The Solemn Bell (7 page)

But he’d never do that. What Miss Grey had, untouched, between her thighs was sacred to him. He could no more defile her here—now—than he could reach up and touch the hand of God.
 

He was a gentleman, after all.
 

The realization came as a shock.

“Miss Grey…” he cleared his throat.

She moved toward him in the darkness. In an instant, she was there before him, lifting her ghost-white hand to his warm, dampened chest. Christ, his heart raced at her touch. He nearly had a fit as she snaked around his neck, threading her fingertips in his thick, rumpled hair, to guide his face down to meet hers.

Brody stalled at the last second. “We mustn’t…”

Her breath was hot on his lips. “I don’t care.”

“But I’m sick.”

“I don’t care.” She pressed their mouths together. She’d never kissed anyone before—he felt certain of it—but that did not make it any less enjoyable.
 

Spurred on by her encouragement, Brody opened his mouth, deepening the kiss. As their lips danced, he slid his hands to her waist, pressing her body against him. This girl was no automaton. She felt very much alive.

“Miss Grey,” he whispered against her lips.

“For God’s sake, call me Angelica. I haven’t heard my name in years.”

“Angelica.” Her name was like a balm to his heart, and a bucket of icy water over his head.

Brody pulled away in shock. He’d gone too far with her already, taking liberties while they were trapped together in her kitchen. Although she had instigated it, he did not want her to feel she had to go through with anything simply because she had nowhere to run.

“This isn’t a good time,” he confessed, untangling her fingers from his hair.

Her blank, blue eyes stared at his chin.

“Angelica, we are barred in your kitchen, on the run from the Devil himself. We’ll both be damned if we take things any further.” When she still didn’t seem to comprehend, he added, “You might think you want it now, but you won’t after I’m through with you. It would be a mistake. I’m not at my best, just now. I’d make a poor showing, and if it’s going to be your first time, I’d rather you not look back on it as a disappointment.”

 
She almost smiled. “So it is vanity that keeps you from me?”

“Fear, mostly. You are terrifying, Angelica Grey. You make me quake.”

Now, she laughed. The sound was sweet and husky. “All right, Captain Neill. You win. I suppose I’ll just have to make do with my first and only kiss. So, thank you for that, at least. It was wonderful.”

***

The kiss had been wonderful.
He
had been wonderful.
 

Angelica thought back to the urgent, lustful couples who visited her home. Without seeing the sexual act, she had no idea what it entailed, but, from the impassioned moans and whispered encouragements, she didn’t think those girls left regretting the thing they’d done.

She sank down onto her pallet by the stove. Now that she was safe and warm, she grew drowsy. Her exchange with Captain Neill had drained her. And, even though she was a grown-up, she’d stayed up far past her bedtime. Truthfully, seduction was fast becoming the last thing on her mind. The need for sleep was paramount.

“You’re welcome to join me,” she said, spreading the tattered blanket across her body.

He stood over her. “I won’t sleep tonight. But, I’ll lay with you if you promise to keep your hands to yourself.”

Angelica laughed. “You’re safe from me, Captain Neill.”

Sinking down onto the pallet beside her, he said, “If I’m to call you Angelica, then you must surely call me Brody.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t.”
 

He snuggled up behind her. “Why not?”

“Because it is not how I was brought up.”

His arms encircled her, wrapping her in a tight embrace. His body felt so large compared to hers. He could snap her like a twig, if he wished to. It was both a frightening and disturbingly arousing prospect.

“If you’re woman enough to consider taking a lover, you ought to be woman enough to call a man by his Christian name. Mine happens to be Broderick—but anyone who knows me calls me Brody.”

It had not occurred to her that he had friends, family, and a world outside these walls. He had a life, completely separate from hers. One that, in about five hours, he would return to.

Captain Broderick Neill was no cad. He wasn’t going to deflower a girl he never intended to see again. In her heart, she knew that was his reason for turning her down. He was not coming back. There would be no ‘next time’.

If he did not want her precious gift of virginity, in seven more years, another man would come along. Perhaps
he
would be more amenable.
 

Too bad for Captain Neill, who’d missed his chance.

She liked being in his arms, though. She’d been denied human contact for so long. It was the sweetest blessing to simply lay with him, to feel his firm chest against her back, and his warm breath on her neck. She felt safe. She felt treasured. If their friendship never led to anything more, Angelica was grateful for these few uninterrupted moments of bliss.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Holding Angelica Grey was the sweetest torture. Knowing he could have her—knowing she wanted him just as desperately—yet denying them both the connection they craved, wrecked him. It was damned bad timing for his conscience to suddenly make an appearance. Miss Grey was not the sort of girl one took rudely on a kitchen floor. Certainly not on the first night.
 

She deserved a bed, with clean sheets and soft, feather tick.
 

She deserved a ring on her finger.
 

These days, people so rarely got what they deserved. Instead, they had to make shift with what they could get, and somehow look for happiness—or, rather, contentment—in their meagre lot. He was no worthy husband for her, though Brody felt, with every passing moment, that he was falling in love with her.
 

He wanted to love her. To hope that she could love him just a little. To believe that he did not have to face his life alone. But, if he was going to love her, to be worthy of her, he could not be sick anymore.

Brody was going to have to do the one thing he dreaded. And he was going to have to do it on his own.

Brushing her dark hair off her shoulder, he pressed his lips to her neck. “Angelica.”

She stirred. “Hmm?”

“You know I’m going to have to leave soon.”

“Is it morning?”

He kissed her again. “Almost.”

“Then I wish this night would never end.”

“Me, too.” Brody eased her onto her back. He fanned his hand across her cheek, trailed her jawline, and then sloped down her soft, white neck. He felt a vein pulse in her throat, rhythmically reminding him how long it had been since his last injection. He’d been a slave to the morphine for too long. Now, he wanted to be enslaved by
her.
“I will come back.”

Her translucent blue eyes bore into him as she whispered, “You don’t have to make that promise.”

“It’s the only one I’ve ever made that I honestly intend to keep.”

She smiled, sadly. “Well then, you know where to find me.”

Brody kissed her squarely on the mouth. She did not believe him, and it broke his heart. He needed to convince her that this wasn’t some passing infatuation. He had to prove that his commitment was real, otherwise, she might not wait forever.

He tugged at her bottom lip with his teeth, urging her to open her mouth. When she did, he touched his tongue to hers.

She moaned at the sensation, and he nearly died. How could he leave such a woman? Although she lived in perpetual darkness, his shadow-angel burned with passion. She did not deserve to be hidden, to be denied a full, love-rich life. Not only was he going to return to her, but he was going to take her away from this place.

For the moment, though, he wanted to make her spark.
 

He broke their kiss to trail his lips down her throat, nipping at the sensitive place where her pulse raced. Angelica arched up against him, gasping as teeth met tender flesh. Shocked, she clamped her own hand to her mouth.

Brody dragged it away. She had been quiet for too long. If she wanted to cry out, then—by God—she should do it. She could scream the rafters down for all he cared.

He brought her trembling hand to his lips. After reverently kissing each fingertip, he placed it on his shoulder for support. He wanted her to touch him. He
needed
her to touch him, if only to anchor him to the blankets beside her.

She fisted the fabric of his shirt. “Oh, Captain Neill.”

The need in her voice spurred him on. This woman had been neglected for too long. He refused to let her pass one more night believing she was alone in the world.

Brody kissed her again, hard. His lips were bruising and insistent. She opened her mouth, and he invaded her. Claimed her. He dipped his tongue to touch hers. She tasted warm and sweet. They were both starved for one another.

“Angelica,” he panted her name.

He’d been sick for so long that he hardly had the strength to go on. His arm shook where it supported his weight. Perspiration pooled at his temples, and along the dampened collar of his shirt. His heart pounded so hard that his head began to ache. But, if he had a coronary attack and died, he’d go to Hell a happy man.

Brody dragged his hand down the bodice of her dress. The thing was old—likely, from before the war—and might have once been deep, ebony black. Years of washing had faded it and worn the fabric thin. He could feel the slight rise of her breasts, the sharp ridges of her ribs, and the soft dip toward her navel. She was slender by nature, but a diet of fruit and foraged vegetables left her with precious little meat on her bones.

The first thing he would do when he returned was bring her something to eat. Second would be to buy her a new dress. Then he would get her a proper bed, and a proper ring, and do the honorable thing. For now, they would both have to make do.

When his hand passed her waist, her thighs drifted open. As he darted his fingertips between her legs, her blank eyes went wide. Brody watched her fight the instinct of self-preservation telling her to protect her virtue. He half expected her to stop him. Yet, she did not.
 

Instead, she grabbed his hand and pressed it firmly against her. He began to circle his fingers. Around and around, in a slow, steady rhythm. Angelica rolled her hips and arched her back, all the while clinging to his shoulder. Even through her skirts, Brody felt the heat radiating off her body. She burned with a need that he prayed was only for him. He wanted to be the only man to give her pleasure. To feel her hips buck, and watch those heavenly blue eyes roll back in her head. To be the one name that she called as she came.

“Wait for me, Angelica,” he whispered in her ear. “Promise that you’ll wait for me.”

Brody pushed his fingertips against her one final time, anchoring her to the pallet as her orgasm broke. She gasped, and then shuddered, before finally crying out, “I’ll wait.”

***

The cold, blue light of dawn crept through the narrow kitchen windows. Brody held Angelica in his arms, kissing her and petting her as if she were his own, treasured sweetheart. She’d slept a little after their exchange, but mostly, she’d asked questions. He’d done his best to educate her, blushing, laughing, and stammering his way through a lesson in female anatomy.

He liked that she was ignorant. He loved that, aside from the pleasure he’d given her, she was pure. His only regret came when he’d confessed how
he
knew about ladies’ bodies. Angelica had not shunned him. She had only listened as he told her about his girl back at university, of the French brothels during the war, and the desperate, opium-addicted women he eventually came to know.

Brody could have lied to her, but she needed to hear the truth. His past was not a dead thing he could bury. It lived within him, threatening to rear its ugly head at any moment. When that dreaded moment came, he did not want Angelica to be surprised. If she was going to help him survive it, she must know every last thing about him.

When he finally finished his sorry tale, she raised her lips to kiss him. “Thank you.”

He tried to smile. “For which part?”

“Oh, all of it. I feel like a new woman. My eyes have been opened—figuratively—and I owe it all to you.”

Brody threaded his fingertips through her inky, black hair. He’d known her for eight or nine hours, yet he could not bear the thought of leaving her. He would miss her soft hair, her husky laugh, and those haunting sea glass eyes that seemed to see only his soul. “I’m glad we found each other.”

“That sounds an awful lot like good-bye.”

“Hold on a little longer, Angelica,” he said. “I have some things to sort out. Besides…you promised to wait for me.” He grinned down at her. Brody knew she couldn’t see his smile, but she could hear it in his words, and feel it in his racing heartbeat.
 

Angelica covered her cheeks with her hands, blushing. “I did, didn’t I?”

Such a sweet, innocent girl. He’d been living in rot and sin for so long that he’d almost forgot good people like her still existed. Her maidenly modesty thrilled him more than any skilled woman’s touch. “Give me a few days—a fortnight, at most. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Together, they stood. Brody wrapped her in a tight embrace, kissing the top of her dark head. Angelica slid her arms around his waist, holding him close. He loved her now—he felt certain of it. And, if she did not love him yet, Brody knew she would, in time. He planned to spend the rest of his life earning that love.

He kissed her one last time. “Is there anything you need before I go?”

“Yes, wait right there.” Angelica went to the cupboard and fished around in one of the drawers. After a moment, she returned, pressing a long, tarnished key into his palm. “For the gate.”

Brody stared at it like a love-struck fool. It was just an ordinary key to an ordinary lock on an ordinary gate. But, to him, she might as well have presented him the key to her heart. She had certainly given the key to her freedom, and proved that she was not going anywhere without him.