The Solemn Bell (26 page)

“Be patient,” he said, pressing his lips to her chest. “No need to rush tonight.”

Her useless eyes searched the darkness of her world. “But I want—”

“I want, too. But you deserve to be made love to, Angelica, for the first time in your life.”

She nodded. Yes, she did deserve that. After everything they’d been through together, she was no longer just his mistress. She was his lover. His beloved. She wanted—if only this once—to know what that felt like.

He kissed all around her breasts, finally drawing one nipple into his mouth. He tugged on it with his teeth and tongue until the other ached. She pressed her own hand to her chest, rolling the neglected nipple between her fingertips. Seeing this, Captain Neill switched sides, alternating between breasts until Angelica grew dizzy. All the while, the one place he should be giving all of his attention went untouched.
 

She didn’t understand.

When she’d lain with her lover, or offered herself up to Captain Neill, both men had rushed to push inside her. That was sex, a man’s member thrusting into her. Why was he taking his sweet time? Didn’t he want to come?

Groaning in frustration, Angelica dragged his hand from her bosom and pressed it between her thighs. She had never needed to be made love to so badly. Her body trembled with wanting.
 

Captain Neill laughed softly as he stroked her. He knew she was impatient. He was making her wait…for what?

He pressed one long finger inside her, then two. He stroked upward, rocking against her. Angelica felt her hips lift up from the mattress. His tender touch was torture. She burned hot, and felt cold. Her breasts ached, so she squeezed them. Perspiration pooled at the base of her spine.

She whimpered, and he asked, “Is that it—right there?”

He stroked once more, just to be sure. His fingertips flexed and pressed against a place that made her tremble all over. When he asked a second time, Angelica nodded. She couldn’t find her words.

Captain Neill eased himself between her slackened thighs. He slid into her with none of the usual resistance. There was no bite of pain as he found his mark. How odd. She was suddenly so very slick and wet.

He moved with her, seeming to reach the perfect rhythm right away. Her hips rose to meet him, thrust for thrust. She pulled up her knees, resting her heels on his pumping backside. He inched deeper, again finding that strange, inner spot she liked, and she cried out.

She clamped her hand over her mouth. She’d moaned like a whore. The sound of her own pleasure was vulgar and wanting. Captain Neill eased her hand from her face. “Scream it, if you like. They’ll never hear you over the music.”

As he plunged into her, keeping the same slow, pointed rhythm, Captain Neill took her palm, and placed it against his own face. He wanted her to see what she was doing to him. For the first time, he wanted her to see
him.

Angelica’s thumb traced his bottom lip. His mouth was open, panting. Her fingers caressed his strong nose, and firm jaw. The dimple on his chin. The tiny, puckered scar near his temple, and his sweat-dampened brow, where his hair flopped over to feather her knuckles.
 

“Sweet Angelica.” He nuzzled her hand.
 

She felt love in her heart, and warmth between her legs. She sensed her own pleasure building. Knowingly, Captain Neill rocked right where she needed him the most. As his hips purposefully ground against hers, Angelica felt something unfurl within. She knew it—she’d driven herself there before—but never like this.

She felt no shame. No desperation. This time, when she called his name out into the blackness, he was there.

Angelica let orgasm wash over her. Captain Neill followed a moment later, sobbing into her palm.

She’d never dreamed it would be like this. That, after all the mistakes, the betrayals, she could still feel wholesome. What they had done tonight did not feel naughty. It did not feel cheap or sordid. Despite the fact that she’d just come hard against the man inside her, Angelica felt pure.
 

She laughed. What a ridiculous way to feel at a time like this.

Yet, Captain Neill seemed to understand her secret. “I told you it would be beautiful.”

Perhaps he, too, felt made anew.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

She stroked her hands lovingly over his shoulders, and down his arms, but stopped when she encountered the puncture marks. Brody had almost forgot they were there—the last reminders of his morphine addiction. He watched her fingertips explore the raised, darkened scars that would likely never fade. His heart sank. What had he done to himself?
 

He swallowed back the shame. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

“Not for me, surely…”

She shook her head. “I’m only sorry that you suffered. That your life before was so miserable this was the only way you could cope.”

“Things are better now.”

“Yes, they are.” Angelica smiled. Her blank, blue eyes sparkled, and Brody knew she was truly happy.
He
had made someone happy, just by being himself—tortured, imperfect soul that he was. She reached up to trace the smile on his lips. “I do love you so very much.”

He kissed her fingers. “And I love you. So very much.” Brody talked while she touched him. “You know I never intended to give you up. I thought I could, and there were moments when I wanted to, but my heart would never let me. I could have walked away that night and left you to suffer, and yet, I bundled you into my car.”

“And you took me shopping, and brought me here…”

“I was stalling, you see. Pathetic, really.” He laughed. “I was jealous, but I knew I had no right to be. Loving you did not automatically make you mine. I wanted you so badly, yet I did not think you wanted me.”

Angelica’s fingers danced on his chin. “I didn’t know. I was too inexperienced to understand.”

“Sweet, innocent girl. You’ve done a lot of growing up.”

She laughed. “So have you!”

Brody laughed, too. “It seems we’ve both come a long way these past few months.”

“There are times when it feels like the night of your accident happened to a different person. As if I wasn’t there at all.”

“Well, I’m terribly glad you were. I owe you my life, Angelica.” He would never stop telling her how grateful he was for her bravery that night. For her strength, months later. And, Brody hoped, for her love over the years. She truly was his guardian angel.

He clutched her to his chest. After a long, quiet moment, he confessed, “I’ve never done that before—made love. In the past, it was always a transaction. Always a means to an end. You’re the first person to have sex with me for
me
, and not for dope, or money, or anything.

“I was worried that I wouldn’t be any good at it—I’m not generally. You see, whores don’t care. They only want it to be over with as quickly as possible. And the others just want their pipe or their needle. They know whatever pleasure they find within the exchange is nothing compared to what will follow.”

She bolted upright. “Morphine is better than sex?”

Laughing, Brody pulled her back down on top of him. “With you? No. Never.”

At that, she purred like a kitten. “Well, for two people who had never made love, or been made love to, I think we did rather a good job of it.”

“Oh, yes. Rather.” Honestly, he couldn’t have imagined anything better, yet every time he made love with Angelica was somehow better than the last.
 

Angelica dipped her face to plant a tender kiss over his heart. “Brody…I’ve been thinking about something for a while now. I’ll understand if you don’t feel comfortable answering, but I still have to ask. After everything you’ve told me about your past, about the drugs, and the whores, and finding pleasure in sex acts you were ashamed of…”

He braced himself for the worst. She’d finally put the puzzle together. Finally realized his what dirtiest secret was—
who
his dirtiest secret was—and could no longer stomach such a weak, used-up man.

“…Well, remember when you returned to my house and found out that I’d been with another man? You told me a sorrowful tale of dealers prostituting women who traded their bodies for drugs. You said that giving my body away was no better, that it made it a cheap thing.”

She turned her brilliant blue eyes upward. “But I never felt that way, and now I understand why. When you accused me of cheapening myself by taking lovers, you weren’t talking about me at all. You were really talking about
yourself
.”

For a moment, he had trouble finding his voice. He’d sworn those sightless eyes could look into his soul, and he was right. She knew his dirty secret, and she did not care.
 

“Oh, Angelica. I didn’t want you to make the same mistakes I did. I wanted you to stay pure and sweet so no one could ever do to you the things they did to me.”

She found his lips and kissed them. “No one will ever hurt you again.”

“I think I’m supposed to say that to you…”

“Who says it doesn’t matter,” she said, smiling. “We have each other now. Our past is not important. From tonight on, we can only move forward. Day by day, Brody. You and me. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

He lifted his head off the pillow to kiss her smiling face. “Wonderful, indeed. I can hardly wait to discover what the future has in store for us.”

How extraordinary to even contemplate such a thing as
the future.
 

Not so very long ago, his life was empty. His heart was empty. If some fortune teller would have told him he’d one day have a woman who loved him and possibly even a family of his own, Brody would have laughed. Then, he probably would have cried, because that was a Heaven on Earth he dared not even dream of.

It was almost too much to contemplate, even now. He kept wanting to check his back to see if the Devil was catching him up. Surely, this was all a mistake. This life was meant for some other, more worthy fellow. For what had Broderick Neill done to deserve such a paradise?

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

“Brody! I’m glad I caught you.” Marcus limped over—his bad leg must have hurt, which was understandable, given the amount of work he’d put in last night, playing host and nannying Mary Rose.

He smiled. “Good morning, Markie. What’s up?”

“I’ve got something for you.” Marcus motioned for his brother to follow him. They crossed the corridor, and stepped into the library.

There was an overturned vase of flowers dripping onto the carpet, and a few misplaced champagne glasses, but the room was surprisingly clean despite the guests crammed in the night before.

Marcus went to a writing desk, took a key out of his pocket, and unlocked one of the drawers. He pulled out a stack of papers, and then handed them over.

Brody blinked down at them. They were, for the most part, hastily handwritten notes. He recognized his brother’s scrawl. “What’s all this?”

“Remember how I offered to look into Angelica’s situation? Well, I’ve done some digging.”

“When did you have time?”

His brother leaned back on the desk, giving his prosthetic leg a rest. “I…uh…called in some favors yesterday.”

So that’s where the chap had been all afternoon. “On a bloody Saturday?” Brody laughed. “From who, Stanley Baldwin himself?”

Marcus shrugged. “The perks of being a war hero.”

The papers trembled in his hands. He couldn’t bring himself to read them just now. “What do they say?”

“She’s certainly telling the truth. Her father died in the flu pandemic. Her brother, Lieutenant Frederick Grey, copped it at Amiens. As for the mother, there is no record of anything. It’s as if the poor woman disappeared off the face of the earth.”

Brody’s heart ached for Angelica. She really was all alone.

“There is an estate,” Marcus continued, “which she would be entitled to. It’s not much, but her inheritance should support her comfortably. And you, of course, if that’s still the plan.”

He looked up. “What do you mean?”

“The possibility of an income—her income—adds an entirely new dynamic to your relationship. You’d be the kept man, wouldn’t you?”

Oh, God. Instead of him taking Angelica as his mistress, all along she’d been the one with the money. It put a bad taste in Brody’s mouth. “What if she won’t have me?”

Marcus smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure she will.”

“I don’t know…Angelica can afford to be picky now.”

“Ah, not quite. It’s not as simple as all that. There will be inquests. Probate. Paying taxes, settling any debts. This sort of thing can take years to sort out.”

“She doesn’t have years. Christ,
I
don’t have years!”

“Be patient, Brody. I’ll do my best to help in any way I can, and we’ll get it all sorted. Then you’ll have something to show Father. He’ll be impressed.”

When Angelica inherited, he would not need Father’s approval. He would no longer need the old man’s damned allowance. Brody’s future bride was an heiress.

“Can’t I show him this?” He held up the papers. “You’ve been very thorough, Markie. Surely, this is proof enough for the old man.”

“It’s a gamble. What if there are other beneficiaries? What if there’s a will, and Angelica isn’t even mentioned? Take that to Father now, and he will laugh you out of the room.”

“What am I to do with Angelica until then? I don’t want to lose her.”

“Well, that’s the rub, isn’t it—how to keep Angelica and your allowance until the money comes through?”

Brody sagged down onto the sofa—the same sofa he’d taken her on, only a few nights before. He loved her too much to watch her suffer, but what if there was a baby? He could never force the woman who should be his wife to raise a child out of wedlock, all because he valued money over responsibilities. “Markie…”

“I understand how hard this is, but, for once in your life, play the long game.” Marcus tapped his gold signet ring against his wooden leg.
Tap Tap Tap
through his wool trousers. He always did that when he was annoyed. “I wish I hadn’t told you. I should have kept it to myself until you were ready.”