Passionate Secrets (The Secrets Trilogy Book 2) (25 page)

Eager to explore, he shifted his lips to her neck then along her jaw line to her ear. She tilted her head to allow him access and sighed when he accepted her invitation.

“I thought perhaps this was all a dream,” she whispered even as her heart raced.

“What was a dream?”

“You. Caring for me.”

Her soft words cut through him. He knew the fault for her uncertainty lay with him. Yet still he couldn’t bring himself to say those three words. Not when he could still hear the ring of them used so carelessly throughout his childhood. Instead, he did the only thing he could.

He removed his shirt and moved to stand behind her. He ran his hands along the smoothness of her shoulders, pausing to gently massage there. She shifted under his hands as though stretching to enjoy his touch. Kneeling beside the tub, he pressed kisses along her neck, the scent and feel of her soaking into his senses. He lowered his hands into the water, finding her breasts. She arched back which lifted those white globes out of the water and into view. His body hardened at the sight of her rosy pink nipples, but he clamped down on his desire, wanting to show her just how much she meant to him.

“You are so beautiful, Emma, inside and out. From all those amazing thoughts running through your clever mind, to the softness of your skin.” She sighed in response, and he paused to bury his face in her neck for a moment, hoping he could control himself.

She reached up to wrap her arms around his neck which gave him even better access to her body. Unable to resist, he allowed his hands to slide down the length of her, down to the curve of her hips, to the softness of her belly. Her knees were bent to fit into the tub and he ran his hands along her legs as well. He kissed her neck again then swirled his tongue in her ear. “I want you so much.”

“Yes.” Her breathless agreement sent heat straight to his groin. Her responsiveness was more than any man could’ve asked. And she was his. Perhaps not formally, but she was his all the same.

He slipped his hand along the curve of her hip, along her leg, before easing between her thighs. Her legs tightened for a moment then relaxed to let him in. Slowly, he moved his fingers down until he reached his destination at the apex of her thighs. He slid a finger along the velvet softness of her folds.

“Oh, Michael.”

“Yes, my sweet. Tell me.”

“You— I— Oh. That feels so good.”

His body pulsed with need at her muttered response as her body shuddered with desire. He continued to kiss her neck as he caressed her breast and stroked her center, whispering endearments and encouragements in her ear.

“Oh!” Her hips came up as her body convulsed in ecstasy. With a sigh, she leaned her head back on his shoulder as her breathing calmed.

He held her tight, gritting his teeth at the sharp pain of need that filled him. She sat up and pulled away from him, much to his dismay.

Emma breathed deeply, hoping the air would clear her head and lend strength to quivering legs. Then she rose and turned, suppressing the urge to cover herself.

Michael stood as well, his gaze taking in the sight of her wet, naked form rosy from the warm water. The heat in his eyes was her reward for her bravery. “So perfect,” he muttered.

She reached for him, winding her arms around his shoulders, her breasts pressing against his chest, her wet body sliding along his until he groaned. Pleased with the results of her efforts thus far, she kissed his chest, her hands gliding along his chest, pinching his nipples.

With little effort, he lifted her out of the tub and into his arms and moved toward the bed.

“Wait. I’m all wet.”

“Exactly,” he muttered then took her mouth with his, his tongue playing with hers, kissing her until she couldn’t think. Then he was laying her on the bed, his body pressing hers into the mattress.

His hands roamed everywhere, making her move and shift in response, her restless movements seeming to urge him on. She pressed kisses along his neck. He shifted his head as though enjoying her efforts. Wanting to explore, she shifted to move his weight off her. Then she moved lower, pressing kisses down to his chest, then down even farther to his nipple.

“Christ, Emma.”

His breathless response thrilled her, giving her the power to do more. She eased lower still, her lips finding the edge of his ribs, his puckered scar, then the firm planes of his stomach as her hands sought the fastening of his trousers.

“Hold. I only wanted to speak with you. I—”

She smiled as he seemed incapable of completing the thought. Then she eased his trousers down his hips. “I cannot wait. I need you.”

With a groan, he toed off his shoes, shoved off his pants, and moved over her once again. “You drive me mad. With one look, you undo me.”

She pulled him down toward her, wanting nothing more than to feel his weight on her. The ache deep inside her built until she could bear it no longer. She moved her legs to wrap them around him.

He reached down to touch her center and groaned as her hips shifted to raise herself for him.

“Michael, please. I need you. Now.” This burning ache could only be cured by him. No one else made her heart race or made her legs so weak. No one made her smile like he did or made her feel both strong and weak at the same time.

His thick shaft touched her center and she whimpered with need. At last he slowly eased into her, taking her mouth as he took her body. He groaned as he paused. “So good. You feel so good.”

“Yes.” And then words failed her as feeling took over completely. She soared with his every thrust, climbing higher. She met each of his moves, doing everything in her power to make him feel as good as she did. Her nails scraped his shoulders as she nipped at his chest. A golden ball of light formed deep inside her, growing by the moment until at last it burst. She shattered into a million pieces as he joined her.

Her heart swam with joy and love and hope.

The next afternoon, Emma sat in Abigail’s drawing room, her tea growing cold as her stomach jumped with nerves. Abigail’s complete attention was focused on the notes and sample chapters Emma had put together for the governess handbook.

After much research, she realized Abigail was right. No truly helpful instruction books for new governesses existed, at least not that one could possibly stay awake to read. Those she’d found had mostly been written by men in a condescending tone. Not only boring, but annoying as well.

Emma had thought back to her early days as a governess as well as some of the comments her uncle had made about teaching in general. She’d decided to take a more friendly approach in her book and had begun her writing as though she was a friend sharing what she knew about the profession. To make certain Abigail understood her intent, Emma had written the first three chapters in addition to an outline so Abigail could see how it might read.

As Abigail frowned at the pages, doubt assailed Emma. Perhaps she’d taken too big of a risk and been too nontraditional. She should’ve made it more instructional and less conversational. She should’ve—

“Brilliant!” Abigail turned over the last page and looked up at Emma, blue eyes shining with excitement. “Absolutely brilliant.”

“You like it?” Emma held her breath.

“I believe I could take over my two younger sisters’ education with this information, but don’t tell them that. They’d be quite distraught at the thought.” Abigail turned back to the first page of the notes. “Your tone is so friendly and helpful but not overly familiar, like I’m visiting with a cousin whom I haven’t seen for a year or two.”

“That’s exactly what I was trying for. So many of the books available are dry and rather boring. I wanted this to be friendlier.” She studied Abigail’s expression, wanting to be certain she wasn’t simply being nice. “You’re sure you like it?”

“Absolutely. In fact, I have a proposal for you. I would like to do a whole series in this style. That way, if a governess is having a particular challenge in her current position, she could purchase the handbook on teaching art or one on keeping a restless child’s interest. Perhaps one on outdoor activities. What do you think?”

“That’s a wonderful idea. I would’ve found something like that quite helpful when I was a governess.”

“Excellent! I’ll have the advance sent to you shortly. We’ll put the details in writing so we both know what to expect and when.”

Emma smiled, something she seemed to be doing more and more of late. This feeling of happiness was foreign, but something she knew she could grow used to. Worry had been her constant companion for so long and, in many ways, had become a habit. Suddenly overwhelmed, tears filled her eyes.

“Oh, what is it? What did I say?” Abigail was at her side in an instant, placing a comforting arm about her shoulders.

“Nothing. It’s just...I’m so happy that you like the book.”

“You’ve had many changes of late, haven’t you? I apologize if I’m overstepping the bounds of our acquaintance, but I feel as if we’re already good friends.” She gave Emma’s shoulders a squeeze. “After all the trials and tribulations, it’s hard to believe things are going well, isn’t it?”

Tears blurring her vision and catching her voice, Emma could only nod.

“May I ask if you decided to accept the marriage proposal you received?”

Emma shook her head, still unable to speak.

Abigail raised a brow. “No, I shouldn’t ask, or no, you aren’t accepting it?”

“The latter,” Emma managed. She drew a deep breath to calm herself. “One of the reasons I had the choice whether or not to accept it was because of your offer to write this book. Thank you so much for that.”

“I’m delighted to be of assistance, but please know that you’re helping me just as much. We are going to be a great success together.” Abigail gave her one last squeeze, then reached for the teapot. “Let us warm up our cups. Nothing like a bracing cup of tea to strengthen your fortitude.” She handed the cup and saucer to Emma and placed a biscuit on her plate. “Now then, I’m quite anxious to hear what you think of Catherine’s new engagement.”

Surprised, Emma paused before lifting her cup. “I hadn’t heard of it. Is it because of the other night?”

“Apparently so. Now Lord Weston is truly free.” Abigail watched her closely as though waiting to see if she agreed.

Emma sipped her tea to avoid responding as she pondered what this meant. Would Michael suggest they allow their courting to become public? A tangled mix of hope and worry filled her at the thought.

~*~

Vincent wiped his sweaty hands on his pants and glanced around the deserted dock, anxious to have this meeting with Mikey over and done with. The scent of brine in the air mingled with the odor of rotting fish. Somehow the smells seemed stronger at night when a person couldn’t see from whence they came. He didn’t care for the dock or for being so close to the Thames. Perhaps it was because he couldn’t swim. The thought of drowning in the dark swirling water made him break out in a cold sweat. Each time he dumped a body in it, his worry increased. He could clearly picture trying to fight his way to the surface with the dead bodies dragging him back under. The image caused him to shudder.

He’d had a terrible time sneaking away from his uncle this evening, but he hadn’t wanted to say where he was going or why. Somehow, he needed to resolve the problem Mikey had brought to his attention. That damned boy who’d witnessed the lord’s murder had to be taken care of. Vincent did not like loose ends. He knew too well they came back to haunt you.

The experiments were not exactly proceeding according to plan, from what he could tell. He’d had to dump two more bodies with those distinctive burn marks on their skin. Each time he did so, he knew the chances increased that he’d be caught. The problems with the devices were making his uncle more agitated. His volatile mood swings were bloody hard to live with.

The whole thing made Vincent wonder if it was time to leave. But where would he go? He certainly couldn’t depart without taking care of both Mikey and the lad who’d witnessed the murder. He didn’t need people searching for him once he’d left. Not to mention that he needed some of the riches his uncle kept promising but had yet to share.

“Come on, Mikey. Where are ye?” he muttered. At the sound of boots scuffing the wooden dock, he spun on his heel.

Mikey strolled out of the shadows, other forms shifting behind him. Apparently he’d brought friends. “Simmons. Ye got the money?”

“I don’t know. Ye got the lad?”

Mikey scowled. “Not yet. He hasn’t returned to his lodging house, but it’s only a matter of time. He has to go home sometime. Witnessing a murder must’ve scared the lad.”

“Then I don’t have the money.” Vincent hoped his voice sounded confident despite his fear.

“Come now. My silence on yer dirty deed should be worth something.”

“Indeed it is, but not nearly worth as much as that boy.”

“I got his name fer ye.” Mikey’s flat black eyes watched him in the dim light cast by the distant street light.

Vincent shrugged. “A name is helpful, but it doesn’t solve my problem.”

“It gets ye one step closer to findin’ him.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Vincent paused, hoping his lack of enthusiasm would lower Mikey’s price. The name of the lad might make it easier to find him, but if Mikey hadn’t located him, Vincent doubted he could. “Seems like the blame could be placed at yer door fer the lad realizing someone was after him.”

“One of me boys got a bit too eager. But we’ll find him. How about payment fer his name?”

Vincent realized he was going to have to give him something. Besides, having Mikey watch for the boy was helpful. Vincent couldn’t do it himself while aiding his uncle with the experiments. “All right then, but it’s not worth much.”

They agreed on a price and Vincent withdrew it from his pocket. “The name?”

“Patrick Grisby.”

Vincent froze, his chest tightening with shock. “Yer sure?”

“I didn’t stutter, did I?” Mikey held out his hand. “Pay up.”

“Here.” He tossed him the money. “Tell me if the lad returns.” Vincent turned away, still stunned by the news.

“Wait!” Mikey stepped closer. “I have something else ye might find helpful.”

Vincent waited, wondering what more the man might have to say.

“Someone is planting rumors, hoping one of my bunch will take the bait.”

“Why would that concern me?”

“They’re sayin’ some scientist is in need of meteorites and will pay well for them. Ye wouldn’t know anything about that, would ye?”

“Who did ye hear that from?”

Mikey shrugged. “Around. Some lord that goes by the name of Weston is said to have one. I’m not goin’ to bother meself with it unless someone is truly willin’ to pay fer it.”

Vincent closed his eyes, not pleased with this new development. It didn’t matter if the information was bait or not. The fact was they needed the damned meteorite. At least now he knew Weston had it rather than Ashbury.

But what was he to do about Patrick Grisby? Christ!

“No, I don’t know anyone lookin’ for a meteorite. I’ll be in touch if I come across anything.” He had no intention of paying Mikey to obtain it for him when he could do so himself.

“I’ll keep watch fer the lad and nab him if I have the chance.”

Mikey and his shadows disappeared, leaving Vincent alone. Deciding it wouldn’t hurt to stop by the pub for a pint on his way home, Vincent turned, only to startle as a cloaked figure emerged from the dark.

“Vincent, I’m quite disappointed in you.” His uncle’s raspy tone echoed in the night air.

Suppressing a shiver of fear, Vincent halted. “Didn’t know ye were coming out tonight, Uncle.”

“How else was I to determine what you were up to? Sneaking out like a young lad with trouble on his mind.” His uncle moved closer, his cane thumping on the dock.

“I had business to attend to.”

“So I heard which is why I’m disappointed. Surely you didn’t intend to keep this from me.”

“No, course not. Just didn’t want to worry ye.”

“Well, it’s too late. I am worried. Not only did you lie to me about someone witnessing the murder of Berkmond, now I discover it was my other nephew.” His uncle shook his head as he heaved a sigh. “I told you to make it look like an accident.”

“I tried. ’Tis as I told ye. The bloody lord would have none of it. He refused to cooperate and left me no choice.”

“Humph. What do you suggest we do about Patrick?”

Vincent pondered their options. He hated to kill his own flesh and blood unless it was absolutely necessary. The boy had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Could he possibly be convinced to join them? “Mayhap ye could speak with him.”

“How do you mean? What purpose would that serve? The boy probably doesn’t remember me.”

“Assumin’ ye don’t want him killed to guarantee his silence, then ye’d better ask him to join us. Perhaps he’d like to be part of yer grand plan.”

Silence greeted his suggestion for a long moment. “Your idea may have merit. I will give it further consideration. Let us be on our way home. I want you to tell me why you refused that man’s offer to fetch the meteorite for us. That could’ve been quite helpful.”

The dream of a pint faded as Vincent kept pace with his uncle. “The less we involve Mikey the better. The man’s got a temper, and I don’t want to have to pay him any more than we have to. We should handle this ourselves.”

“Very well then. I suppose I must acquiesce to your suggestion. For now, at any rate.”

Vincent frowned at the foreign sounding word. Damned if he’d ask what it meant though. He did not care to hear another lecture on his lack of education.

~*~

Emma, her mother, Viscountess Weston, and Tessa sat in the gardens the next afternoon, enjoying the sunshine and each other’s company. Emma sighed with pleasure, both at the weather and her companions. How lovely that more and more of her time was filled with moments like this that she enjoyed. She refused to worry about tomorrow or the day after that. She would simply allow the peace and joy of the moment to infuse her.

Tessa tipped her head back in the chair, facing the sun, her hat dangling from her fingers. “This is marvelous.”

The viscountess, hat firmly in place to block the sun, smiled. “I fear the sunshine won’t last, so it’s good that we’re enjoying it while we can.”

Emma noted her mother’s fingers tapping the arm of the chair in which she sat. Every so often, her feet would shift as well, billowing out the skirt of her new gown. Idle hands had her practically squirming in her seat. Her mother had yet to learn the art of relaxation. But when she caught Emma’s gaze, she winked. That expression, free of worry, lifted Emma’s heart. To have her family together and happy was a true gift.

A footman appeared at Emma’s elbow with a silver tray. “A message has arrived for Miss Grisby.”

Her heartbeat sped. Might it be from Michael? With a glance at the viscountess, she retrieved the sealed message. “Thank you.”