Scandal (16 page)

“Anna,” he hissed into her mouth.

“Lock the door,” she said, stepping back from him to release her cloak from around her neck. It fell from her shoulders like a lover’s hand, making her burn for her real lover. She reached behind her next, beginning to undo the catches.

He didn’t move.

She almost told him again to lock the door, but something about his watching her, something about the way his green eyes turned dark, his lids lowered so that he almost looked furious, only it wasn’t fury. It was need. Lord, but knowing he needed her as badly as she needed him made her lower her arms, made her turn her back to him and say, “Help me, Rein.”

Her eyes closed as she waited for him to come to her, knew that this moment was where it would all end or begin. He didn’t move behind her, and for a second, disappointment fell upon her hard. Then she heard him move, heard the snick of the lock, heard him cross back to her. And still she waited, the skin on the back of her neck tingling as she anticipated his touch… or his kiss.

She received neither, for instead he must have bent down, lifting her skirts, his hands finding her wool stockings beneath her chemise, the wispy feel of his fingers gliding up her legs making her body spark and tingle in anticipation. The hands he’d used to lift her skirts pushed her back, guided her in such a way that she knew where he wanted her to go, and what he wanted her to do. And so on the edge of the bed she sat, his hands lifting her heavy wool skirts and tucking them around her waist.

“Open your legs.”

She did as he asked, exposing herself to him, watching as his head lowered… and lowered, until she was arching, leaning back, her hands coming out behind her and digging into the covers as his tongue found her and made her burn at the same time she turned wet. She began to move for him as all too quickly she felt ready to break apart.

He was giving her what she wanted without taking what he needed. Again. Damn him.

She wouldn’t let him. Not this time.

Leaning forward, she gently tipped his head back. He looked at her through eyes gone glassy with need.

“Don’t,” she said.

“Don’t what?” he asked.

“Don’t bring me there… not without you inside of me.”

“Anna, I might get you with child.”

She reached behind her, undoing the last of the catches.

“What are you doing?”

But he knew. God help him, Rein knew. The taste of her still lingered in his mouth, the need for her such an ache in his manhood that he feared he would bury himself up to the end of his shaft.

“Anna, don’t.”

In a move that surprised him, she stepped back and up onto the bed as she shrugged out of her dress. God, but the sight of her undressing, of peeling her clothes off one layer at a time, held him immobile. His chest rose and fell in short, shallow breaths.

Her breasts were beautiful, but he’d known that. She lifted her arms, the nipples budding as they were pulled into a graceful curve by her movements, her brown areolas framing the hard tips.

She undid her hair, the golden strands falling around her shoulders, covering a portion of her breasts, the side of her neck. When she’d finished that, she wiggled out of her stockings and lay upon the bed, completely naked before him.

“Touch me,” she said, one of her hands moving to her womanhood as she spread her legs. “Touch me, for if you do not, I shall touch myself.”

God help him, he should resist. He should do the honorable thing and wait until he could tell her who he really was. But then she began to glide her hands up the wet folds of her womanhood, and the smell of her drifted over to him, flaring his nostrils, making him move toward her without thought. He undid his breeches.

She watched, her hips moving now as she stroked herself.

Rein gave up all hope of resisting then. He nearly ripped the buttons off his jacket, only undid the first two of his shirt, tugging the thing over his head so harshly it popped seams. Did he take his breeches all the way off? God, he didn’t know. He just found himself on the bed with her, their bodies entwining as they found each other’s lips and kissed, his tongue sinking into her mouth just as his manhood found her valley.

She panted. So did he as she spread her legs wide. Rein knew then that this would be no subtle seduction. This would be a mating. A covering. A joining both craved and shared and that had them kissing and moaning and then sighing as he entered her at last.

“Rein,” she cried out, arching beneath him.

He thrust, then thrust again, her body so hot around him he gasped for breath, tossing his head back as he thrust and thrust and thrust. She was his. His. His. His. The words repeated themselves as he looked down, met her gaze, their climax nearing, though Rein knew she would have hers first.

She did, his name cried out as she allowed herself fulfillment. Watching her climax prolonged his own, the feel of her pulsing around him filling him with such a passionate sense of rightness, he could only watch as she gained her release, as she drifted back to shore, her eyes focusing on his own.

“I love you,” she whispered.

He climaxed.

And in that moment he knew he loved her, too, loved her with a fierceness and a passion that would never go away.

“I love you,” she repeated as this time
she
watched
him
climax.

Chapter Nineteen

I love you.

Anna cradled Rein as his breathing returned to normal, his face in the crook of her neck. His breath whispered over her with the softness of the wingtip of a bird.

I love you.

And she did. She knew it, for there could be no mistaking the emotions she felt. No other man knew her like Rein. No other man had done so much for her. She’d shared all of herself with him—her childhood, her longings, her secret desires—and that, she knew, was something she’d never done before.

The question became, What to do about it? Never had she backed down from a challenge. Oh, she’d had her moments of weakness, but in the end she was always a fighter. Should she fight for Rein? Fight for marriage? A position among his set, whatever set that might be? She knew there were ways to keep herself from childbed, but they were not foolproof ways. Lord help her, she might be with child now.

“Anna,” he said, pressing his head against her own as his breathing returned to normal. She closed her eyes, the sensation of him inside of her stirring emotions that felt foreign, and yet completely perfect.

“Anna,” he said again, slowly lifting his head. When their gazes met, he seemed pleased. “You said you love me.”

“Aye, you lucky cull,” she said with a brave smile, brave because she truly wondered if she could pull it off, wondered if a gentleman could fall for a woman like herself.

He chuckled a bit, but then his laughter faded, his gaze suddenly so fierce and intense that she found herself holding her breath.

“I shall take care of you, Anna. Always, forever, take care of you.”

He hadn’t said he loved her back. Only then did she realize that she’d been hoping he would. That he’d pull her into his arms and say,
I love you. I shall marry you.
What a silly sod.

A half hour later they stood near the bow of the ship as they returned to London Dock. How much time did they have? A day? A week? What would she do when the time came for him to resume his old life? What would she do? Go with him? Stay?

“I’d give much to keep your sails and show them to my friends.”

Anna and Rein turned, Captain Jones facing them with a small smile on his face.

“I will admit that I was skeptical at first, but you proved me wrong. Now tell me truly, who gave you the design?”

Anna stiffened.

“I assure you, Captain,” Rein lashed out like a bosun’s mate with a cat-o’-nines. “Miss Brooks came up with the idea for her staysails all on her own.”

“Did she, now?”

“Indeed, she did. So if you are looking to undermine the work she has done by claiming she could not possibly come up with such a stellar notion on her own, you are sadly mistaken. She is as brilliant as a man… rather, she is
more
bloody brilliant than
most
men. You’d do well to remember that.”

And if she hadn’t been in love before, Anna would have fallen in love with him then. As she watched his handsome, wonderful, arrogant face harden with his anger, she wished for a moment…

Wished what?

That she was the type of woman a man like him would marry.

“Rein,” she said, touching his arm, smiling up at him with such blinding love he must surely see it. “It is not his fault he is a silly, soddin’ fool of a man.”

“I
beg
your pardon,” Captain Jones said.

“’Tis true,” Anna said. “And no fault of your own that you were born with the brains of a monkey. Most men are, you see. I suspect it to be the reason why men don’t want women learning from books. If we did, you’d be unmasked in a trice. But never fear, my good captain. Your secret of stupidity is safe with me.” She leaned toward him and said in a conspirator’s way, “I shan’t tell your crew.”

“Why, you nasty little bum-trader. You are fortunate the duke has
ordered
me to fly your sails the day of the naval competition, for if not for those orders, I would toss them overboard.”

“Do, and you shall be tossed with them,” Rein said, stepping between her and the daft man.

“And you, coming in here and acting as if you own the ship. I shall remind you that ’tis I who controls what you see.
I,
not you. So while I am ordered by the duke to aid the… lady, it does not mean that you may take that tone with me, sir.”

“Why, you—”

Anna watched as Rein’s fists clenched at his sides, as he fought for very obvious control of his temper. “You, sir, shall be released without wages. This I vow.”

“Hah. As if the likes of you will ever get an audience with the duke of Wroxly.”

“You might be surprised at how easily such a thing could be accomplished—”

“Rein,” Anna interrupted, knowing a hopeless situation when she saw one. “Let it go. I do not mind his insults. I assure you, I’ve been called far worse by the fancy toffs that come to market thinking they can buy me along with my wares.” She stepped in between them, placing her hand against the side of his face to get his attention. “He’s not worth your temper. I assure you.”

“Insolent bit of muslin,” she heard behind her.

She turned on the man. “Captain, were I you, I’d see to your ship. Or hadn’t you noticed that your topgallant is in need of a fresh nip?”

To her surprise the captain looked up, spying the kink in the line that grew more and more noticeable with the tightening of the line.

“You would do well to pay attention to your rigging rather than our social station.”

“You there,” the captain turned and called to a maintopman. “Freshen that nip.”

“I pity the duke if he ever takes his new ship out,” Anna said to Rein. “Like as not he wouldn’t make it back alive.”

Rein didn’t react. Rather, he stared down at her, his head starting a slow shake back and forth. “You know how to sail a ship.”

She drew back. “Of course. You did not think I happened upon a sail design by chance, did you?” She grabbed his arm, leading him away from the captain, who had turned his temper upon his maintopman. “My father taught my mother, and my mother taught
me,
much to my father’s amusement.”

“Remarkable.”

“Indeed,” she said, mimicking his way of speech. “There are a great many things you shall miss about me when we part ways.”

She’d hoped for a declaration that he would not be parted from her. What she got was a fierce look of unease. She turned away, looked out upon the horizon, at the bell tower of St. George in the east, the white spire visible from where they sailed. A ship passed between them, its reflection a distorted shape that vibrated atop the Thames’s gray-blue surface. Anna hardly noticed while her hands clutched the rail.

Say it,
she all but screamed at him.
Say it. You care for me. You love me. You must.

But he didn’t. And she was too frightened to come right out and ask him, to ask where this all would lead, to ask what would happen when he became once again a lord of the manor, for she was certain he was.

She reached for his hand, took a step toward him, meant to tell him she knew he was of noble birth, perhaps even possessed a title, but just then he staggered back from her, clutching at his arm at the same time he cried out.

“What the devil?” Captain Jones said as a pistol retort echoed over them.

Rein met her gaze. “I’ve been shot.”

“Shot? What do you mean, shot?” Anna asked as she turned to face him. Then she saw the blood on his jacket, the tiny black hole that sat in the center of it.

Shot.

“I need the ship’s surgeon,” Anna called just as Rein fell against the rail, sliding down it as if suddenly light-headed.

“Now,” she yelled, following him down.

“What? Why?” Captain Jones called as he made his way toward them. “What the devil do you need a surgeon for?”

“He’s been shot,” Anna said, looking up, having to squint as she did so, for the sun was right behind him.

“Shot?” but the captain must have seen the wound, too, for he straightened, turning toward his crew. “Get Langdon, and some bandages.”

“Can you remove the jacket?”

“I am not sure,” Rein said, and she noticed then that his face was as pale as the lace around her collar. He had pain brackets around his mouth, too, a groove plowing its way down his brow. “I am not so certain it would be wise to move.”

It didn’t seem possible that her anxiety could increase, but his words made it so.

“Let me try,” she said, bending forward to remove the jacket, slipping it off his good arm first. And as she did so a tin of mints fell to the deck. Smith and Sons Confectioners, a place that sold treats only swells could afford. But there was no time to think of that. As quickly as she could, she pulled the jacket off.

He gasped.

She said, “Lean back.”

“I feel rather… odd.”

Someone handed her a strip of canvas then. Anna moved to wrap it around his arm.

“Please do not touch it,” he gasped.

“Rein, I have seen corpses lying on the streets of St. Giles, women beaten to within an inch of their lives, babies being pushed out in alleys. I know how to wrap a wound.”

She moved again, gently yet firmly, wrapping the wound, Rein gasping as she tugged it tight.

“We must stop the bleeding,” she explained, but the canvas filled instantly with blood.

“I’ll have to do it again,” she said. “We need more canvas,” she said to her audience.

Someone set off to find some canvas. Rein closed his eyes.

“Let’s get him to my cabin,” the captain said. “Langdon can tend to him there. Help him up, men.”

Two men came forward, the one on Rein’s right taking care not to jostle his arm.

Anna fell back, fear making it hard to breathe.

Someone had shot at Rein.

Someone had tried to
kill
him.

“Good god,” she mumbled as she hurriedly followed behind.

Rein’s hand shook as he tossed back another shot of gin, a few drops falling from the edge of the glass to land on his bare chest, not that he cared. No, he was a fair way to not caring about anything, the liquor emptying his mind in direct relation to the emptying of the bottle. They were alone in the well-furnished room (further proof Rein paid the good captain entirely too much), Captain Jones having gotten the ship to port. The moment the ship was secured to the dock, Rein had asked Anna to find Mr. Stills.

“Mr. Stills? Who is Mr. Stills?”

“A friend,” Rein had answered. “A Bow Street Runner.”

“You have a friend who is a Bow Street Runner that I can find in an alley across from my building?”

“Indeed.”

“What is going—”

“Anna, please,” Rein asked on a gasp, for the muscles in his forearm spasmed. “Do not ask questions.”

She hadn’t looked pleased, but she’d backed away from the bed. She’d looked back at him one last time before closing the door.

And so that was why he was near three sheets to the wind when Mr. Stills and Anna returned, the ship’s surgeon, one Mr. Langdon, having charged Rein with imbibing as much gin as possible, for the pistol’s ball was still in his arm.

“Ah, they return,” Rein said, their two bodies turning into four for a moment.

“Rein, what the blazes is going on?” Anna asked. “This man would tell me nothing.”

Rein looked over at the Runner. “Am I allowed to tell her, my goosh man?”

The man shrugged. “Up to you, gov. Your money to lose.”

And even in his befogged state, Rein understood the words. His time was not up. If he told Anna the truth, he’d forfeit his inheritance.

“Sh-shouldn’t keep her in the dark.”

“Keep me in the dark about what?” Anna asked, her amber eyes looking between them.

“I’m not at liberty to say, mum,” the Runner said.

“He’s about ready for me to work on,” Mr. Langdon said, probing Rein’s arm.

“Oush, damn it,” Rein cried. “That hursh.”

Anna stepped back, and though the shape of her face looked devilishly odd, Rein saw the concern and worry and fear in it.

“Is someone trying to kill you?” she asked.

Odd, but her mouth moved before the words came out. That perplexed Rein for a moment before he realized she waited for an answer.

“Yes, my dear Anna, I believe it shafe to shay someone is trying to kill me.”

“Why?”

Rein opened his mouth to answer, but Mr. Langdon jabbed what felt like a mallet into his arm. “Gadsh,” he cried, having to blink to focus on his tormentor, the fingers of his good arm digging into the padding of the red armchair. “Mush you?”

“I must.”

Anna stood, though to Rein’s eyes a ghostly outline of her gray cloak seemed to be a few paces behind her actual body. Lord, he hadn’t been this boozy since that time his father had decided to use a switch instead of a hand. One of the staff had brought him a bottle, saying it would help…

“Would one of you please tell me why the blazes someone would like Rein dead?”

“Can’t,” he said, shaking his head a bit to dispel the ringing in his ears. “Too mush at shake.”

“Too much at stake,” Anna repeated. Rein tipped his head back, the liquor having finally diluted in his blood to the point that he felt rather like sleeping.

“Are you telling me someone wants you dead because of this bloody wager?”

“Miss Brooks, please—” Mr. Stills said.

“No, you please. I am not about to stand by and watch the man I love be killed over a bloody wager. Not, I say.”

“He doesn’t hear you,” Mr. Stills said.

“Who doesn’t hear me?”

“’Im,” he said, pointing with his chin toward Rein.

Anna looked, Rein’s face having gone slack, her whole body following suit when she realized the liquor had claimed him. Mr. Langdon went back to work, moving swiftly now that his patient felt nothing.

“Who is he?” she asked, turning to Mr. Stills. “Who is he really and why does someone want him dead?”

“I can’t say,” the Runner said, his blue eyes glancing away from Rein for a moment, that gaze as direct as a one-way road. “’E’s the only one what can tell you.”

“He was just shot.” Her gaze caught on Rein, a sudden fear making it hard to breathe for a moment. “Surely things have changed.”

Mr. Stills looked at her and it was only then that she realized she fought a losing battle.