Mistress at Midnight(19)

'You think me a traitor and yet you paid for the restoration of my pendant?'

'I am old enough to realise the world does not deal in only black and  white and that grey is a colour subject to much interpretation. I would  like to hear how it is you know Delsarte?'

'He was a friend of my husband's. He came religiously to the parties at Medlands. He is also an opium addict.'

Shocking. He could see it in her face, the crawl of truth and the caution of betrayal.

'Were you at these parties?'

'Once. The first night. Before I understood exactly … '

She did not go on, the silence about them pulsing with intent.

Finally she spoke again. 'It is my opinion that you came to the  warehouse in Park Street because you believe there is some illicit  business being carried on from those premises. I do not know who sent  you there, but it may be prudent on my behalf to suggest we make a deal,  my lord. If you could find it in yourself to acknowledge that there is  no nefarious activity in my small silk business, I could offer in  payment the promise of a letter that would bring to light the truth of  your cousin's death.'

'God, Aurelia.'

There was something in what she said that did not make any sense, though  he couldn't at this moment fathom quite what it was. Her pulse was  hammering in her throat, but she did not give an inch, her gaze full  upon him. 'As Charles's cousin I do think you have the right to know the  circumstances of his demise and the grey you spoke of a moment ago can  be evident even in murder.' Her voice shook and he saw her swallow, her  tongue wetting dry lips. Desperately trying to regain given ground, he  suspected, and failing.                       
       
           



       

An ache he had never felt before wound into his chest and shock left him  rigid. Was she admitting to both treason and murder? An unexpected  tenderness welled within him, enveloping the will to move away.

How did she do this to him so very easily, make him want to protect her  and keep her safe? From everyone, even given such damning revelations?

She had as many problems as he did and that was saying something. The  very thought made him sad, the isolation of her at complete odds with  the words that she uttered. There was no rationality in it, of course,  no earthly reason that the attraction between them should shimmer and  scorch above Queen and country and justice. But it did, and so brightly  that desperation crawled up his arm in shock.

He wanted her. She could feel the need between them. He wanted her  exactly as she wanted him, like an anchor, like a touchstone, like the  only person in the whole world who might understand that in tragedy  there was sometimes also a glimmer of hope.

For the first time in her life she wondered what might happen were she  to put herself first and simply enjoy, but with so many people to  protect and so little time to do it she needed to make him understand  exactly what she was saying.

'I need immunity from any prosecution, my lord, and you intimated at  Hookham's library that you were attracted to me. Perhaps in that we  might both find a solution.'

He stepped back, anger on his brow. She noticed how he pulled his jacket  from the hanger by the door and shrugged into it, the long tails  reaching almost to his shins. He did not want her? He had not been  expecting any such admission?

An error! She had made a huge error for the green-gold in his eyes was  changed into dangerous amber, any civility still evident simmering under  darkness.

'Surely we are adult enough to realise that the world is often not  exactly as it might seem, my lord, and that there are times when the  expedience of opportunity might serve us both. I am not an inexperienced  green girl, you understand, and you are a man, no doubt, who has  enjoyed the company of women.' It was all she could dredge up in the  awkward silence, though when he motioned for her to stop she saw that  she had lost him.

'The act of loving between a woman and a man is badly done when it is  linked so precisely to dishonour, Mrs St Harlow.' His hand shook more  than it usually did and he jammed it into his pocket away from notice.

'These might be fine words, Lord Hawkhurst, when one has the choice of exploring different options.' Fury crept into her reply.

'And you think that you do not?'

'I know it.'

'So it is only your body that lies between survival or ruin?'

'Indeed, my sisters might say thus were they to know of your tender.'

Unexpectedly he laughed, the sound echoing about the dark spaces of the  room. 'Your sisters? Your father? It is for them that you do this? Who  is it that looks out for you, then, when you have need for some  succour?' Now all humour was gone completely.

The question had her turning away because in just those few words he had understood what she had tried so hard to hide.

No one.

She had always been alone. Fighting, trying, hobbling into each  successive day with the weight of the world on her shoulders and no hope  at all of being rid of any of it. Until his promise of help had thrown  her with its bright and buoyant hope; a golden troth that had changed  everything and now seemed gone.

She hated how expectation made a mockery of morality and when Stephen  Hawkhurst held her to the spot with a quick grab of her hand she did her  best to shrug him off, short nails digging into the flesh of his wrist.  She did not try to be careful or gentle. All she wanted was the cold  anger of force, dragging between them, punctuating the impotence and  weakness that was her life so far, never in control.

And now another humiliation, more complete than ever before because even  with such a simple touch she knew that she had never wanted anyone as  much as she wanted Stephen Hawkhurst. Her right hand slapped hard  against his arm as she tried to get away.

He bundled her close in self-defence, holding her fists and tethering  her to him. The breath between them mingled, harsh and quick, the warmth  of it like a sting.

'I tend to myself.' She would not allow the ease of tears she felt  pooling in the back of her eyes. Nay, she writhed at the horror of him  seeing such feminine inadequacy, though as his knee came firm between  her thighs she understood exactly what she had not before.

He could take her with or without an agreement here in his house at  dusk, the solid door shut tight against intrusion and not a soul  cognisant of her whereabouts, save a servant who was in his employ. The  chaise longue stood just behind them and his glance flicked to the  possibility.                       
       
           



       

'No one looks after you, damn it, Aurelia. Every problem your family has  is laid at your doorstep for a solution and another few months of such  worries will finish you off. You want to be serviced merely for the  chance of your sisters' happiness. You want to give me your body for  cold hard cash and an exchange of nothing. Where in that is your  satisfaction, or have you played the martyr for so very long you now  enjoy the state of suffering Charles made such an art form of?'

He pushed against her, his manhood ripe, the stretch of maleness  piercing shock. A dangerous man full of promise and peril. Every part of  him was menacing.

'I do not understand … ' she began and tipped her face to his, the  onslaught of her words stopped by the movement. There was never a  chance, she thought later in her room at home, when the memories of the  evening returned to leave her sleepless and unsteady, never a chance  when a woman like her could have held back the appetite of a lord  renowned for getting exactly what he wanted and when he wanted it.

His mouth slid across her own, moulding her face closer with his hands  so that the breath he gave her was his, teeth tugging against her lower  lip. Pain had its own particular lust after all, she thought, as she  pressed forwards to find the promise and the heat.

She knew her bodice was loosened, knew that with only a little effort  her breasts could slip from their tether and be in his hands. and she  wanted that, the forbidden avidity which was such a far cry from her  work-weary and ordered world.

When would another chance like this one ever arise, the years of her  youth stealing by at an ever faster rate and no end in view for any of  it? Leaning forwards she let him see exactly what she had on offer and  did not look away as his fingers dipped across her throat and came down  beneath soft lawn.

Lord, but she was good, the taste of her like some fine wine left in a  cellar for years untended and undiscovered, breasts beneath his fingers  firm and high and generous. He felt the bodice lower as he tugged at it  hard, and then the thin chemise fell away before the warmth of woman was  upon him, her nipples rigid, budded and proud.

He was not careful as he pinched such bounty and felt her draw in  breath. He was not kind as he broke away from the kiss and covered the  gift with his mouth, suckling as he turned tension into compliance.