Midnight Pleasures With a Scoundrel (8 page)

“Not complicated at all.” He unfurled his fist, turned his hand over, and threaded his fingers through hers. “All I need is a lovely lady to provide me with company.”

He watched her delicate throat work as she swallowed. “You claimed to be a scoundrel.”

He gave her one of his more charming smiles. “The evening is only just arriving, Miss Watkins.”

He’d planned to only be in her company for a couple of hours, but at the end of that time he wasn’t yet ready to let her go. Besides, if she was determined to seek Rockberry out at night, then Swindler was obligated to keep her occupied. He’d learned nothing while, if she was a perceptive woman—which he had little doubt she was—she’d learned a great deal. It bothered him that he could so easily reveal part of his soul to her. But it was only parts, bits, and pieces that she’d never be able to fit together properly in order to create the whole. He wasn’t even certain he knew the whole fabric of his being any longer.

When he’d become one of Feagan’s lads, he’d chosen a new name for himself: Swindler. While it was his nature to swindle others, of late he was beginning to suspect that perhaps he’d even managed to swindle himself into believing that his only interest in the woman stemmed from
her
fascination with Rockberry. Otherwise rather than taking her home, why did he return her to Cremorne Gardens?

“Why ever have you brought me here?” she asked as the driver brought the carriage to a halt on King’s Road.

“You’ve seen the worst of the gardens. I thought you should see the best.” He stepped out of the carriage and held out his hand to her. “We’ll leave long before the swells begin arriving.”

Her sister had written in her journal about the gardens and the spectacular display of bursting lights in the sky. “May we stay until after the fireworks?”

He gave her a generous smile that stole every bit of breath from her body. Oh, he was dangerous to her heart. She’d thought to take advantage, and instead she was finding herself enthralled by him.

“If it pleases you,” he fairly purred.

“It would very much.”

“Then stay we shall.”

After he handed her down from the carriage, he gave orders to the driver to return at nine. At the entrance, he paid a shilling for each of them, tucked her arm around his, and led her through the metal gates into the gardens. The crowd was dense. Ladies and gents strolled along arm in arm. She suspected most were married and those who weren’t had chaperones nearby. Even a few children could be seen. It was the time for families, for the proper people to be about. This was what Elisabeth had seen, what she’d written about in her journal.

“Did your sister visit the gardens?” Mr. Swindler asked.

She jerked her head up and held the familiar green gaze, seeing the compassion and understanding there. How was it that he was able to read her so well? “Yes. She wrote glowingly about the fireworks.”

“So although you were lost the other night, you knew where you were?”

“It’s possible to be lost, even when you know where you are,” she said tartly.

“Are you lost, Miss Watkins?”

His question contained an undercurrent, as though he recognized that of late she barely knew herself, had moments when she felt adrift at sea. Sometimes she thought coming to London was a mistake. She wasn’t comfortable here. It hemmed her in. Or maybe it was merely her quest for retribution that made her uncomfortable with her surroundings.

“Since my sister’s death and then my father’s, yes, I very often feel lost. Untethered.”

Those words were so true that it frightened her to think she could speak them to him so easily. She wanted to trust him with everything, completely, implicitly, but she knew she couldn’t. Too much was at stake. “Do you suppose we could make a pact, at least for tonight, to talk of nothing except the future?”

“How can we speak of what we do not know?”

“The present, then. It seems forever since I’ve only been concerned with the present.”

“Then tonight we shall focus on the here and now. Where shall we begin?”

So much to choose from, she hardly knew where to start. Then her stomach embarrassed her by making a little rumble, taking the choice from her. “I suddenly realized I’m quite famished.”

He smiled. “A woman after my own heart. Let’s see what we can find.”

As he guided her through a throng to the banqueting hall, she thought under different circumstances that she would indeed be a woman after his heart. He was strong, kind, and solicitous. He pleased her in small ways. He brought her smiles when she’d thought to never smile again.

She hadn’t come to London to find happiness, and yet it hovered, like a butterfly testing the petal of a wildflower. But no matter how much she wished otherwise, it’d not stay for long.

“Hold me, Mr. Swindler, dear God, please hold me.” The words were whispered out of fear, mingled with embarrassment. She seemed to be the only one in a panic as the hot air balloon ascended. The other passengers uttered a few hushed exclamations of awe and wonder. As Mr. Swindler’s arm came around her, she clutched the lapel of his jacket and buried her face in the nook of his shoulder. He was as sturdy as the cliffs, as comforting, as he murmured, “You’re perfectly safe, Miss Watkins. We’re not going anywhere.”

“We’re going up.” She could hardly believe that she was standing in a basket—in a basket!—floating toward the heavens. She feared that she was going to bring up the warm meat pie he’d purchased her earlier. She’d not considered that watching the earth move away from her would make her head spin.

Hot air balloon rides were a weekly occurrence at the gardens. The balloon was moored so its ascent was controlled. Once the passengers had a good look around, it would be brought down for another group. From the ground it had looked to be so much fun. She didn’t know why the thought of going up bothered her. She’d looked out over the cliffs her entire life, but they didn’t wobble, they didn’t move. Steadfast and strong, they could support her. Could the basket hold the weight of everyone inside it? Or would they find themselves falling through its center to the earth below?

“Listen, Miss Watkins. Is that the quiet you longed for?” he asked softly. She heard it then. The din of the crowds had retreated. There was no whir of carriage wheels or clatter of horses’ hooves. They were above the noise. She almost thought up here that she could hear Elisabeth whispering to her. How close were they to heaven?

The basket gave a little jerk. She released a tiny squeak and tightened her fist on his jacket as though it would hold her up if the balloon started to fall.

“It’s quite all right; we’ve simply met the end of our tether,” Mr. Swindler purred near her ear. If she weren’t so terrified, she might have swooned from his nearness. “Open your eyes.”

“I don’t think I can,” she whispered, hoping none of the other four passengers were listening to her.

“Don’t look down. Simply look across. Trust me, Miss Watkins.”

Swallowing hard, she barely opened one eye. She could see treetops. She opened the other and released a startled laugh. She could see rooftops. “Oh, look, there’s the Thames.”

She didn’t know why she was surprised to see it. The gardens were built at its edge. Some people arrived in boats at its waterside entrance. Its nearness was one of the reasons that the gardens were so green and vegetation flourished. The sun was beginning to set, creating a spectacular view awash in orange and lavender. What more was to be seen beyond this small area? How would her home appear from on high? She found herself envying the birds.

“I almost wish it would break free of its tether. Almost.” She brought her gaze to Mr. Swindler’s. He wasn’t peering out over the land spread out below them like some elaborate tapestry. His eyes were on hers. “You’re missing the sights.”

His lips slowly shifted up into a sensuous smile. “I don’t believe I’m missing anything.”

She wondered at the taste and feel of his mouth. What a strange thought. To realize how desperately she wanted to experience his kiss, how she yearned to have him desire her. Even knowing that his interest in her might be influenced by an association with Rockberry that he’d not claimed, she still found herself drawn to him. She’d hoped to distract him from his purpose in serving Rockberry, and she was the one distracted.

With her tongue, she touched her lips, imagining his causing them to tingle and swell. His gaze dipped to her mouth, and she wondered if his thoughts were traveling the same path as hers. His eyes darkened and narrowed. Beneath her hands resting on his chest, she could feel the stillness in him, the tension building as though he fought some inner battle and was very close to losing whatever control he possessed. He took in a shuddering breath. He swung his gaze out to the Thames, and she wondered if her small, insignificant actions had stirred his passions. Judging by the deep furrows in his brow and the tightness in his jaw, he was bothered by something. How fascinating, but then she shouldn’t be surprised by her interest when everything about him intrigued her.

She turned her attention back to the scenery. She wished they could stay up here forever. What a different world it was, looking down rather than up. She could almost forget her reason for coming to London, the need for retribution that nagged at her. Up here she could imagine that love was attainable.

A pity her heart knew the truth of the matter. In very short order she would sacrifice any chance she might ever have for a happy life.

Eleanor had asked him not to dwell on the past, but for a few hours to simply concentrate on the present. He took her request to heart. He forgot that he was the son of a convicted thief, an orphan raised by a master thief. He forgot that he’d spent his youth arranging swindles designed to line Feagan’s pockets with riches. He forgot that she was his mark, his duty. He thought only about the woman who strolled along beside him, taking such delight in the smallest pleasures offered by the gardens. She was as entertained by the acrobats as she was by the puppets. Her smile seldom abandoned her face and her eyes glittered more brightly than the gaslights that were being lit as darkness blanketed the gardens.

An orchestra played lively music. From time to time, as he and Eleanor strolled along, she would sway slightly as though caught up in the rhythm of sound that floated through the gardens. He considered escorting her to the dance platform, but taking her in his arms and gliding her over the wooden flooring was likely to lead to disaster, because he was having a devil of a time keeping his hands from wandering over her now. The balloon ascent had been pure torture with her nestled against him. He’d felt the small tremors cascading through her. If he’d thought he could have successfully carried her down one of the ropes that kept the balloon tethered, he’d have swung her over his shoulder and delivered her safely to the ground. However, all he’d been able to do was offer distractions. While they worked for her, they failed miserably for him. He’d gazed into her blue eyes and all he wanted was to have a private moment with her. No, not
a
private moment—but a thousand of them. The two of them alone where intimacy could flourish, where he could truly forget the past and not consider the future. Where the present could tick along, holding all responsibilities at bay.

Eleanor distracted him from his purpose. He’d brought her back to the scene of their first meeting, because he planned to gently lead her into revealing why she’d truly been in the gardens that night. He needed her to trust him enough to confide in him, so he could get to the bottom of this matter. The policeman inside him knew that.

But the man inside him had other ideas. He’d embraced her notion of enjoying the present, and that meant ensuring that she enjoyed it, that there be no subtle interrogation, no prying. A boom sounded as the first burst of fireworks filled the sky. With her arm intertwined with his, she used her free hand to squeeze his arm as she exclaimed, “Oh my word.”

The fireworks could be seen for miles, and many a night while walking through Chelsea he’d spied them, until he became impervious to their magnificence. But watching Eleanor, he remembered the first time he’d seen them scattered across the velvet blackness and how they’d taken his breath away. He’d felt then the way he felt watching her—as though nothing would ever compare.

Her head was tilted back slightly, her eyes wide, her lips parted in wonder. Her hair wasn’t nearly as tidy as it had been when they’d begun their afternoon outing only a few short hours ago. Wisps had worked their way free of the pins and now framed her face. Even as he wanted to touch them, to tuck them into place, he yearned to remove her hat, release all the pins, and watch her hair tumble down her back. He wanted to pull her farther back into the shadows. He wanted to live up to his reputation as a scoundrel. He wanted to seduce her into revealing her secrets, he wanted to seduce her into revealing her body.

The sky was again lit with a flash of white stars that shot in all directions before fading into the night. Eventually she would fade away as well from his life. But at that particular moment she was still in it, vibrant and lovely, a touch of innocence, a touch of daring.

“My God, but they’re so beautiful,” she whispered reverently.

“Not nearly as beautiful as you.”

Her attention turned from the sky to him. He’d promised her they’d not leave until after the fireworks, but he was of a mind to create his own sparks. There were shadows aplenty, and as the next boom sounded, he snaked his arm around her waist and urged her away from the gathered crowd and the gaslights. She offered up only token resistance, no doubt initially forgetting that they weren’t supposed to be influenced by the past this evening. Impatience had him lifting her the last few steps, and then he was ensconced in heaven: her rose scent filling his nostrils, her taste tempting him to seek more as her mouth reshaped itself to fit seamlessly against his. Like some sort of clinging vine her arms wound around his neck, her fingers scraping up his scalp, becoming entangled in his hair. He was taken off guard by how desperately he wanted her.