowly at first. Then she remembered what he said about liking fast. Plus, the friction she was creating wasn’t enough. She needed more. Her body demanded more.
He cupped her breasts, drawing on her nipples and crafting an intense pleasure. She began to pitch forward, her hips and legs pumping over him as she chased her release. He put his mouth on her breast, and she cried out, squeezing her eyes shut.
Then she felt his touch on her clitoris, and she broke apart. Spasms racked her body as her muscles clenched around him. She was having a hard time maintaining her rhythm. “I can’t,” she repeated, but for an entirely different reason.
Suddenly, Harry flipped her, his body barely leaving her as he pressed her back into the bed. and he drove into her once more. He picked up where she’d left off, thrusting between her quivering legs as she wrapped her body around his. Wave after wave of pleasure swept over her. She reached the peak and fell, her desperation quieting. Then he was gone from her, to spill his seed where it couldn’t take root.
After a few moments, he came back to her, settling between her legs once more as he gathered her in his arms. “My apologies for taking over.”
“It was fine,” she murmured. “No, it was brilliant.” It was just what she needed. He was just what she needed.
He kissed her temple, her cheek, her lips. Selina held him close, wishing for the courage to tell him what she must. She would. She had to.
And she prayed his heart wouldn’t be broken like hers.
Chapter 17
Knowing Madame Sybila would not be seeing clients since it was Thursday, Harry stole into the back of The Ardent Rose. He crept along the corridor leading to the fortune-teller’s small closet, listening for anyone who might approach. He heard murmured conversation from the perfume shop just before he quickly opened the door and ducked inside, intent on investigating her tonics—and whatever else he could find.
His breath stalled as he stared at the empty room. Not entirely empty, because the table, chairs, and dresser were still there, but everything else was gone. There was no tablecloth, no incense, no cards.
Maybe she put those things away before she left each day. Harry went to the dresser and began opening the drawers. Most were empty, and the one that wasn’t contained just empty perfume bottles.
Swearing under his breath, Harry looked around the room, his mind spinning. His eye caught the faint outline of a door in the back corner. How had he not noticed that before? He thought back and realized there’d been a drape hanging in that corner, likely to hide the door.
Harry went and opened it, revealing a narrow—empty—closet. What had she kept in here? He stuck his head inside and caught a faint scent that was all too familiar: orange and honeysuckle. That bloody woman had worn Selina’s scent.
The door behind him opened, drawing Harry to turn.
Mrs. Kinnon gasped, her brows shooting up as she lifted her hand to her chest. “My goodness, Mr. Sheffield! I thought I heard something in here.”
“Where is Madame Sybila?”
“She’s gone to take care of a sick family member away from London. I don’t know when, or if, she’ll be back,” the shopkeeper said sadly.
She’d run. Because she was a fraud.
Pushing past Mrs. Kinnon, Harry cut through the shop and stepped out onto the pavement. He stalked along The Strand until he hailed a hack—he was in far too much of a hurry to walk to Cheapside.
His blood thrummed as the hack carried him toward St. Paul’s, moving far too slowly. He hoped he was wrong and that Madame Sybila truly had left town to care for someone. But instinct told him he was not.
At last, the hack arrived at Ivy Lane. Harry paid the driver and turned to look at the Home for Wayward Children. The misspelled sign was gone from the window.
With leaden feet, Harry went to the door and knocked loudly. He was surprised when someone answered. It wasn’t Mr. or Mrs. Winter or a child. Instead, an older man with a balding pate and a substantial girth greeted him.
“May I help you?” he asked pleasantly.
“This was a Home for Wayward Children last week. Where are the Winters?”
“Oh, they moved on. Said they had too many children for my house.”
“Where did they go?” Harry asked, anger curdling in his gut.
The man shrugged. “I didn’t ask. Not my concern, though I am sorry to lose their rent.”
Harry felt as though he might explode. “You must know that this home they were running for children was a fraud.”
The man blinked and acted as though he was surprised to hear it, but Harry knew better. “Was it?”
“I work for Bow Street. Perhaps you would like to come to the Magistrates’ Court to answer questions.” Seeing the man blanch, Harry pressed his advantage. “Or you could answer my questions here.”
“I swear I didn’t know it was a fraud,” the man said, his voice climbing. “A friend asked me to do a favor.”
Harry clenched his jaw. “What friend?”
“Josie—we go way back.”
“Where can I find Josie?”
The man shook his head. “I don’t know. She used to live in Whitechapel, but she doesn’t anymore. Not for a long time.”
Dammit! “If you think of where she might be or where the Winters might have gone, you will come to Bow Street and tell me.”
“Please, sir, I’ve told you all I know.”
“They preyed on innocent people, lying to them and stealing their money.” That they’d used the plight of children to run their scam made Harry sick.
The man looked stricken. “I swear I didn’t know. I thought they were helping those children in earnest. Were they not?”
There was no way the fortune-teller had left town and the Winters had decided to move on at the same time. Harry didn’t believe in such coincidence.
He pulled his small notebook from his coat. “Tell me your name and everything else you know about the Winters and your friend Josie.”
A short time later, Harry climbed into another hack, his anger mounting. Innes, the man who owned the house on Ivy Lane, hadn’t given him much to go on. He could only remember Josie’s name from when they were young—before she was married. Since he didn’t know where she currently resided, Harry had little hope of finding her.
He’d probably have better luck finding the Winters. Maybe. He considered asking his friend, the Marquess of Ripley, to draw their portraits from Harry’s descriptions. But Ripley was a newlywed, and Harry wouldn’t trouble him.
The hack let him out on the corner of Queen Anne Street. It was a short walk to Selina’s house where he knocked on the door. He expected to see the housekeeper and was surprised when Selina herself answered.
“Harry,” she said, her eyes instantly lighting with pleasure. It was that look, along with the subtle curve of her mouth, that drove him forward.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, then took Selina in his arms and kissed her. The anger and frustration poured out of him into the kiss. She put her hands on his head, holding him as she kissed him back, meeting the desperate stroke of his tongue with her own.
He pulled back. “Where’s your housekeeper?”
“Out.”
He briefly claimed her mouth again. “Your sister?”
“Upstairs.”
“Good.” He tossed his hat onto a table near the door, then stripped his gloves away before sailing them toward the table and missing.
He put his hands on her again, clasping her waist and drawing her against him. Selina cupped his head again, pressing her fingers into his scalp. “What’s wrong?”
“Just—” He couldn’t form the words. “I need you.” He kissed her again and began steering her backward.
She stepped back and took his hand, then led him into the sitting room, where she closed the door. Her bright blue gaze was dark and steady. “What do you need?”
Harry stroked his fingertips down her face, then brushed his thumb across her lower lip. “You.”
Her tongue darted out and licked his thumb. He pressed the digit into her mouth, and she sucked. Harry’s cock hardened completely. “Selina,” he breathed, closing his eyes briefly.
Her hands came between them and unbuttoned his fall. Then she reached into his smallclothes, her fingers wrapping around his cock. He sucked in a breath, need raging through him.
She gently pushed him backward, as he’d done with her in the entry, until the backs of his legs hit the settee. She pressed him down, and he sat. Lifting her skirts to her waist, she straddled him, her knees on either side of his hips. He took the slippers from her feet and cupped her soles as he kissed her.
Pressing down, her sex met his, and a rush of desire shook his body. No woman had ever affected him this way. He couldn’t get enough of her. The more time he spent with her, the more she gave him, the more he wanted.
Harry scooted forward so he was on the edge of the settee, then curled her legs around his waist. He slipped his hand between them and guided his cock into her warm, wet sheath.
She clasped his shoulder and cupped his head, her lips meeting his again and again as they moved together, slowly, rhythmically at first, their bodies gliding in perfect harmony.
He grasped her waist and back as he held her, his hips moving with hers. She felt like heaven, her muscles gripping his cock while her hands twined through his hair and her fingers stroked his neck and shoulders.
Pleasure built, and he quickened the pace, twitching his hips faster as he thrust into her. Her sex clenched around him as she orgasmed. Harry’s balls tightened as his neared. He needed to pull out, but fuck, he didn’t want to. He held off as long as he could, relishing the feel of her around him. Her touch was a balm and a joy.
Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her up just before he came. He spent himself as he held her tight, gasping her name.
