The Veiled Heart (The Velvet Basement Book 1) (3 page)

Her heart was beating in her throat; if she swallowed, she would choke.

Then the corners of that wonderful mouth lifted in genuine delight. Her body reacted as if his smile opened a hatch, and the air rushed deep into her lungs like it was the first breath she had taken in her life.

He stood up from the bench on the other side of the carriage and leaned over her.

She was light-headed.

He braced his legs and stretched an arm out to rest on the bench behind her.

They were so close. She could see every hair on his chin.

“You’re an enigma.” The sound of his voice rolled through her, each note a taunt of promised pleasure. “Bound tighter than a lover’s knot and yet….” He breathed in deeply, partially closed his eyes as his chest filled and pushed at the front of his coat. “As fragile as a fragrant bloom.”

The breath was tight in her chest. Her nails dug into the palms of her hands.

He was as sensual as a slide of satin over her skin; but what was he really saying?

“Is that a yes?”

The uncertainly in her voice whispered between them. Miriam shifted her head slightly to get a clearer look at him through her veil.

Those blue eyes were unreadable. His body still.

Waiting for him to react was humiliating. A stark feeling of nakedness that would have pushed her mask back in place, if it wasn’t for that foolish hope pinned to her chest.

The first thing to register was that his teeth were even and bright. However, the look on his face melted the tension out of her.

Her hands relaxed.

She had jumped.

And he had caught her.

With the reality of the next half hour set, excitement now warred with panic.

And lost.

“I’m going to step outside and fix your wheel.” He stopped speaking and looked her directly in the eyes.

Heat crept up under her corset warming her breasts and tightening around her throat.

“Then I’m going to ensure the driver has a route that gives us the time we need to meet your request.” His free hand ran a finger along her jaw as he continued. “Your job, Lily, is to remove your pantaloons. Fold them neatly and place them on the bench next to you. Not hidden under your shawl. In the open for me to see. Can you do that for me?”

Her body subtly started to shake. All her control was needed to hide it as she nodded, yes.

She was rewarded with another of those angels taking flight smiles. He was alert, awake, and vibrant as though a candle was burning inside him. Alight with the possibility of what could happen between them. She had done that. It scared and exhilarated her at the same time.

“Are you sure?”

He was giving her a chance to step back. It was gallant, noble, in a man who was trawling the shops that spoke of darker desires.

Despite the blind fear flashing through her, his concern made her want him even more.

“I want to know everything about the sheaths.”

His eyebrows rose again. “I think we can accommodate that.”

As the words were said, the reality was that neither of them believed this was about the sheaths, not really, not anymore.

Somehow, that made the panic subside.

Then he stepped out of the carriage.

Outside, the air was cool, dense with the promise of rain. The night hung above him tight with anticipation as it waited for the sky to break open.

Worthington drew it into his lungs. Was he really going to do this?

Around him was a whole world of fresh clarity and thick warning that he should be taking in.

The problem was that Lily still rippled through him like a promise of summer sun on a man who couldn’t remember what real warmth felt like.

You didn’t walk away from that, no matter how ominous the sky.

Instead, he focused on what he had some control over.

“It seems I am at your disposal.”

The cabbie beamed and showed him the wheel.

It wouldn’t do to work things out too quickly, so he ran his hand over the steel-encased wood. Bent down, made a few noises of consideration, and then stood up.

“So can you fix it?” The cabbie milled around him.

“Should do; give me a hand we need to have a closer look.”

His heart was beating steadily in his chest; it should be racing like the wind.

She’d made a remarkable request and every single part of him wanted to fulfill it. Hell, many times over if he was honest.

“Right, put your hand here and lift.”

Worthington positioned the cabbie so the man looked away from the wheel while lifting some of the weight off it. They rolled the carriage back a little taking the pressure off the grind, a piece of metal. It made the whole thing sound impressively ominous and ensured they didn’t actually move very far without causing irreparable damage. Or even worse, endangering her.

He should fix the wheel and back off, step away. She’d been terribly nervous with a flying leap of bravery to ask him what she had. Vulnerability was seeping out of her like a siren’s song.

He slipped his hand in his pocket, removed the missing wheel pin, and dropped it under the carriage. Coughed and stamped his foot to cover the sound.

Organizing a distraction was easy, his own cab driver had pulled the man aside for a smoke. The carriage was relatively light while empty. Enough for him to knock the pin out. Every cabbie had tools and his man lent them to him for a much-inflated price of his fare. Now here he was thinking about walking away.

“Alright, let go. Looks like one of the pins has fallen out. It can’t be far if the carriage was functional when you arrived.”

The cabbie swore and they both bent down to look for the missing wheel pin.

He should step in and tell her no.

As they searched, the carriage moved, a few small dips and rocks of the cabin.

There was no reason for her to be moving around except one, his request. Now his heart started to speed up.

She was removing her underwear.

The image of that shot down through the center of his body and curled low and deep in a firm squeeze.

Each small bounce and tilt of the cabin touched him more intimately than the bawdiest of approaches.

He just had to avoid thinking, not listen to the barrage of extremely wise and responsible reasons he should tell her ‘no’. Because looking at the compartment make its small motions and imagining what she was doing, nothing this side of hell would stop him from stepping back in that carriage, no matter what the consequences.

But there was something else.

She was perfect.

Too perfect.

She was a reminder of the ghost he had decided to forsake.

Tonight he was getting sheaths so he could go whoring. Get ‘Miss Unattainable,’ ‘Miss Heartbeat-of-his-youth’ out of his system once and for all.

The trouble was a part of him, a mad part of him, wanted it to be her. Imagined her under that damn effective lace that hid her from view.

Lily was the closest thing in physical form he could possibly get to having her.

Was he going to walk away from that after her invitation?

Not bloody likely.

No man would. Although he had his morals and his scruples, the pull she had on every fiber of his being was not something a man ignored.

No, he was going to take everything she offered. Take it and cherish it. And if he were even remotely lucky, he would find a way to see her again. Make himself known to her in an honorable way.

“Ha! Found the bugger.” The cabbie held the pin in the air, a champion among champions.

A mechanic. It made him smile as they lifted the wheel and maneuvered it to slide the pin back in place. His father would be horrified, but his grandfather would be proud. His father was all about what a gentleman did not do for a living; his grandfather thought a man was made by his abilities. You might own the land; but if you couldn’t work it, you were an impostor. As Lord Worthington, he was more his grandfather than his father, something he was proud of, even if tonight he used those qualities for somewhat nefarious ends.

Worthington slapped the cabbie’s back and they shook hands, a job sorted out amongst men. Even if he had been the cause of the problem.

“So where were you heading?”

“Chelsea.”

“I need you to drive around until I give you the signal. Two knocks on the roof. Then drop me off a block before her address. I’ll sort you out at the end.”

“I don’t want no trouble for the lady.”

“None given, you’re a fine man to worry. I appreciate that. The lady and I are unexpected acquaintances. You can check with her, though it may make her uncomfortable.”

The cabbie looked at the cab, back at him, and then nodded his head.

“Very well, sir.”

 In a suspiciously short time, the carriage was in motion and Blue-eyes was seated opposite her with no more than a shrug at how fast he had sorted out the problem.

He removed his gloves and loosened his necktie.

“So, Lily, are you going to tell me why I have this rather enchanting opportunity?”

Miriam looked for any sign of mockery but it wasn’t there. Instead, a tension and focus was in him that matched and perhaps surpassed her own.

She cleared her throat, a delicate sound belying the fact that her underwear lay next to her and the softness of her petticoats pressed against her nakedness.

“Well.” Her voice came across very matter-of-factly, something that pleased her very much at this moment. “The sheaths have no instructions.” She held up her hand to stop him. “I know the basics. I am not weak minded. But I need to know everything short of where they were made and by whom.”

“It isn’t difficult to imagine how they are used past the basics. You could work that out with your husband.”

This time there was a tightness in his response as he waited for her answer.

Husband.

Of course, a man would worry about that. A powerful man driven by anger and jealousy to hire thugs to track him down and beat him senseless for trespassing on another man’s happiness. Ha! Not bloody likely.

“No, I don’t have a husband.” It sounded triumphant.

The stiffness eased out of him and he gave one of those devastating smiles.

“I take it that is something that pleases you. No husband.” He took off his coat. Big, broad movements in their small space.

“Yes. Of course.”

He laughed.

Her eyes were riveted to him, daring him to think she care what he thought. Damn it, he wouldn’t be able to see that. She angled her face to see a little clearer through the lace and drew herself up. Body language could convey a lot. But the truth was she wanted to get a better look at him.

Her breath quickened.

Underneath his coat, he was well dressed. Surprisingly well dressed. A good cut of suit, waistcoat, and a white shirt that spoke of expensive tailors. However, it was the squareness of him, his shoulders and the tapering waist, that made her lips dry up.

She maneuvered her head a little further to the side and found another patch through the lace. The view was of firm, thick thighs pressing against the good cut of his trousers. His legs were splayed; a confident man’s sitting position.

This bristling in every nerve for his first touch was such a new feeling. Her fingers curled, twisting in the fabric of her skirt.

Then his hand moved down between his legs and he gripped himself.

Her breath choked.

His hand, large and tanned, was raw against the charcoal-grey pinstripe fabric, but not as raw as the shape that pushed from underneath.

Her mouth opened and, God help her, she panted. Small drags of air into a tight chest.

The outline of him, his length and his girth, were graphically clear.

Miriam dragged in another tight breath, looked up, and peered through the lace.

He was watching her intently.

“If you are going to call it off, do it now, Lily.”

Earlier, his eyes had looked like a clear blue summer sky. Now they looked like two synchronized carnivores. They broadcast a hunger that held within it the full force of his body.

Just by looking at him, she could imagine the weight of him. Knew what the sensation of his hips against her would be like. Knew what his breath would feel like as it brushed over her neck, as his hands clutched at her hips and squeezed her breasts.

Her heart beat hard. A tightness was in her throat.

The promise of pleasure was there and she wanted it; wanted it as she had once wanted oblivion. Now, she wanted to feel alive more than anything she had ever wanted.

“No, the bargain stands.” The words whispered in the space. Her throat was too dry to do anything else.

He smiled, notably pleased, and let go of his devastating fullness and moved to unbutton his waistcoat.

The silence and his action filled the space with a primal, base lust.

She straightened; she could only take so much.

She took a moment and a deep breath to calm herself. God help her; she was madly out of control.

“I”—she swallowed—“I don’t think you need to disrobe.”

His fingers stopped and he gave her one of those devastating grins.

Oh, he knew what he was doing to her. And frankly, she didn’t care, as long as he followed through.

“So,” he said as he leaned back and let his legs stretch out at an angle away from her as if they had all the time in the world, “you want to know about sheaths.”

The waiting was going to kill her.

“You’re not playing coy, changing your mind?” Damn it, if only her voice wouldn’t sound so needy.

“Is that what you think?”

“I’m not sure what to think. Shouldn’t we get on with it?”

That feral regard held her.

“Patience, Lily. As I was saying, you have the basics and now you want some first-hand experience as you don’t have a lover.”

Heat blossomed from the center of her chest and infused her with a warmth that touched intimate corners, folds, and pink fissures. Parts of her that had been cold forever were instantly awakened; parts that had been forgotten and barely forgiven. And in their place was an unadulterated hope for an unimaginable future,
as you don
’t have a husband
.

Yes, was all she could say. Almost as if they had come full circle from a few hours ago when she had told him
no
.

He tilted his head to the side in acknowledgment, while his eyes moved over her with an open, hot regard. They roamed like a gliding hand. She was not accustomed to the look. It was passionate, full of heat, and made her feel like a woman ought to feel.

Wanted.

Desirable.

He was waiting for her to continue, knowing the nature of her thoughts, no doubt thinking some of his own. Heat crackled in the air between them and danced around as they positioned themselves to take the next step.

Her face was burning and her legs quivering as though she had run miles.

“You were looking for something in particular not just something that would cover your, well, you know.” She waved her hand vaguely at his lap.

He beamed, obviously enjoying her lack of vocabulary. His smile was infectious, and she smiled despite her determination to maintain at least a modicum of stoicism. What he had in his lap, that mind-bending shape that had shown through the fabric, would soon be intimately connected with her. And she wanted it with unashamed enthusiasm.

Oh, yes, this was a dance of words, a frustrating and delicious stretching of time as they let the reality sink in.

“Why did you take the ones you did?”

“Well Lily, some sheaths are better than others. The thicker they are, the less interest any man has to use them; and that, in turn, defeats the purpose of buying one for him to use. Others are porous, have holes; some may have been used already and returned to the box.”

“What?” Shock jolted through her and she reached for the boxes.

His hand came down over hers. “Let me.”

He slid the box from under her hand and started to go through them again.

Miriam reached into her reticule, took out a small pencil and note pad, and sat poised to write.

“Are you going to write everything down?”

“Naturally.”

Enjoyment was obvious on his face as he proceeded with his explanations. He selected examples of the different types of sheaths, explained how they would be used, looked after, tested, and handled with delightful theatrics.

All the while, she wrote the details down. Their eyes met more frequently than the exchange required. The furnace inside her increased as a strained focus radiated from him, despite the lightening of mood his manner was aiming to create.

Finally, he placed the box back down on the seat next to him. Then took her pencil and pad from her hands, slipped them between the pink lining of her reticule, gently closed the clasp, and placed it to the side with the boxes.

When was the last time a man had handled her reticule with as much ease? Never.

He picked up one of the sheaths he had previously selected, took a small silver flask out of his jacket, filled the sheath, and then tipped out the content at the base of the carriage door.

“Is that alcohol?

“You saw the shops these came from.”

“Oh.” Miriam reached over for her reticule. That was important. She should write it down.

His hand clasped around her wrist.

“Later, Lily. You can write all this down later.”

He reached for her shawl and of course her pantaloons that were neatly folded on top of it. Lifted them all and put them on the bench next to him as he took their place on the bench beside her.

Lightning flashed through her. A blinding blast of anticipation tightening every muscle.

“Are you going to put it on now?” It was an idiotic statement. If she could have thought clearly, she would have found something to say that would redeem her; however, her body was master and held nothing but hot need and tight tension.

He shook his head
,
as he pivoted to face her. His hand reached out and his fingers slipped under her veil and started to lift it.

A moment of panic flared.

“No looking.” Her voice was surprisingly firm.

He half nodded, already focusing on something else.

Slowly, he ran his hands over her body. A blind man’s exploration setting her alight. They ran over her thighs, her hips, arms, up to her neck, a squeeze, and down again.

The carriage rocked and rolled over the uneven streets and from the jig of the horses. Despite the irregular movements, his touch was smooth and sure.

Alarms went off. She searched for anything in his countenance, in his scent, in his manner to reject, at least to soften, the fall. And failed.

He was, indeed, perfect.

He was the most dangerous thing she had confronted in her adult life. A man who lit every female light she had; all those exposed and all those secretly closeted away were blazing their welcome in unabashed glory.

He would think her a fool.

His every touch, his every small stroke through the weave of her clothes warned her of the power of what this would feel like skin to skin. Of what his flesh against hers would feel like as they both came together.

Heaven help her soul. This must all be written on her face.

She stiffened and tried to move a little further away.

“This seduction really isn’t necessary.” Her eyes flashed up, through a space in the veil, and looked into his.

He gripped her waist, tugged her closer to his chest, and laughed a deep rich sound. It slid over her skin in the same way his hand was gliding over her body. Every touch sending ripples out into a desolate past.

“What?” He must think she was so foolish.

She wriggled to get up but he didn’t move. Nor did he mock her. Instead, his touch continued to meander over her body in long, slow, rhythmic strokes.

“A body needs to relax, Lily.” His breath tickled her ear. “Even when pleasure is solely in the pursuit of knowledge.” His voice was muffled as he pressed his mouth to her neck.

Hot lips touched at the exact point between her tightly buttoned jacket and the veil molded under her chin and around her face, the only piece of bare flesh on show.

The sensation was hot.

Very hot as his tongue stroked across her skin.

A visceral sensation that was warm, damp, and then cool shot between her legs. An unrefined carnal image flashed behind her closed eyes as her body made the connection.

“What are you doing?” This wasn’t how she imagined things to go. Not how things had gone with her husband.

Instinct pushed harder, warned her she was traveling down a dangerous road. Not in the traditional sense that said sexual relations with a stranger were beyond the pale, but worse.

Her heart was unfurling with each gentle, sure, and wildly sensitive touch.

“Wet, Lily. I’m making you wet.”

She tried to sit up at that. It didn’t sound very dignified. However, if a pooling of damp heat between her legs was what he meant, he was very successful.

His hand snaked around her waist as she moved, and slid her down the seat.

The back of the bench hit her bonnet and tilted it forward. She went to right it but his hand was under her skirt. All thought stopped as it traveled slowly up her stockings, leisurely molding the shape of her calf. Fingers curled around the back of her knee. His palm stroked her inner thighs and along with it traveled a combustible force.

Her hands grasped his jacket. They squeezed tightly enough to press the fabric into new folds.

Blue eyes met hers, an ocean of hope based on the most obscene of circumstances.

His hand was on her sex.

“Trust me.”

She scoffed and his smile broadened as his fingers slid over her and slowly pushed in. A muscle at her core contracted and he swore.

Those blue eyes closed and he pushed his fingers in deeper.

Heat flushed through her whole body. Her sex throbbed.

A part of her tried to hold herself together and under control, not to move or be overeager. However, her body wasn’t listening.

Unexpectedly, her hips pushed petulantly forward and her core unfurled in voracious awareness.

A low primal sound slipped from her.

He bit the soft flesh of her earlobe, a sharp awareness shot through her. Then came the damp heat of his breath; it pushed her want up higher with its ragged erotic sound. Control be damned.

She wanted more.

He moved his fingers and her hips moved with him. Wet, hot warmth rippled up and into her belly, tight and languid at the same time.

His hand continued to move in a firm leisurely rhythm. Slipping over her folds, caressing and pushing. His eyes opened. The blue was gone, and in its place was a stark hunger.

His fingers moved more intently, shifted their angle as he watched her responses, as her body started to sing like a violin running arpeggios with each stoke.