West End Earl by Bethany Bennett
Chapter Twelve
Charles, the footman, accompanied Phee to visit her old employer, the secondhand-clothes seller. As they rode through the streets in a hired hack, she flinched at every unexpected noise. By the time they arrived at the clothing stall, her hands were clammy and sweat pooled along her spine. She glanced at Charles. “I’m jumping at shadows. This entire business is unnerving. Thank you for being here.”
“Anyone would be nervous, Mr. Hardwick. There’s no harm in being careful,” he said.
She forced herself to leave the hack and pretend that she wasn’t as twitchy as a horse ready to bolt. Straightening her shoulders, Phee surveyed the crowded street to get her bearings. Milton had made her cower in the past. Giving him that power in the present was unconscionable. It wouldn’t help anyone if she took unneeded risks, though, so Charles monitored the entrance to the stall while she made her purchases.
The stall provided enough of the wardrobe basics to get her through. Even though she knew she’d gotten a fair price, her gut twisted as each coin left her palm. There were a few lovely pieces in the bundle under her arm. If nothing else, the alterations would keep her occupied.
Back in her room, Jenny the maid cleaned out the grate in the fireplace, sweeping the ashes into a bucket. “Good morning, Mr. Hardwick. I’ll finish in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Lady Emma didn’t want to be disturbed, but perhaps she will let me in once I’m done here.”
Glancing at the clock on the mantel, Phee frowned at the late hour. “When does Lady Emma usually rise for the day?”
“Oh, she’s been up. Ate breakfast and so on, but she’s resting now. Her maid asked that no one disturb the poor thing,” Jenny chattered. “We’re worried about her downstairs. She’s been spending more days than usual in her room with headaches. The rigorous schedule of a Season might be too much for her delicate constitution.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Being an employee in the house meant the servants spoke freely in front of her. At times like this, it meant Phee heard information Cal might not. A warning instinct buzzed at her nape. Since when did Emma have a delicate constitution? Clearly, Cal wasn’t aware of these headaches, otherwise he’d be hovering over his sister and not flirting with Phee in the breakfast room.
After setting the bundle of clothing on the bench at the foot of her bed, Phee left the room. A simple inquiry to another maid in the hall led her to the correct door. Emma’s lady’s maid answered her knock.
Phee donned an innocent smile. “I’ve been asked to fetch gloves for Lady Emma.”
If Emma was within, Phee would claim she’d misunderstood her task, then bid the maid good day. But within moments, she stood in the hallway, holding a pair of kidskin gloves trimmed with a row of fine silver and mother-of-pearl buttons.
Emma wasn’t inside the room. She’d sneaked out, lied to the staff, and left her maid at home to cover for her. No doubt this wasn’t the first time either, if the servants had noticed a pattern. Slapping the gloves against her thigh, Phee returned to her room. She tossed the gloves on a small table by the door, then opened the curtains to let the light in.
Emma’s determined focus on misbehavior would worry anyone. Why wouldn’t the girl see sense? Everyone knew Roxbury’s reputation. Cal was throwing everything he had toward ensuring the success of his sister’s debut. A million girls in this country would kill to have the opportunities Emma took for granted. That silly chit threw it all away.
But then, Cal might have stumbled upon this information himself if not for Phee’s circumstances distracting him. Lord, what a muddle.
Pulling the first waistcoat from the bundle of clothes, she sank into the chair, opened the sewing kit, and got to work while her brain spun.
The changes of the last few days were happening so fast, it made her feel as if she were continually catching her breath.
The threat of Uncle Milton had Phee twitching at shadows and on edge.
Cal suddenly knew her secrets, and she wasn’t used to anyone knowing her business. Damn the man. After over a decade of successfully pretending to be Adam, a wooden dick had felled her charade. Dicks ruined everything.
Even Nelson’s new position in the house made her wary. What if he found proof of her secret like Cal had? Nelson’s job meant spying for them and passing along Milton’s plans for her. But what if Milton got to Nelson too? It might not be hard to flip a turncoat for the other side. Nelson was a good kid; she firmly believed that. But he’d already participated in the wrong plans once, so it would be unwise to trust blindly. With loyalty for sale, there was no guarantee Cal offered the highest price. Nelson was their closest tie to information on Milton’s next move. Cal was her closest tie to Nelson, thanks to his decision to employ the lad.
The small metal scissors slipped, cutting into the precious brocade silk instead of snipping the fine thread of the seam. She sighed, then set aside the waistcoat before she could damage it further. Altering clothing required meticulous attention to detail. An endeavor that required her full focus. Something she lacked as her brain skittered from thought to thought.
Usually, when she needed a soothing, repetitive motion, she whittled. As hobbies went, it was a far cry from embroidery and watercolors, but useful if one’s life revolved around impersonating a man. The number of wooden cocks she’d made over the years was rather impressive. Oil, then wax sealed the wood when she finished, but even with that, a wooden pizzle didn’t have a long life. They tended to absorb odors. Nasty things, but a necessary evil. When she made a new one, the old made excellent kindling.
It took only a quick trip down the stairs to ask for the supplies needed. She could have pulled the cord in her room and summoned someone, but having servants at her beck and call felt strange. Higgins provided a scrap piece of wood and a penknife, and Phee retreated once more to her room.
The repetitive motion of blade against wood, the sound of the knife cutting through the grain soothed her. Yes, this was what she needed. Her shoulders eased, and she settled into a familiar rhythm, leaving her thoughts to mull over the matters at hand. Perhaps today it wouldn’t be a pizzle. Being in hiding meant no social obligations, which meant she wouldn’t need to use the pizzle she still had.
The knife dug into the wood, cutting its way into a new pattern. She could make anything she wanted for once. Maybe she’d carve a bird, with wings open, flying free.
With their spy in place, it stood to reason that remaining within Cal’s house would be safest, but part of her wanted to fly like the bird she would coax from this wood. Maybe she’d go to the Outer Hebrides. Or Kent. Kent might be a better idea.
Lord Amesbury would take her on as an employee at his estate. She didn’t know a damn thing about sheep or hops or crafting ale, but she could learn. Ethan and Lottie would assist if she asked. All she had to do was knock on their door.
But she’d promised Cal she wouldn’t run away today. Honoring the spirit of their agreement would mean waiting to take action until he came home. Although waiting didn’t come easy to her. Allowing anyone a voice in her plans was such a foreign concept, it left her feeling adrift, with no idea of what came next.
She’d chosen to trust Cal, and trust him she would. But if need be, she could still run.
Some promises must be broken—especially when it came to her safety. The emergency exit plan to speak to Ethan about a position in Kent or simply head for the coast was tucked like an ace up her sleeve. As long as an escape plan existed, she could wait.
For now.
In her hands, the bird took shape, channeling her nerves into something useful. Phee held it out in front of her, examining it from different angles. The details would take time, but creating something different with her hands was a unique challenge.
The clock chimed, indicating it was nearly the hour to change into evening clothes—not that she could, since she wore the only clothing that fit—when the sound of Cal’s door closing filtered down the hall to her room. She’d see him at dinner in a while. The last time they’d discussed schedules, he had mentioned a rout Emma wanted to attend this evening.
The wood and penknife in her hand weren’t enough to distract her for long. After all, the latest misadventures of Emma weren’t something she could keep to herself. Not for another minute. Emma may not be her problem, but Cal’s sense of responsibility regarding his sister went deep.
Without further thought, Phee darted across the hall and opened his door.
The wrong door, it turned out. This wasn’t Cal’s dressing room but his bedroom. During their morning meetings in his room, he’d always been at least partially covered by the time she arrived. This? His arse was a thing of beauty. She sagged against the door on knees gone wobbly, closing herself into the room while Cal wiped a soapy sponge across his chest, then dipped it into a small basin of water. A squeak escaped—a reaction to seeing him in the altogether or a polite alert to her presence, she’d never know.
The dips on the sides of his tight bum were absolutely enthralling. Her arse didn’t look like that.
Phee didn’t know where to look first. Every fevered imagining she’d indulged in while alone, in which she’d ruminated on her friend’s extraordinary beauty, hadn’t come close to reality. Before now she’d thought she possessed a pretty lively imagination. Lordy, had she been wrong.
He looked over his shoulder, eyes widening, then shuttered whatever emotion might have been there. Instead, he grinned as if he stood nude in front of her every day. “Here to wash my back, Phee?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t knock. Um, I’ll turn around. Or return later.” She started to do that and even had her hand on the doorknob, when the sound of splashing stopped her.
“No need. You’re here now. Hand me that banyan, will you?” Cal stepped from the basin and bent over to towel his legs. Sweet lord above. His movements were without modesty or self-consciousness, and she couldn’t stare hard enough. Everything was on display. Every. Thing.
Covering him might constitute a crime, but she needed to do it if her pulse had any hope of calming. A velvet brocade banyan was draped over the end of the bed, within reach, so she held it out.
“I’m sorry. I heard you come home, and didn’t think.” She couldn’t take her eyes off him as he walked toward her. Everywhere she looked there were sleek muscles and graceful lines, the likes of which she’d seen only on marble statues. Cal moved as if he knew what every muscle was doing at any given second and had complete control of his body. Goodness, to have that kind of inherent grace.
Offering the dressing gown with one hand, she covered her eyes with the other. Shutting her eyes seemed to be the best way to avoid temptation, but it only narrowed her senses to the steady cadence of his breath and the warm spicy scent coming off all that bare skin. Perhaps it was his soap that reminded her of gingerbread, and not a cologne.
With him invading almost every sense, nearly two years of ruthless self-control unraveled like a runaway spool of thread. In a moment he’d dress, covering all that perfection, and that would be a damn shame. Biting her lip, Phee threw modesty to the wind and peeked through her fingers.
Even though he took the gown, Cal held it to his side instead of covering himself. He angled his head with the same smile he’d given her this morning. “You’re staring, Ophelia.”
Caught. She dropped her hand. “I’m trying not to. But it’s quite hard.”
With a raised brow he glanced down. “Not yet, but it’ll get there if you keep looking at me like that.”
Well, now she had to look. Her eyes widened, and Cal laughed, but there was a tinge to it she couldn’t identify.
“You’ll look at me naked but wouldn’t let me kiss you last night.” He shrugged into the dressing gown, leaving the sash loose at his sides.
“I was sure you’d regret kissing me once you thought it over the next day,” she confessed, a bit breathless.
“Well, it’s now the next day, and I’m standing here with the beginnings of a cockstand from looking at you and seeing how you look at me. What does that tell you?”
She gathered what little composure remained. “I should leave you to bathe, and you can come to my room when you’re dressed again.”
Cal took a step closer. “Are you scared?”
His comment hit the nail on the head, but she shook her head. The brow he arched told her he didn’t believe her any more than she did.
Of course she was scared. The heat suffusing her bones was testimony enough to the danger Cal posed to her control.
What would happen when he realized there wasn’t much beneath the facade of Adam? When he peeled off her cravat and waistcoat and saw for himself that she didn’t know how to act like the society ladies he was used to? She didn’t walk, talk, or think with genteel sensibilities.
There was so much more to consider here than a mere kiss.
If she gave in to this attraction, it would only complicate things. Not only their friendship within these walls but how they acted when out in society. That was a massive risk for Cal. And what about her job? If their friendship changed to romance, she couldn’t imagine a man would be thrilled with the idea of his lover sprinting down dark lanes, digging out secrets in alleyways, and shepherding her flock of pint-sized informants.
But she ached for him. After two years of denying her feelings, the opportunity to let them out now felt freeing—allowing them to fly like the bird she’d carved today.
A heavy heat settled low in her belly, enticing her to give in and taste what he offered.
Even if it was only once. Even once was a risk, though.
“What if someone sees us kissing? Everyone thinks I’m a man. Have you thought about that?”
“We’ll be careful outside the house. My servants are well paid and loyal.”
“It’s still a risk,” she said, but the protest sounded thin as her body swayed closer.
“What if I dared you to kiss me?” he teased.
She’d wanted him forever, and here he was daring her—practically begging her—to take a risk on them. How was anyone supposed to resist that?
“You’re right. I want you, and it scares the devil out of me.” One step forward brought his erection against her belly and made his breath hiss between his teeth.
“I dare you to do it anyway.”
“I’ll take that dare.”
Kissing him turned out to be as natural as breathing. As simple as meeting him halfway, because he reached for her too. The taste of him rolled through her, coffee and brandy.
Cal filled her senses with the heady scents of yuletide sweets, wrapping around her as effectively as the drape of velvet covering his skin. She swept her hands up his neck to pluck the ribbon from his queue so his hair fell around them like a soft curtain. If she was going to indulge in this fantasy she’d played out so often in her mind, she wanted everything. Hair down, bare skin, and Cal quivering under her fingertips.
He groaned into her mouth, a desperate sound that released a flood between her thighs and made her rub shamelessly against the hard ridge between them.
“Sweet Jesus, Phee,” he gasped before she wrapped his hair in a fist and pulled him closer. They could talk later. For once, she had no desire to hear his commentary. At the base of her spine, one of his hands clutched her jacket, tugging until she shrugged out of it.
Everywhere she touched she encountered the bare skin of her fantasies, and it was absolutely glorious. His jaw scratched at her palm with prickly evening whiskers until even the nerves of her finger pads were more alive than they’d ever been. No wonder people liked kissing so much. This was amazing. Why did people stop kissing if it felt like this?
When his hands rounded over her bottom and lifted her body higher against him, she gasped “Yes” before wrapping her legs around his hips. Tongues tangled and teeth scraped tender flesh, until the only thing her body knew was him and this overwhelming need they’d created.
This kiss twisted their relationship into something new. Every touch they’d shared, every joke and conversation they’d held through facial expressions alone over the course of their friendship—everything came together. She knew him, and now she knew his taste. It sank into her pores as his tongue licked into her mouth, and it still wasn’t enough.
The carved wooden post of his bed pressed against her back, pinning Phee between the unyielding frame and Cal. His large hands palmed her hips, tightening her legs around his waist, until she clung to him as desperately as he clung to her. One of his hands pushed under her shirt, and when he encountered the linen binding her breasts, he growled.
Sliding down his body to stand on shaky legs, she whipped the shirt over her head. With an intense focus, he brushed a hand over the linen strips, looking for the end. For a moment, the idea of him seeing her bare breasts sent a spike of worry through her. There wasn’t much there, but that had always worked in her favor until this exact moment.
Worrying was nonsense. No, she wasn’t built for curves. But—she reached down and wrapped a hand around his cock—Cal didn’t appear to mind. He gulped as if swallowing his own breath, then covered her hand with his, moving them together along his length while his other hand tugged at her binding.
“Later, when I’m thinking about this and get hard all over again, it’s going to be remembering how amazing your hand feels that will make me come.” His voice was as ragged as his breathing, and it sent a rush of power through her.
Holding him like this made everything between her legs ache. This had escalated so far beyond a kiss, but she was having a difficult time regretting that right now. He pulsed in her hand as they stroked together.
The size of him, the steely hardness covered in silky skin, was nothing like the wood imitations she’d created over the years. “You know what I’m realizing?”
“I don’t know, but you have my full and undivided attention,” he said, groaning on a shuddery sigh when her palm caressed the plump head, then slid down to the tawny curls at the base of his sex.
“I don’t want this to be a onetime kiss.”
“Thank fucking God for that.”
She giggled and he swallowed the sound with a kiss.
“Pardon, milord.” The bedroom door closed, and they froze, then looked toward the empty doorway.
Panting, Phee asked, “Was that Kingston?”
Cal eased away enough to give her room to bend down and grab her shirt off the floor, but once the shirt was in place, he ran a hand down her arm and held her hand. Lordy, he looked delicious, all tumbled and flushed and breathing as if he’d run a race.
But his valet had proved all her fears to be valid.
“I told you I’d handle it, and I will. I promise. Trust me, Phee.”
She knew her eyes were huge, but it was hard not to worry. “You’re nearly naked, and he thinks I’m a man. Except he saw my bindings, so he might think I’m a woman. I don’t know which is worse.” She pressed a hand against her belly to quell the rolling sensation there.
Cal shook his head. “Even if the staff thinks—” Some of her panic must have shown in her face, because he finished with a simple “I’ll deal with it.” He cradled her jaw and kissed her again, slowly, as if savoring her. “Because I plan to spend a lot of time kissing you, Ophelia Hardwick.”
A tap against the door made Cal mutter an expletive as he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. He cinched the tie of his banyan closed, and she darted for the door to his dressing room. In the doorway, she glanced back, and he threw her a wink.
Fine, she’d trust him. As she slipped out into the hall, she heard Cal speaking to Kingston.
Once in her room, she collapsed against the door with jelly knees while her heart thundered in her ears. Lordy.
“I don’t think we’re just friends anymore.”