In Your Arms Again (27 page)

Young Robert glanced nervously at his father. “I know about her mother and my father. I know her mother was a whore.”

Lord Merton scowled. “Maggie Marsh was not a whore.”

Robert glared at his father with his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “Yes she was!”

“The two of you can argue about that later,” North interrupted. He focused his attention on the younger man. “Is that all you referred to when you mentioned a secret?”

Robert nodded. His disdain for North was obvious, but he was also obviously intimidated by him. For once North was glad the
ton
blabbered about him as they did.

“That is all, not that it is any of
your
business.”

“Boy,” Merton warned. “You are in enough trouble. Do not add rudeness to the list of your crimes. Apologize to Mr. Sheffield.”

The boy’s eyes dropped to the floor. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not,” North retorted matter of factly. “And I do not care. However, I do want you to know that your letters have not earned you Lady Octavia’s admiration. In fact, if she were here right now, she’d give you a set-down that would make your ears blister.”

Robert flushed. “Oh.”

“What do you intend to do about it?” North demanded of the boy. At almost nineteen he was more than accountable for his actions.

Merton folded his arms over his chest. “I will make certain my son is adequately punished, of that you can be certain. First, he is going to apologize to the lady.”

To the boy’s credit, Robert didn’t argue. “Yes. I never intended to upset Lady Octavia.”

“And you swear you had nothing to do with the shooting?” What he wanted was young Robert’s balls on a platter, but he knew just how hotheaded and stupid boys could be. His brother Wynthrope was proof of that.

The boy shook his head. “I sent the letters, but I did not have anyone shot.”

There was no pretending the boy’s alarm, not unless Robert was a better actor than North himself. But if Robert didn’t shoot at them, who did?

Harker.

Oh Christ
. Octavia was at his house. Alone.

“I
will answer the door, Johnson. You attend to the emergency below stairs.”

The large butler paused in the middle of the foyer, scratching his shiny bald head. The frown on his face demonstrated how he was torn between his duty to the staff and his duty to protect Octavia from whomever might be standing on the other side of the door.

“It will be all right.” Smiling patiently, Octavia pushed him on his way. “Miss Henry will call you if you are needed. Go now. Go.”

Reluctantly, Johnson did as she bid. Shaking her head, Octavia immediately went to the door. She doubted their caller would mind that she greeted him personally. Besides, Beatrice was abed with a headache, and she was eager for someone to talk to, even though it undoubtedly was someone calling for North.

She opened the door to find herself face-to-face with a man caught somewhere between attractive and ugly. His features were so strong and fierce, his eyes so piercing, that it
was almost impossible not to be captivated by the sheer power of him. His presence was overwhelming, the lines of his face unyielding and unforgiving.

And there was something oddly familiar about him.

His gaze met hers, and he smiled. Octavia shivered. There was something very predatory about that smile. It was as though she were a helpless fly and he a hungry spider.

“Good morning,” he greeted politely. “I am looking for Sheffield. Is he about?”

Ah, he was a friend of North’s then. That explained his somewhat frightening countenance. “I am afraid Mr. Sheffield is not at home right now, Mr….?”

“Harker. James Harker.” He flashed another smile. He had good teeth for a man of dubious origins. He had better teeth than most aristocrats, for that matter. They seemed sharp and prime to take a bite out of her. “Might I ask when you expect him to return? I am rather anxious to speak with him.”

His accent was good as well, but it was obvious this man had been taught to speak this way. It took effort.

“I expect him shortly.” It was awful of her to be suspicious of a man just because he wanted to project himself as a higher class. Who was she to judge? She had been raised in a theater.

She stood back to allow him entrance. “Would you care to wait?”

He stepped inside. He wasn’t much taller than she was, but he was heavily muscled and had an air about him that made him seem much, much bigger.

Power. This man had an abundance and he knew it.

“You may wait with me in the parlor, if you like. I just rang for tea.” Regardless of how silly she believed her suspicions to be, she wasn’t about to allow him entrance into North’s private office.

Of course, she wasn’t so certain she wanted to be alone with him either, but she’d rather have him where she could watch him than turn her back on him.

“I would be delighted,” he replied. His sincerity was obvious, but there was something odd about the gleam in his dark eyes—as though he was laughing at a private joke she wouldn’t understand.

She led the way to the parlor, the short walk seeming like a mile. The flesh between her shoulder blades burned and itched. He was watching her, staring. If the burning sensation dropped any lower, she didn’t care if he was a friend of North’s or not—he was leaving.

“You have a lovely home, ma’am,” Mr. Harker remarked as they entered the little parlor.

Yes, it was lovely. Very lovely. Just not hers.

“Oh, it is n—” She knew as soon as she looked at him that he was well aware she didn’t live there. Of course he did. A friend of North’s would know that he wasn’t married. He was simply being polite. Obviously he believed her to be North’s mistress.

Octavia flushed. She was North’s mistress. For now.

“Thank you, Mr. Harker.” She was saved from having to say anything further on the subject by the arrival of Mrs. Bunting with the tea. The elderly housekeeper flashed a suspicious glance at Harker, but said nothing. No doubt she would mention the visitor to Johnson as soon as she had a chance.

“Tea?”

Harker nodded. “Please. Black.”

“How do you know North, Mr. Harker?” Octavia asked once they each had a cup of tea in hand.

Obviously unused to such delicate china cups, Harker hunched in a dismissive shrug. “We go way back. Years.”

Hmm. Did that mean they once worked together at Bow Street? Or had North once arrested him?

“Are you involved in law enforcement as well?”

Harker smiled. “You could say that.”

She could also say the man wasn’t much of a conversationalist.

While Octavia tried to think of something to talk about, Harker didn’t seem to mind the silence at all. He sat quietly relaxed, drinking his tea, gazing around the newly cleaned and aired parlor with all the interest of a man who hadn’t seen it before.

That didn’t mean anything. Of course he hadn’t seen it before. Until recently it had been covered and closed.

A few moments later, he set his empty cup on the tray. “I have to go.”

She raised her brows. He had been there only ten minutes. “May I tell Mr. Sheffield to what your visit pertained?”

“It is nothing of great importance,” Harker replied as he stood. “I sent Sheffield a message the other night. I was wondering if he got it.”

A message? He called in person to inquire after a message, but he wasn’t willing to wait? “Will he know how to get in touch with you should he want to respond?”

Another smile. “He’ll want to respond, and yes, he knows where to find me.”

Octavia accompanied Harker to the door and wished him a pleasant day.

Harker bowed. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Octavia.”

She stiffened. So he did know who she was. “You as well, Mr. Harker.”

As soon as he was through it, she shut the door. After a moment’s hesitation, she locked it as well. Then she went to North’s office and curled up in a chair by one of the windows with a book, arranging the curtains so anyone outside looking in could not see her.

It was then that she realized where she had seen Harker before. He was the man she caught watching them through the window the other day. Perhaps North had hired him to watch the house. Perhaps that was why he sent North a message rather than come himself—he hadn’t wanted to talk business in front of her. It also explained how he knew who she was.

More than likely that was all there was to it. Her strange misgivings and suspicions were nothing more than her frayed nerves playing games with her. That was all.

By the time North came tearing into the room, she was engrossed in her reading.

“Whatever is the matter?” He looked as though he’d had the very life scared out of him.

“Are you all right?”

Good Lord, was his voice shaking? “Of course I am.”

“Did anything happen while I was gone?” he demanded, raking his hand through his unruly hair.

Worried about her, was he? “Nothing unusual.”

He visibly sagged in relief.

“Oh, wait. Your friend Mr. Harker was here.” How could she have forgotten after all the foolishness she’d put herself through during and after the poor man’s visit?

He stiffened, the color draining from his face. “Did he talk to you?”

“Of course.” Setting her book aside, she rose to her feet. North obviously wasn’t going to sit. “He wanted to wait for you, but he had another appointment. We had tea in the parlor.”

“Parlor?” He scowled, his brows knitting into a deep V. “What parlor?”

“
Your
parlor.” His tone and expression made her nervous.

“Show me.”

It was very tempting to point out that having grown up in this house, he should know where the parlor was, but she held her tongue. North was more tense than a leading lady
on opening night, and she didn’t want to be the person he unleashed his tension on—even though the odds were against her.

“Why didn’t Johnson answer the door?” he asked as they walked across the hall.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. His face was as dark as a thunder cloud. “There was an emergency below stairs.”

“Emergency, my arse. An emergency of Harker’s making.”

Could that be? The “emergency” and Harker’s arrival had happened simultaneously. Had Harker engineered the situation so that he could avoid Johnson and have Octavia to himself? But why? Aside from being a little unnerving, he hadn’t done anything improper at all.

North stopped in the parlor doorway. “Where are the holland covers?”

“I took them off.” Now was not the time to be looking for his praise, but she did so anyway, turning to him with a hopeful smile.

If she was looking for more enthusiasm on his part, she wasn’t going to get it. “Where did Harker sit?”

She pointed to the settee. She would not pout; she wouldn’t. The ungrateful cur. “There.”

To her surprise, North crossed to the small sofa and ran his hands along it. From between the back and seat cushions he withdrew a small card. Octavia frowned. That hadn’t been there when she cleaned earlier.

“What is that?”

“Harker’s card.”

Harker’s card? When had he left it? Why, she’d been watching him the entire time. Hadn’t she?

North scanned the small ivory card. His fingers trembled as he slipped it inside his coat. “Are you certain he didn’t touch you? Didn’t frighten you?”

“He seemed a little odd, but no. He was nothing but gentlemanly in his behavior. Why?”

“Oh my God, Vie.” Octavia found herself crushed against him in a fierce embrace, his lips plundering hers.

Instinct told her to follow his lead, and so she didn’t argue or protest when he guided her around the back of the sofa, shoving at her skirts with anxious hands. Pinned between him and the settee, Octavia allowed him to lift her so that her bottom rested on the carved back. She wrapped her legs around his waist for balancing, never once breaking their kiss, trusting whatever he had planned.

He fumbled between them, and then the hard, insistent length of his sex shoved against the entrance to her body. She accepted him readily, her body moist and willing despite her own lack of arousal. This was something North needed, she knew that. He needed to take from her, possess her, and she didn’t need to climax to appreciate or enjoy having him inside her.

She held him tightly, with her arms and legs, trying to stop the trembling of his body with sheer force of will. He was frantic in his movements, unsteady and forceful. There was no rhythm, just thrust after thrust until he spent himself inside her, groaning into her mouth as he came.

Octavia continued to hold him after the shuddering stopped, after his mouth left hers. Still joined, she rested her chin on top of his head as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot and moist against her skin. One arm remained wrapped around her waist, while the hand of the other gripped the sofa for support. He trembled still, and she smoothed his hair with her fingers, rubbed his back as well, trying to soothe the quivering within him.

She was not frustrated. She did not long for her own release. She was strangely content, knowing that she had given
him whatever it was he sought. It was oddly satisfying to have remained in control while he so obviously tossed his aside.

Slowly, he withdrew from her—emotionally as well as physically. “I am taking you home.”

“What?” Surely she could not have heard him correctly.

Fastening his falls, he turned away from her, his tone flat. “You are going back to your own house. I will have Francis and some of my other men on guard at all times.”

Standing on her own, Octavia straightened her skirts, all too aware of the dampness between her thighs. This must be what it felt like to be a whore. “I do not understand.”

“Make sure Spinton is there as often as possible. Beatrice as well.” He faced her, but did not look at her. “Do not go anywhere alone.”

“North, you are frightening me.” What the devil was going on? Why was he acting this way? Had he uncovered something about the man who shot at them? About her so-called admirer?

He laughed. It was a shaky, uncertain sound—and it scared her all the more. “I am frightening myself.”

This wasn’t like him to admit fear. Wasn’t like him to admit to weakness at all. Then realization sunk in.

“Dear Lord. Those shots really were intended for you, weren’t they?” Now she was trembling as well. “But not because of me.”

“No. Not because of you. You were correct.” Now he met her gaze. He was ashamed of himself, she could see it in his eyes. “Your admirer turned out to be nothing more than a harmless boy whose father once knew your mother. He will not bother you again.”

She couldn’t believe it. She should be relieved that it was all over, but she wasn’t.

“You are in danger.” The idea of anything happening to him was worse than any peril that might befall her.

“Yes.”

She didn’t need to ask, but she did anyway. “From Harker?”

“Yes.”

Damn him for sounding so nonchalant now—when he should be concerned. He had been more worried about her safety than he ever would be for his own. “How much danger?”

For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to tell her. “He murdered a woman I was trying to protect and one of my men in the process.”

Oh no.
She wanted to hug him, wanted to comfort him, but she knew it would not be welcome. He would not make himself vulnerable to her again so soon. “You are afraid he will hurt me to get to you.”

North’s eyes hardened to shards of ice. “I could kill him just for speaking to you.”

“He wants to kill you as well.” If only she could sound as unconcerned as he, but she couldn’t! Her voice trembled on every word.

He simply nodded, his expression matter-of-fact. “If I do not drop my investigation, he will try.”

By God, she’d see him in hell first. “I am not leaving you.”

“You do not have a choice.” He had his hard and uncaring face on again. He turned his back on her.

What was it about her that made others so determined to dictate her life? Was she not as strong as she believed herself to be? “I want to stay with you.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “I do not want you.”

Had he struck her, it would have hurt less. “Why not?” Had that whiny sound truly come from her?