From Rags to Kisses by Shana Galen

Eight

Aidan forgot to breatheas the heat of her body joined with his.

“I’ve learned a few things too,” she said, bending to kiss him. His hands slid down her back and over her bottom. Her skin was so soft. He didn’t remember it being this soft, but then he’d never been able to touch her like this, undress her fully, take her in. She was beautiful with her pert breasts, her slim hips, her small waist. She wasn’t skinny like she’d been when he knew her before, and the rounding of her hips aroused him. He took those hips in his hands and guided her to his cock. She raised her head, and their eyes met. With a wicked look in her eye, she sank down over him, taking him in very slowly.

Aidan couldn’t think of anything but the feel of her hot channel taking him in. She moved so slowly that he would have urged her to hurry if he hadn’t seen in her face the act was giving her as much pleasure as it gave him. They’d always coupled in dark chambers, cellars, or under London Bridge. He’d never seen her face when she’d come. Now, watching the way her gray eyes went violet and her nipples hardened and turned crimson was a revelation. When she had sheathed him fully, her head fell back, and she moaned in undisguised pleasure.

He thrust playfully, encouraging her, and she tightened around him. Christ, even with the sheath on his cock, he could feel her heat, feel the clench of her muscles. Her hips, those nicely rounded hips, moved under his hands as she began to ride him. Her movements were slow at first, but as she found her rhythm they increased until not only was he having to focus on not coming too early, he was having to look away from the way her breasts bounced lest he lose his concentration.

He let her take her pleasure, reveled in the feeling of her muscles clutching him like a vise as she climaxed again. The sound she made was half plea, half cry as she collapsed on his chest.

Aidan didn’t give her time to recover. He rolled her over without pulling out and pushed her ankles up onto his shoulders. And then he drove into her. She gasped and cried out a strangled, “yes.” Aidan saw stars as he thrust deeper into her. She reached for the headboard, grasping it to hold steady as he gave one last plunge and came with a shout and the rasp of her name.

His forehead touched hers for a moment, his lips caressed her mouth, and then he lowered her legs and pulled free, standing to discard the preventative. She must have rolled over because he felt her hand on his buttocks. “ ‘Ow can a man with that much passion sit at a desk all day staring at numbers and ledgers?” she asked.

He turned to look down at her, rosy-cheeked and dark-eyed from the pleasure he’d given her. “I’m passionate about a great many things.”

She moved over and he lay down beside her, turning to look at her, as he used to do. “Ye’ve learned a few things.”

“So have you,” he said with a laugh. But the truth was that it had been so long since he’d been with a woman that he hadn’t been able to hold back. He’d needed her, needed this release. He threw one arm over her, hoping it wasn’t too obvious that he wanted her to stay.

Her gaze roamed about his bed chamber, and after a moment, she moved his hand and sat. Don’t leave, he silently begged her. “Ye really are rich,” she said, climbing off the bed to peer at a painting on the wall. She moved about the room, touching the draperies, the walnut tall boy, and even bending to run a hand over the Aubusson carpet. He didn’t mind as he liked watching her body in the lamplight. She’d never been modest, never worried about undressing in his presence, even before they’d been lovers, and she moved with an easy confidence in her nudity.

She wandered into the adjoining chamber, his dressing room, and Aidan had a moment’s panic as he hadn’t checked to be sure his valet wasn’t inside. But as there were no masculine screams at the entrance of a nude woman, Aidan breathed a sigh of relief.

A moment later she came out and put her hands on her hips. Aidan wet his lips.

“Ye have three and fifty shirts,” she announced.

“Do I?”

“Yes. And one and thirty coats. Wot does any man need with that many shirts and coats?”

He shrugged, feeling slightly uncomfortable and exposed now. He pulled the coverlet over his nudity. “I didn’t realize there was a limit.”

“Ye ‘ave fourteen pairs of boots and—I forgot ‘ow many pairs of pumps. Ye don’t think that’s a bit excessive?”

“Clearly, you do.”

She moved toward the bed. Aidan would have sworn she had no idea how sensual her movements were, how the sway of her hips tempted him. “Ye never liked wearing rags and being dirty,” she said. “I suppose yer afraid ye might not ‘ave enough.”

He kept his face neutral. He hadn’t ever considered that, but if he considered recent trips to his tailor, he definitely remembered a feeling of panic that he might not have enough. That he should buy two of everything because what he’d ordered might not be enough.

“I was the same when Roland took me in,” she said, climbing onto the bed and then sliding under the covers and close to him. She was cold, and he pulled her close to warm her. “I would eat too much or ‘oard food, books, pens—anything. When ye live with nothing for so long, it’s ‘ard to believe it won’t all be taken away.”

She looked up at him, and Aidan didn’t dare speak. She’d spoken so simply and succinctly about fears that often overwhelmed him or felt so large he’d never be able to conquer them. Even when he told himself that he had so much that it was impossible for it all to be taken away, there were nights he’d wake in a cold sweat, afraid he’d be back on the street or sleeping in the cold if one of his ships didn’t return or his latest investment failed.

“How did you meet the viscount?” Aidan finally asked. It wasn’t a topic he wanted to mention. Why speak about her betrothed when they were naked and in bed together? But he wanted to speak about his fears even less.

“I broke into ‘is ‘ouse. I cased it and waited until I thought ‘e was out, then climbed in a window.”

“How long after I’d gone was that?” he asked.

“Some months but not so long as a year,” she said. “Ye know I ‘ad a weakness for antiquities even then, and I’d ‘eard ‘e ‘ad a collection.”

“And he caught you?”

“With my ‘and in the jewel box, so to speak. Instead of calling the magistrate, ‘e offered me a job.”

“Smart man.”

She gave him a sharp look then frowned when she realized he wasn’t teasing.

“He obviously saw what I saw in you. You’re smart and learn fast, and I’m sure he recognized your eye for anything valuable.”

“ ‘E said I ‘ad potential,” she added. “I proved ‘im right. We’ve worked together for years now, and ‘e taught me everything I know. Everything about antiquities,” she amended. “I read Latin and Greek now. I know the names and reigns of all the Roman dictators, and I can identify them on coins too.”

“Impressive.”

She shrugged. “Roland ‘as a special interest in Roman ‘istory. We’ve spent months in the countryside digging up ground looking for bobs and bits.”

“And that’s when you fell in love?”

She elbowed him, and he winced. “I told ye it’s not like that.”

“Then how is it? Why marry him?”

She didn’t speak for a moment, and then she said, “I’m like ye. I want security.”

It was a lie. She spoke it convincingly, but he knew her well enough to know that security had never been her main worry. That had always been his concern. She’d rather explore than eat, rather take the chance than play it safe.

“I should go,” she said. “It’s late.”

“Oh, no.” He grasped her about the waist and pulled her back against him. “I’ve hours left yet. You promised me the night.”

“Ye’ve already made me see stars twice,” she said. “And I think ye saw a few of yer own. I thought we were done.”

“Oh, I’m not done.” He pulled her down and wedged himself between her legs.

Her eyes widened. “Already?”

“What can I say? Watching you strut about my bedchamber bare-arsed gave me ideas.”

“Wot kind of ideas?”

He kissed her and slid his hand down her belly. “Let me show you.”

***

WHEN SHE WOKE, THEroom was streaked with shafts of sunlight that slitted through the drapes. Aidan’s arm was heavy and warm around her, and she had to take a breath at the familiarity of his body pressed against hers. He was bigger now—taller and more muscular—but he still felt like Aidan. She pushed at him, and he rolled onto his back, still dead to the world. That didn’t surprise her. He’d exerted quite a bit of energy last night. She felt pleasantly sore all over from her attempts to match his efforts. She turned her head and studied him. His eyes were closed, veiled by his dark lashes. His hair was tousled and fell over his forehead in disarray. His jaw was dark with stubble, but his mouth was red from her kisses. She’d spent many mornings watching him sleep, wishing she could sleep so peacefully. Once upon a time, the weight of caring for both of them had fallen on her shoulders. Now he was perfectly capable of caring for himself.

But the scars from the years he’d lived in the rookeries were becoming more visible to her. He surrounded himself with excess—a huge house with more chambers than he could ever use, more clothing than he could ever wear, servants and coaches and material items that gave him the security he’d lacked for so long. Jenny wondered if any of it really eased his fears or if they merely plastered over them like an imperfection in a wall.

And he had walls. She had known the boy he’d been inside and out. But this man was still a stranger to her in some respects. The war had changed him, hardened him. But when she’d asked him about it, he dismissed the question and changed the subject. He didn’t like to talk about their past. He seemed an insular man, concerned only with acquiring wealth.

And what was she? It wasn’t as though she had dozens of friends and an active social life. She spent most of her time shut up with old artifacts. Not to mention, she was betrothed to a man she didn’t love and who would never love her. She’d never really be a wife, which didn’t bother her as she didn’t see anything to covet in the wives she knew. But she did wonder if she would look back some day and wish she’d been a mother. She might wish to have something or someone in her life besides Roman coins and dusty books.

But those were questions Aidan couldn’t help her with. She’d trusted him once but never again. It was best to leave before he woke and tried to convince her to stay a bit longer.

She climbed out of the bed, careful not to wake him, dressed in her male garb, and tiptoed across the floor. In the corridor outside the bed chamber, she found a chair and sat to tug on her boots. She didn’t relish the looks the servants would give her when she walked past them this morning, but she also didn’t really care. She’d spent most of her life not being respectable. The main thing was to hurry so they did not realize the woman in men’s clothing leaving their employer’s bedchamber was also Miss Tate. She’d walk quickly and keep her chin tucked so they’d have little opportunity to get a good look at her.

To that end, she rushed down the stairs, turned her face to the side as she passed a maid polishing the banister, pulled her collar up as she passed a footman at the bottom of the stairs, and was so intent on keeping her face hidden she ran right into a person coming toward her in the foyer.

With a start, she glanced up, an apology on her lips. But it died away when she found herself gazing into the disappointed eyes of Roland. And then his gaze shifted away, and he stepped out of her path, pretending not to know her.

She muttered something and hurried out the door, running into the street and hurrying several blocks before she dared hail a hackney. She sat in the conveyance, hands clasped tightly together, all the way to her flat.

Once there she ran inside and locked the door behind her. Then she went to the window. Most of Roland’s pigeons were trained to view his town house as home. A few had been trained to fly to her flat. That way they could send messages to each other. Now she opened the window and waited. It wasn’t even an hour before the pigeon arrived. Jenny pulled the little note from the backpack.

We should talk. My parlor at three, please.

Jenny brought the bird in and went to change and wash before going to see Roland to try and explain. Again.

***

AIDAN WOKE ALONE AShe always did. The pillow beside him was dented, so he hadn’t dreamed Jenny had been with him. But the sheets were cold, which meant she had left some time ago. He rolled over and lifted his pocket watch from the table. And then he shot up.

It was almost noon. What the devil? Why had no one wakened him? He should have been at his offices hours ago.

Of course, he never asked to be wakened because he was always up with the sun. And he had bellowed for no one to disturb him when he’d run in with Jenny last night. Now he yanked the bell pull viciously and rose, pulling on a robe. He ordered his valet to have a bath drawn, then changed his mind because he didn’t have time. And then he changed it back again as he sorely needed to wash.

He washed quickly and then had to succumb to a shave, and the entire while his mind tread over and over the night before. Jenny’s moans when he’d entered her, the way her eyes darkened to sapphire when he touched her, the way she looked when she straddled him. He cursed, and his valet apologized even though he hadn’t so much as nicked Aidan.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he was washed and dressed. He walked briskly down the stairs and reached for his hat and walking stick from his waiting butler. From behind him, someone cleared his throat.

Aidan turned and found Viscount Chamberlayne standing with arms crossed on one side of the foyer. “Sir,” the viscount said, his voice icy. “Might we have a word?”

Aidan started like a guilty boy. He wanted to tell the viscount no, they could not have a word. He wanted to tell him, hell no. He didn’t want to speak with him or look at him or even think about him. Not to mention, Aidan was late and eager to be away.

But running was the thief’s way, and though Aidan felt very much like a thief this morning, he hoped he was a better man than the little thief he’d been forced to be in the rookeries.

“Of course,” he said, waving Pierpont away. “Is my library acceptable?”

The viscount inclined his head, and Aidan led the way. As soon as he entered the library, he couldn’t stop his gaze from darting to the desk Jenny used. She was not seated there, and Aidan wondered where she might be. Had she gone to Chamberlayne this morning and told him everything? Was this the meeting where his presence at dawn would be demanded?

The viscount entered, and Aidan closed the door. “Should I ring for tea, my lord? I’d offer you something stronger, but it’s a bit early.”

“I’ll take a brandy,” the viscount said, and Aidan raised his brows. But he went to the drinks table, poured it, and handed it to the viscount who had settled himself on the opposite side of Aidan’s desk. Aidan took his own chair, but for some reason he felt as though he were the one being called to task.

The viscount was older than Aidan by a few years and had the kind of looks most ladies would swoon over. He had blond hair that seemed to naturally fall into the popular style most men of the ton spent hours to attain. His blue eyes were sharp and clear, and his features were unmistakably aristocratic, especially the long nose and pinched lips. “You are a man of business, so I hope you don’t mind if I come straight to the point,” the viscount said. He sipped the brandy and nodded his head in approval.

“I prefer it, actually,” Aidan said.

“Good. I met my assistant coming down your stairs this morning as I was coming in.”

“Your assistant?” The words were out before Aidan remembered that Jenny had worked for Chamberlayne before they’d become betrothed. Odd that the man should refer to her as his assistant and not his bride-to-be. Or perhaps not so odd considering the conclusions Chamberlayne must have reached when he saw Jenny.

“Miss Tate,” the viscount said. “She was making a great effort to keep from being recognized. I have no idea how successful that was, but I imagine it is only a matter of time before the two of you are seen together.”

Aidan opened his mouth then closed it again. It was not what he’d expected. Jenny had said she and Chamberlayne were friends and not in love, but any groom-to-be would be more upset at finding his affianced leaving another man’s bed in the morning. Aidan wasn’t quite sure what to say in this moment. He waited for a challenge but none came. The viscount did seem to be waiting for him to say something.

“My lord,” Aidan began. “I want to apologize. I assure you I am not in the habit of poaching other men’s brides-to-be—”

Chamberlayne waved a hand. “I know that. And I know the history you and Jenny have together. I understand why you find it hard to keep apart,” he said. “What I need to know now is whether you intend for this relationship to continue or if last night was the end of it?”

Aidan frowned. This was the strangest conversation he had ever had. “My lord, I do not want to beleaguer this point, but it appears you don’t mind that Jenny spent the night in my bed.”

“Of course, I mind,” the viscount said, taking another sip of the brandy. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t mind. But I don’t mind for the reasons you think.” He studied Aidan a moment over the rim of the glass. “You really do not understand, do you?”

Aidan’s entire world had been shifted 180-degrees. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Jenny told you she doesn’t love me, and I don’t love her. Not in a romantic way, at least. I love her as a friend, of course. She is like a younger sister to me, I suppose. And I am protective of her in the way a big brother might be.”

“But you are marrying her.”

“I’m coming to that. How are you so successful in negotiations if you have no patience?”

Aidan closed his mouth at the chastisement. Was he really being lectured on his patience by his lover’s bridegroom? He would have thought himself still asleep if the entire situation wasn’t even more ridiculous than any dream.

“Jenny actually proposed to me. I didn’t accept at first,” Chamberlayne said. “But she eventually talked me into it.”

Aidan tried to wrap his thoughts around this notion. That Jenny would propose marriage to a man did not surprise him. She was unconventional enough to do such a thing. And if Chamberlayne declined initially that made sense as well if the two were only friends. But why would Jenny feel the need to talk the viscount into a marriage with her?

“I needed the marriage to her more than she ever needed the security I could offer to her. You see, there have been rumors about me murmured here and there, and I needed to squelch them before they grew into more than a whisper.”

“What sort of rumors?” Aidan asked.

“That I have unnatural sexual proclivities,” the viscount said. His gaze met Aidan’s directly, the challenge in his eyes clear.

Aidan didn’t consider this any of his business, but he did consider Jenny his business. “And do you?” he asked.

“No. I don’t consider them unnatural at any rate.”

Aidan rose and went to the drinks table. He could see why the viscount felt the need for a brandy this early. He poured a splash in a glass and took a large swallow. He was not the sort of man who had any interest in what other men, or women, did in the privacy of their bedchamber. He didn’t read the Society pages because he didn’t care who was seen with whom. He knew nothing about the rumors surrounding Chamberlayne, but Aidan did know Jenny. She’d saved him and others many times. She’d given that woman at the banks of the Thames a coin last night. If someone needed help, Jenny would give it, whether it was to her advantage or not.

The viscount did not love her, not like a husband would, and he would never feel that way about her. But he needed a wife to protect him from scandal. He looked back at the viscount. “Am I to understand you have no intention of consummating the marriage?”

The viscount inclined his head. “It will be purely in name only. Jenny will live in the town house with Oscar and me. She’ll have her own suite of rooms and the freedom to do as she likes as long as she acts with discretion. If she were to get in the family way, I would claim the child as my own.”

Oscar and me.The statement confirmed Aidan’s deduction. Of course, she had chosen to marry a man who would never want more than friendship from her. Her parents hadn’t loved her. She didn’t trust love—and why should she? He was the only one who had ever loved her, and he’d left her. No doubt she didn’t want to risk her heart again.

And then there was her loyalty. She would do most likely anything to keep her friend, the viscount, safe from accusations of sodomy. As a peer, he would probably not be sent to the stocks, hanged, or jailed. But he could be made a social pariah. And if the viscount’s lover was not a peer, he might very well suffer mightily for the relationship.

“I see you are beginning to understand,” the viscount said.

“Perfectly.”

The viscount seemed to wait. Aidan supposed he expected some expression of disgust or a lecture on depravity or even mild censure. Aidan had none of those to offer. He’d lived four years not knowing if he would survive to the end of the day. And then he had served in a war where his death was pretty much a foregone conclusion. He’d been in a troop of thirty and eighteen men hadn’t come back.

Life was short, and why shouldn’t a man or woman take what pleasure they could from it?

Aidan had always thought his pleasure came from making money, but now he began to wonder if he wasn’t using wealth as a shield the way Jenny and the viscount planned to use their marriage.

“And so I return to my original question,” the viscount said, his voice bringing Aidan’s thoughts back into focus. “Do you intend to continue this relationship with Miss Tate?”

“I don’t know.” Aidan sat again and stared at his glass then looked at the viscount. He understood why the man asked this of him now. His future depended on whether or not Jenny would marry him. Aidan could be a hindrance to that. “I don’t know how to have this conversation with you about your betrothed.”

“Think of me like her brother.”

“That doesn’t help.”

The viscount smiled. “Clearly there is a mutual attraction. Jenny told me that you and she have a history. You were her first lover, and I assume she was yours.”

Aidan put his head in his hands. “This is so awkward,” he groaned.

“Do you wish to keep...how shall I put it delicately? Fucking her?”

Aidan groaned. He could have sworn the viscount was laughing at his discomfort. He removed his hands from his face, which felt quite warm, and downed the rest of the brandy. He needed more. “I want her in my bed for as long as she’ll have me,” he said. “Last night was supposed to be our one and only together. I might convince her to reconsider.”

“You’re that good, are you?”

Aidan leaned back and tried to pretend this was not happening. “I’ve learned a few things since I was sixteen.”

“Will it bother you that she is marrying another man? That she can’t marry you? That she won’t live with you? That, in the eyes of the law, she is my property and will bear my name?”

“Christ.” Aidan tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. He hadn’t thought of any of this. He didn’t want a wife. He didn’t have time for a wife. This might be the perfect arrangement for him. He could have his life and share his bed when it suited him.

But this wasn’t any woman. This was Jenny. And Aidan didn’t particularly like the idea of sharing her. He didn’t like sharing in general. He wanted it all.

“And if she were to bear you a child, that child would have my name as well,” Chamberlayne said. “Not a bad lot as he or she would be the child of a viscount. My heir if she birthed a son. Jenny always says she doesn’t want children, but I’ve seen her with them, and I do wonder.”

Aidan sat forward. He didn’t have answers and he felt rather backed up against a wall. He usually came out fighting in those cases. “And what about you?” he demanded. “Are you willing to take her chance at a real marriage away from her?”

“She’s thirty, Mr. Sterling. Not on death’s door certainly, but well past what most consider a marriageable age for a female. If she were four and twenty or even seven and twenty, I would never agree to this plan. As it is, until you arrived at Lady Birtwistle’s ball, she had no prospects and only the occasional lover.”

“It seems you have an answer for everything,” Aidan said.

“And you have none,” the viscount shot back. “If you are truly concerned for Jenny’s welfare, if you care about her as more than a bed partner, you should come up with some answers of your own.”

Aidan would have answered the viscount with a few choice words of his own, but the man stood, gave a bow so slight it was almost insulting, and strode out of the room.