The Veiled Heart (The Velvet Basement Book 1) (4 page)

She was alive as she had never lived before in her life. Awareness spread from between her legs and radiated out through every inch of her body. She was frantic, edgy with want.

Driving need pushed her hips forward in shameless, uncontrolled thrusts.

There was no logical Miriam. No memories of pain. Nothing but his fingers, her sex, and the way they came together.

She was drunk with desire for him. Wanted the weight of him to press the air out of her, wanted the full power of his hips.

Her legs were heavy. Her eyes closed and she blessed each bump in the road, which knocked his hand into her a little harder.

When he withdrew his hand, she was humming in every cell.

Teetering on the edge.

He could have disrobed them and thrown the cab’s blinds open to the world for all she cared, as long as he promised to finish her. Take her over the edge with sure, hard thrusts.

“Lily.” His voice was flammable. “Open your eyes.”

Her skirt lay bunched at her waist, her legs open wide, and he was between them unbuttoning his britches.

“Watch.”

Heavy lids opened wider as she nodded and looked down at the front of his britches. He opened a fabric window surrounding the glorious nakedness of him.

Her legs shook in earnest. She pushed up on her elbows, leaned forward, and looked.

“What do you think? Will it do for a lady?” His voice grated, for all the confidence his posture displayed.

Her gaze lifted to his and she nodded. The ragged hiss of her breath made pleasure flush his face.

“Here.” He handed her the sheath. “You put it on.”

“Me?” She squeaked as color no doubt painted her. Her every instinct was to scurry back.

His eyebrows arched and her back straightened; she was no coward.

“All right.” She struggled to find a better position to tackle the task. She had initiated this exchange after all.

“Roll the sheath up, place it on the head, and roll it down until I am covered.”

Her face burnt.

Her hands shook. Knowing how to hold him was challenging.

“That’s right; just take your time.”

The rocking and moving of the carriage made her fumble. She had to start again.

He groaned; the sound made her nerves skitter with pleasure. He liked her touching him. She looked up, angled her vision through the veil, and saw his face. His eyes were narrow and heavy, his mouth fractionally open, the beat of his heart at his clavicle fast.

His hand, which settled on her shoulder, held her so they made a steadier unit as the vehicle clipped down whatever street they travelled.

“I think I have it.” Her voice was throaty.

“Oh, take all the time you need.” His voice held a smile.

He was warmer than her fingers. As she rolled the sheath down, it stretched tight and her fingers didn’t quite meet around his shaft as she smoothed it down.

“Done, I think.”

She looked up at him. He gazed down at her, his hand squeezing her tight.

Then he shook his head and, in a few sure movements, slid her around so she lay along the bench on her back.

He placed one knee on the bench; the other stayed on the floor.

“Hook your legs around me.” He braced over her and one of his hands went between them. The head of him rubbed her folds and then pushed forward.

A heavy fullness.

She experienced a moment of panic.

Her face was close to his; the weight of him made it hard to breathe.

Some kind of punishment had always preceded this. She started to pull back then forced herself to hold still.

“Breathe, Lily. I’m here.” Blue-eyes looked deep into her.

Saw her.

Moisture beaded his forehead. The muscles in his neck strained as he held still. He would stop right now if she asked; it was there between them.

Her tension eased and after a deep breath, a smile spread behind the lace.

“We’ll go slowly?” It was a question.

Her head dipped in the briefest of nods. He needed nothing more.

His fingers squeezed her thigh. Then he pushed in and she was lost.

Literally.

Something left her mind and deposited a wanton in its place.

Pleasure curled up her back, through her belly, her breasts, and between her legs.

She slid her hands under his jacket, over his chest and around his back, pulling him closer. One knee pressed against the bench, her ankles unlinked from behind him and her other knee fell outward as she arched up into him. Holy heaven but she wanted him in her, all of him.

Then he moved. He slid out, making her hips want to follow, and then he pushed his hips forward and her lower body curled up in a decisive response. Then they did it again. All reason washed away.

A rhythm of purpose and power pushing into her.

The scent of them, their coming together filled the space. The wet sounds. The harsh breathing. His hand moved under her hips and lifted her up, angling her. The fullness of him pushed deeper. Her mouth opened as he reached something deep.

The veil was so tight across her face that it was hard to draw air in.

She breathed in gasps.

Heaven help her, her body was like kindling bursting into flame.

“Do you know what a sheath feels like?”

“No.” Did she care? “Don’t stop!” Her fingers dug hard into his back.

“It feels like this.” He leaned down and kissed her through the veil.

Her lips met his on the other side of the lace. The breath out of his mouth was hot; the touches of his tongue in the open weave drove her wild.

She panted.

She pushed at the fabric with her tongue as he sucked and nipped her through the cloth.

Her hand tugged him closer, but it made no difference; the half touches were excruciating, exciting, and all she wanted was to rip away the barrier
.

An arm slid from her hips, up her back, behind her head and angled her closer. His chest pushed her into the bench and his belly breathed hard as his hips pounded into her harder and faster. A cry broke from her. It must have been her; it sounded like her, but she couldn’t focus.

He swore.

His teeth broke through the veil and he reared up.

His thumb slipped into her mouth and she sucked it, salty and thick over her tongue.

“That’s it, Lily; that’s it.”

He thrust and her hips pushed back.

Something inside her connected.

The tensions linked. Her muscles tensed and her teeth came down on him. She was almost there.

“Are you with me?” His voice was hard, demanding, ragged.

She whimpered. She was going to ignite.

He pulled his thumb out and slipped it between them, slid it over the top of her sex.

Every fiber of her being saw white.

Her mouth opened wide, but no sound came out as a charge flashed and flowed through every part of her body.

An explosion of deafening silence coursed through her and burned everything away.

The cab, the sound of the horses, him and his blue eyes, the pressure between her legs as he thrust, everything disappeared and nothing was left but oblivious, mindless pleasure. Nothing was left; all was washed away: the sea, the blue sky, the yacht, the past, everything.

The light touch of his hand behind her head vaguely registered as he lifted, and then his tongue slipped through the hole in the veil and into her mouth, sweet and demanding, sending a current of pleasure between her legs. She rubbed it with hers; suckled and tasted it until he broke the kiss, stiffened, and cried out. He pushed deep inside her and held still.

She couldn’t say how long it was before he lifted from her and tapped his cane on the cab roof.

She should move but she couldn’t even open her eyes; and really, how could anyone expect her to? The cab must be full of feathers. She’d clawed up angel wings in that white cloud of bliss and she was still floating back down to the bench. Back to a life that would now look entirely different.

Gentle hands worked to straighten her skirts.

There was no impetus to move. The firm but gentle administrations, adjusting her skirt, stroking her arm, small murmurs, were melting her on the inside with the soft kindness of it all. Even out of courtesy.

She wanted to say something, give something back.

“Thank you; that was most enlightening.” Heat immediately rushed up her face at the absurd whisper.

Idiot; she was keeping her eyes closed, perhaps for the rest of her life.

He laughed.

She was saved any more opportunity to make a fool of herself as the cab stopped. A wash of cool air flowed into the carriage as she heard Blue-eyes open the door to step out.

“Can you tell the cab to take me home; he has the address.”

“Of course, Lily.”

The cab dipped. She started to open her eyes, and was too slow. In three deft moves, he had the veil unpinned and removed.

She heard his sharp intake of breath.

His eyes were fierce when she opened hers, dark and turbulent, an unreadable chasm.

As her mouth opened to protest at taking off her veil, to ask him what was wrong, his finger pressed over her lips and his head shook,
no
.

Then he leaned back in.

Leaned over her placing his palms on either side of her face and kissed her as if he were wiping out every other kiss she had ever received. The hot pull of his mouth once again weakened her muscles.

Her hands slipped around him and tugged him closer.

He growled deep in his throat and left no room for her to do anything but surrender her mouth under his. Open up again to let him have her. Somehow, this felt more intimate; he was taking her, Miriam, not a stranger without a face.

They were panting when he slowly lifted his lips away from her. He kept his forehead pressed against hers, the heat of their breath filling the space. His thumbs slid over the skin of her cheeks. A caress that made unexpected heat threaten to well up in her eyes.

Then he stepped down again, placed the pins from her veil flat on her palm, and closed the carriage door.

The trip home was short. In reality, the driver could have driven in circles around greater London and she wouldn’t have known. She felt reborn; every cell had been blessed with pleasure of the Garden of Eden proportions.

Why hadn’t she known her body was capable of this? Had she known, she would have dedicated herself to its pursuit.

The image of her dead husband fucking the chorus girl in the vestibule rolled in front of her. Was that what he had been chasing? Then why had it been so hard with her?

It didn’t hurt anymore.

Those thoughts.

They had stung a few hours ago, but now there was no pain at all.

Instead, a hope sat in her chest like a perfect blue cornflower.

A man.

A wonderfully beautiful, strong, and gentle man had wanted her, had found pleasure with her; and more than that, he had given the same to her. For the first time in many years, life held promise.

A hope.

Something she could not yet articulate; it was still too deep, too close. Nevertheless, it was there. And it was blue. A beautiful Mediterranean blue that was soft and approving.

 Her bedroom door opened far too early the next morning.

“What time is it?” Her voice was a foreign, sultry scrape in the air as her maid walked in.

Miriam struggled up and leaned back on her elbows. Leaden stiffness lingered in the muscles of her arms and especially her legs. She moved them a little under the covers, and tight heaviness washed through her upper thighs and between her legs.

A glow blossomed across her chest and she grinned.

It had happened!

Unplanned, that was true, but she’d finally done it. Taken a leap to find passion.

She was now one-step closer to reclaiming herself from Freddy. He’d said she would never have sex with anyone after he finished with her. She’d worried about that, worried the shadow of him and what he’d done to her would always be right there. And he might have been there for a second or two; but only for a moment, and then she hadn’t thought about him until now.

Freddy had always underestimated her. If there was an afterlife she hoped he’d seen it all, powerless on his side of hell to do a damn thing to take it away from her.

Mary pulled back the drapes, and a blinding blast of light invaded the shady corners of the room.

“Argh!” Miriam flopped her face back into the pillow.

The moments passed. Soft sounds tugged at her to get up, the rustle of Mary’s skirts as she moved, water poured into a bowl, the pitcher placed on the dresser.

She wasn’t going to, she didn’t want to lift her head from the bedding for the rest of the day. No, she wanted to slip back into the cocoon of half sleep and dream, hold onto the delicious traces of pleasure lingering in her body.

And they were delicious. Small aches and a new awareness as the different parts of her told a tale of his touch, their need as they’d come together; the aftermath of muscles that had arched and strained, had contracted and relaxed.

One breath after another caught in the soft downy linen under her mouth. The skin around her lips warmed with each breath, just as it had as she’d panted into his jacket.

She’d clutched him so close, pressed her face into the rough fabric heating it with each gasp as he moved in her, knocking them into the back of the bench with each thrust.

Her teeth bit into the pillowcase; she wanted to do it all again.

“It’s almost noon, m’lady, and you left instructions to be woken.”

Ah yes, this torture was all her own fault. Miriam lifted her head squinting at the too cheerful light. The room was decorated in soft yellow brocades, which now glowed with brilliance as the sun ran its rays across every surface. The oriental wallpaper hugged the room in soft greens, offering climbing vines and bursting pink peonies as a chorus of blue winged birds flew across or nested in the landscape. No carriage bench, no worn leather, no sound of the old grinder rolling down the street as he whispered words of encouragement with every ragged moan she made was there.

“Food, Mary, I need food and hot chocolate.”

“They’re on the way.”

The door to her bedroom opened and the smell of buttery croissants, hot chocolate, and homemade apricot jam sidled into the room making her more than thankful she had hired a French cook with a passion for patisseries. A bed tray was settled over her legs as she knotted back her hair.

“I’ll need my green riding habit laid out, and ask Albert to have one of the gray mares saddled in an hour. Actually, Prancer, saddle Prancer.” She was in the mood for a spirited ride though Hyde Park.

“Yes m’lady.” Mary handed her a black rectangular box. “Mr. James said this came for you midmorning.”

A silver ribbon with a Harrods seal held a small cream envelope against the surface.

Miriam broke the shop seal and turned the envelope over in her hands.

No name.

Opening it, a clean crisp sheet of parchment slid out.

Her finger pressed between the stiff folds and spread it open.

The penmanship was full and sensuous.

I had to follow the cab, make sure you were safe.

Then I found myself unable to sleep with your torn veil sitting heavy on my dresser.

I hope you will accept this in its place.

Your Mechanic

Her heart suddenly beat hard.

Your m
echanic
.

She opened the box. Inside, the item was wrapped in tissue paper. She tore through it and found a beautiful black veil. Soft lace with a bold design of fern leaves. It would have cost him a small fortune.

An exquisite ripple ran through her. A substantial fortune for a working man. Her hand shook as she pulled it out and held it up. Beautiful. He had excellent taste.

Another card lay at the bottom of the box. It read:

Lily, every lesson needs to be reviewed. Wear my gift. Let me know you’ll see me again.

Her hands were still shaky as she placed the box and veil to the side and focused on her breakfast. Each morsel of food incomparable to her thoughts.

Last night in the carriage was her first taste of pleasure. She wanted verification, to see that what her body was telling her hadn’t been a figment of her imagination.

She’d floated in on a postcoital haze.

Her lips swollen and sore, her legs weak, and the air filled with the faint scent of musky damp as she undressed.

She’d stood naked in front of her full-length mirror and looked at her body for the first time in years. Red marks glowed where the buttons of his trousers had rubbed her inner thigh. Her breasts were full and heavy in her cupped hands. What would a man think; what would an appreciative man do with them?

The body very rarely showed its secrets. Nothing remained to show what her body had endured at the hands of her husband. No permanent mark could be seen. Her skin was still as pure and smooth as a bowl of cream, a color and luster other women looked on enviously.

The nightdress as it had slipped over her head and over her skin was a soft caress. An inferior echo of his.

“What are you doing?”

“Wet, Lily. I’m making you wet.”

The lace lay there, an invitation. She’d been brave enough last night, was she again?

“Mary.”

“Yes, m’lady.”

Her hand reached out, clasped around the corner of the black box, and lifted.

“I want you to arrange this veil on my riding hat. I want to wear it all day.”