Ghost of the Thames (17 page)

“How did you know they were
there?”

She shivered. “If I told you the truth
you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Perhaps we should try.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder,
bringing her closer. She fit against him perfectly, willingly,
resting her head against his chin.

“I will explain,” she said softly. “I
promise. But first I need to understand it myself. Everything is so
confusing. I have yet to find a connection between my past and the
places I go to in the middle of night.”

He pushed the hood of her cloak back
and ran his fingers along the line of her jaw. She melted into his
touch.

“Maybe we can understand it together,”
he replied. “After tonight, I cannot take you to an asylum, you
know.”

She pulled back just enough to smile
up at him, and Edward felt the warmth of it deep inside of him.
Annoyance, worry, relief, passion--she managed to expose a whole
spectrum of emotions in him. And he took it all in, amazed at how
she affected him.

“Thank you,” she said, moving back
against him. Her hand slipped inside his coat and rested against
his heart.

The gesture, however innocent, had a
violent effect on his body. His lips brushed against her brow. He
felt his reason being overpowered by physical need.

Suddenly, she drew her hand back.
“Your shirt is wet!”

“It is nothing.”

She stared at her fingers and then sat
up straight as she turned to face him. “This is blood. You were
hurt. You—”

“I tell you it’s really nothing. Just
a scratch.”

She pushed back his coat and pulled
the waistcoat away from his shirt. “This is not just a scratch. You
didn’t say a word. We need to get you a doctor.”

“No. Really. I’ve taken a look at it.
I’ve done more damage to my shirt than anything else.”

Her brow knotted and she took his chin
in her hand. “You are just being brave. I’m responsible for
this.”

He kissed her. She tried to pull back
and argue, but he kissed her again, more deeply this time, more
passionately. The moment she leaned into his touch, he lifted her
onto his lap and took possession of her mouth. He didn’t let her go
until he felt every layer of her reserve drop away. She was kissing
him back with as much fervor as he was feeling, and he broke off
the kiss.

“I am quickly losing any sense of
restraint,” he said, looking into eyes glazed with passion. “I know
I started this, but—”

“And I’m glad you did,” she whispered
against his lips.

She kissed him again. Her arms slid
upward, encircling his neck. Her breasts pressed against him, and
she placed soft kisses against his chin, on his lips. She ran her
fingers through his hair, her mouth moving to his ear, where she
tasted his earlobe. Her lips moved back to his mouth. She was
breathless and he was feeling it, too.

“Your kisses make me forget all that
is askew in my life. There is no better relief that I can ask for,
Captain.”

“Call me Edward,” he said, correcting
her. “I think we are well past ‘Captain’, wouldn’t you
agree?”

She pressed her lips against his
again, and he delved into the kiss, taking what she offered. His
hand moved up under her cloak, and he touched her breast through
the dress, kneading her firm flesh. She leaned into his touch, a
soft moan escaping her. His other hand slid down along her back
until he felt the curve of her hip. He brought her closer to his
hardness, pressing, making his intention known.

She tore her mouth free. Her eyes were
large and beautiful and were filled with uncertainty when they
looked into his. But she didn’t move off his lap.

“Actually, kissing
is
not
the best
relief,” he told her.

The burning color in her cheeks hinted
at the fire that he knew was burning in her. And he wanted to be
the wind that fanned that flame.

“I am afraid.”

“Not of me, I hope.” His lips began
feasting on her neck. His hand roamed the front of the dress again
and found her breast, teasing the nipple that was rising to his
touch, even through the layers of cloth.

“No. It is not you that I fear.” Her
lips moved back to his mouth, and she kissed him again, this time
using the tip of her tongue, encouraging him. Her innocent play
caused the fire in his loins to rage. Instantly, whatever good
intentions he’d had, they were gone and forgotten. The decision
he’d made earlier of not touching her, for fear of complications,
was now cast to the wind. Starved to have more of her, he slipped
his tongue into her mouth, tasting, searching.

He pulled at the hem of her skirt and
reached under it. He caressed her calf and thigh and moved past the
stockings. She gasped with surprise when his hand came in contact
with her silken skin.

The carriage slowly rolled to a stop.
Breathless, they broke off the kiss, and she scrambled off his lap.
He smiled to see her sitting across from him, hurriedly trying to
pull her clothing back to some sense of order. Edward turned his
gaze out the window to the quiet street in Soho.

“I would not complain if you were to
invite me upstairs,” he said.

“Someone needs to see to your
wound.”

“You can look at it for
me.”

“But I am no medical
expert.”

He understood the subtle meaning
behind her words. Whether she remembered her past or not, Edward
could tell she felt that she was inexperienced with men. Still, he
was not ready to let her go.

“You are the one I need. You are the
only one who can cure what afflicts me.”

There was a moment of hesitation, and
then she stretched her hand out to him. He took it and kissed her
fingers.

“I hope you won’t be
disappointed.”

He pressed his mouth to her palm,
tasting her. “Disappointment is nothing we need to be concerned
with now.”

Outside the carriage, Sophy waited by
the door as Edward sent his driver away. As he approached her,
Edward could see the hesitation in her eyes, but her grip was firm
as she slipped her arm into his.

Dawn was not far off, and the
household was asleep as they made their way up the stairs to her
lodgings. Inside her rooms, he locked the door, and leaned his back
against it, watching her.

She took her time, moving around and
lighting half a dozen candles. He noticed she struggled with the
ribbons of the cloak and made a production of putting it away. She
was avoiding his eyes.

He laid his hat and cloak aside, and
had to fight the urge of simply picking her up and carrying her off
to bed. He would like nothing more than to continue where they left
off in the carriage. But he wanted Sophy to make the choice. He
wanted her to come to him.

“Can I, perhaps, get you some wine?”
she finally faced him from across the room. “Or I can go to the
kitchen and prepare some tea.”

“No wine. No tea.”

She started. “Oh, no! Your wound. You
came up here for me to see to it.”

He decided not to correct her as to
why he had come up.

She drew a chair out from the table.
“Come and sit here where there is some light. I will get towels and
water to wash the wound.”

While she was gone, Edward removed his
jacket and waistcoat and tie. Pulling his shirt out of his
trousers, he didn’t peel it off. The garment was covered in blood
down the left side. He looked under the cloth. When the villain in
the warehouse had attacked, he’d struck Edward a glancing blow with
his whip. The butt of the cutlass hilt to the head had finished the
fight, though, quickly enough. He could see that the cut had
already stopped bleeding.

Sophy came back into the room carrying
a bowl of water and some towels. Her gaze fell upon his open shirt,
and she hesitated. “Please sit.”

Edward did as he was told. He watched
her slowly approach, thinking this could be the best foreplay he’d
ever engage in before making love to a woman.

“Can you take your shirt
off?”

Edward did as he was told, making it
look as painful as possible.

She put her supplies on the table. She
picked up a towel, shook it loose, and refolded it again. She was
standing close enough that he could pull her onto his lap. He knew
there would be no slowing down, however, if he did that.

“It will be difficult to tend to this
wound if you are not going to look at it.”

She soaked one of the towels in the
water and wrung it out before turning to him. The prettiest blush
covered her face and neck. She was trying hard to focus only on his
chest. He saw her eyes narrow with alarm.

“What is this?” she asked surprised,
noticing the star-shaped scar on his shoulder.

“Old bullet wound.”

“And this?” she touched a long white
scar that crossed his bicep.

“A Frenchman’s sword.”

She frowned and turned her attention
to his current wound. Taking a deep breath, she gingerly pressed
the wet towel against the cut. He winced exaggeratedly.

“Oh, I am so sorry. Did I hurt you
badly?”

He smiled at her.

“That’s not funny,” she scolded,
wetting another towel and washing off the dried blood around the
cut.

He could joke all he wanted, but her
feathery touch on his skin was driving Edward to the edge. He
watched the rise and fall of her breast above the neckline of the
dress. He admired the loose tendrils of hair dancing around her
face. He thought of a thousand places on her body where he wanted
to put his lips.

“You are right. This cut is not too
bad, at all.”

He didn’t want her to stop. “You never
can be too careful, though. A slashing wound like that can be very
dangerous if it isn’t cleaned properly.”

“No. In fact, I don’t believe it even
needs a dressing.”

“But what about where it cut my
back?”

Her eyes widened. “Your back? Why
didn’t you tell me? Let me see.”

As she tried to pull him forward, he
moved his legs, trapping her between them.

Leaning against him, she looked up
into his face, aware of her dilemma. “You’re lying.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You should put your shirt back on.”
Her voice had suddenly grown husky.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because . . . "Her free hand traced a
muscle on his neck down to his shoulder and chest. Her breathing
was uneven. “Your bare chest is a distraction.”

Taking the towel, he tossed it onto
the table. He took her by the waist and brought her closer to him.
“Now that you have me nearly undressed, where do we go from
here?”

In answer, she leaned down and kissed
him with such enthusiasm that Edward lost every ounce of
self-control. He wanted her. He would have her.

He pushed himself to his feet with
enough force that the chair went tumbling backward. Reaching for
Sophy, he lifted her into his arms. Her lips trailed soft kisses on
his neck and face as he carried her into the bedroom.

“Undressing me is not as simple,” she
told him when he put her down on her feet next to the
bed.

“The treasure is well worth the
effort.” He turned her around and started undoing the buttons. One
of them popped off, a victim of his impatience. Then another one,
this time yanked off.

He pressed his lips to her skin the
moment her bare shoulders come to view. She leaned back against
him, turning and raising her mouth to be kissed.

Taking the corset off was too much
work. Laughter bubbled out of her as he struggled to free her of
the garment, cursing profanely all the while.

“I believe you took less time to fight
the men at the warehouse than it will take you to undress
me.”

“Is that a challenge?” He yanked open
the corset and dropped it at her feet with the dress. The
petticoats followed. Left wearing only a chemise, she leaned into
his chest again, rewarding him with another kiss.

“Is this when you lecture me, wish me
good night, and leave?”

He turned her around, captured her
hands, and held them both behind her in one of his. “Do you want me
to leave?”

He looked hungrily into her shining
eyes and flushed face, at the stretch of ivory skin descending to
her full breasts. The dark tips strained against the thin
fabric.

“No,” she whispered.

He pushed the chemise down from her
shoulders, exposing her breasts. His mouth descended and closed
over her nipple, and she cried out softly.

Edward’s control hovered at the very
edge. He stripped the last layers of clothing from her body and
gently laid her down on the bed. She was flushed and shivering with
anticipation.

As he stood over her, she modestly
placed an arm over her breasts, her other hand covering the
triangle of dark curls.