Suzanne Robinson (27 page)

With remorseless expertise, he taught her the language of pleasure. Prim began to burn and writhe with impatience, and when he sensed her dilemma, he teased her with private strokes and kissed that sent Prim into a whirlwind of urgency. Still he held back, denying her something she craved but couldn’t name.

Only when her nails began to dig into his flesh did he respond. Prim felt him touch her, probe, and slowly slip inside her. There was a brief moment of pain, and then discomfort, and then the slow beat of desire. She felt him move, and answered, pulling him closer and deeper. Her body spun, toplike, and a tiny, sensual spring deep inside her wound and wound and wound—and then broke. Prim cried out, vaguely perceiving Luke’s answering cry.

Their mutual violence escalated, then finally subsided. Prim gasped for air as Luke collapsed on her and dug his fingers into her tousled hair. They lay there trying to breathe, each too weak to move. At last Prim found her voice.

“Luke Hawthorne, you are a fool.”

She felt him hold his breath.

“To keep this miracle all to yourself,” she said.

His head came up, and she beheld an incredulous and scandalized Nightshade.

“Choke me dead.”

“That, my dear Luke, is something I’ve been trying to prevent.”

With sudden roughness he scooped her into his arms and began raining kisses on her face and neck. Prim captured his face between her hands and made him look at her. He gave her a mischievous smile that made her think of all the eager women at the Black Fleece tavern and pity them.

“Nightshade, I love you.”

“Nightshade,” he repeated on a whisper. “Oh, Primmy, my love, I wish you had told me a long time ago.”

“You could have declared yourself, too, sir.”

Luke touched her nose with his. “We’re a couple of right proper fools, you and I.”

“I don’t care.”

Luke’s mouth barely touched hers.

“Oh, my divine fire, I’m so glad you don’t.”

In the kitchen of his town house that evening, Luke was frying bacon and worrying. After spending the day making love to each other, they were ravenous, but only one of them could cook. Prim was upstairs getting dressed.

Self-knowledge was a wondrous thing. It was as if nothing in the world had ever quite fit. Everything had been disjointed, ill-timed. Until he felt her respond to his kisses, until she told him of her love. Then all the great misfitting puzzle of his life righted itself. He was foolish even thinking it, but he felt as if
he’d been washed clean and made whole by bathing in her sweetness.

Luke poked strips of bacon with a fork and glared at them. Rot that Primrose Victoria Dane. Why had she kept her affection for him a secret? Of course, he hadn’t been honest with her either. But Luke had made a discovery. The knowledge of their love, and the consummation of it, had only magnified his fears for Prim.

He flipped strips of bacon onto a plate and set more to cooking. The fat crackled and spit at him, as if voicing his apprehension. What if she came to regret giving herself to him? In truth, she was too fine for a lowborn wretch like himself. She deserved an honorable man, a true gentleman born to distinction; she didn’t deserve Nightshade, even if she had succumbed to his corrupting charm.

“What are you doing to her?” he mumbled. “You’re taking advantage of her warm and sensitive heart.”

Stabbing at the bacon, Luke contemplated his future. Could he face it without Prim? He imagined the next months, the next years without her, and they stretched before him in endless gray monotony. Then he laughed and shook the pan over the fire. He was a prime fool indeed. Neither of them would have a future if he couldn’t get rid of the bloke who did for Pauline Cross.

Luke took a lamp from a cupboard and lit it before sliding the rest of the bacon onto the serving plate. He set the bacon and the lamp on the table in the servants’
dining room. Light footsteps announced Prim’s arrival. She came down the stairs with her damp hair hanging over her shoulders and sniffed.

“Mmm. I’m so hungry.”

She reached for a slice of bacon, but Luke snatched the plate out of her reach.

“No food until we settle something.”

“Luke, my stomach is shriveled.”

She reached for the plate, but he held it away from her. “Not until you tell me who murdered Pauline Cross.”

Prim’s mouth snapped shut. She dropped into a chair and folded her arms over her chest.

“Rot you, Primrose Dane. I knew you’d come all over stubborn again if I tried to get you to talk.”

“Then why attempt it?”

“And now your tongue is getting starchy again.” Luke set the plate down, well out of Prim’s reach. He grabbed her chair and twisted it around so that she faced him. “You’re still trying to protect me.”

“Don’t speak to me in that accusing manner, Sir Lucas.”

“Sir Lucas?” he repeated with a smile.

Prim sniffed and continued. “If I tell you, your life will be in danger.”

“Ha!”

She jumped. “Heavens, don’t do that.”

“Sorry.” He pulled a chair opposite hers, sat, and took her hands in his. “No use protecting me any more, Primmy. You should have realized that once Fleet grabbed me. Whoever your enemy is, he knows I’ve been protecting you. He’ll assume I know everything,
and it won’t matter what we say or do. He’s going to come for us both. So you see, my love, you might as well tell me.”

He watched her gray-green eyes widen to the size of overcoat buttons. The kitchen was dark except for the lamp, and the house was empty and silent. Luke lowered his voice and spoke with the soft certainty of a life spent in the cesspools, ditches, and rubbish heaps of the soul.

“I have to end it now, before he kills us both.”

“You’re too late.”

Luke jumped from his chair, yanking Prim to him as he whirled to face a shadow that detached itself from the doorway leading to the kitchen yard.

Prim clutched his arm. “It’s him.”

The shadow floated toward them into the light, and Luke beheld a man of neat, expensive appearance holding a pistol, the mate of the one Fleet had wielded.

The Gentleman inclined his head. “Miss Dane, this is indeed an unfortunate circumstance. For you, that is.”

“Oy! Who are you?”

Prim had wrapped both arms around him, and spoke from the shelter of his body. “That is the Honorable Robert Montrose.”

Luke whistled and shook his head.

“Choke me dead. An M.P. No wonder you been hunting poor Primmy like a terrier after a mouse.”

“I haven’t come here for conversation, Hawthorne.” Montrose gestured toward the stairs with the pistol. “To your bedroom, please, Miss Dane.”

Luke guided Prim ahead of him. “It won’t work, Montrose. Her family will want to know why she was killed.”

“And they will have an answer ready to hand.”

In Prim’s bedroom, Montrose closed the door and ordered them to the bed.

“Now, please undress, both of you.”

Standing beside the bed, Luke put his hands on his hips and glared at Montrose. “Not bloody likely.”

“I suggest you consider that I could shoot you now and do what I like with Miss Dane.”

During the delay, Luke had been assessing Montrose. The bloke might have teeth like piano keys and a mincing kind of voice, but his eyes had the expression of a reptile eating its young. Luke began to unbutton his shirt.

“Luke?” Prim’s voice quivered.

“Do what he says, love.”

He stood in front of her. He removed his shirt and unfastened his trousers.

“That’s enough,” Montrose said. “Loosen Miss Dane’s corset.”

Luke moved behind Prim and began working with the laces. Prim was shivering.

Leaning close, he whispered, “Don’t worry, love.” Then he raised his voice. “Got the damned laces in a knot. Hold on.”

He yanked at the garment and fumbled with the laces. After a moment, Montrose waved the pistol.

“Never mind. As long as it’s loose. Come away from her, Hawthorne. To the foot of the bed.”

As Luke complied, Montrose moved closer to
Prim. Now Luke was at the foot of the bed while Montrose and Prim were standing beside it.

“Your aunt is quite scandalized by the news that you have run off with Sir Lucas, Miss Dane.”

“What?”

“She will be devastated by this tawdry scene. A lovers’ quarrel, between the lady and the thief-turned-gentleman. Perhaps you quarreled over that very thing. After all, what lady would want to spend her life with a thief, even one so beautiful as Hawthorne here.”

“You bastard,” Luke said.

“As I said, I haven’t come here for conversation.”

Montrose raised the pistol.

Luke saw the hammer pull back, and yelled, “Now, Primmy!” Prim snapped a lace in Montrose’s face like a delicate whip as Luke hurled the stay he’d pulled from her corset at him. Montrose screamed, dropped the pistol, and put his hands over his eyes. Luke sprang at him, barreling into the man and hurtling them both to the floor. Montrose kicked the pistol across the room as he fell and fastened his hands on Luke’s neck. Instead of squeezing, he lifted Luke bodily and sent his head smashing against the floorboards. Stunned, Luke twisted and tried to escape the remorseless grip. Again he felt his head crash against the floor. This time he must have lost consciousness for a moment, for he seemed to wake from blackness and find himself suffocating.

His hands flailed, then grabbed a handful of hair and jerked it. The grip on his neck didn’t loosen. Suddenly the weight on top of him doubled, nearly
caving in his chest. Luke’s eyes flew open to see Prim perched on Montrose’s back, clawing at his eyes and tearing at his hair.

Montrose yowled as a tuft of hair came out of his head. He let go of Luke, rose with Prim, and hurled her off his back. She hit a wall and her head smacked against it, stunning her. Luke gave a furious bellow, thrust himself to his feet, and landed a blow to Montrose’s chin. Montrose stumbled away, and his foot hit the pistol. He and Luke dove for it at the same time. Montrose grabbed it, and Luke’s hands fastened on his.

They rolled over and over, hitting the writing desk near the window. Pens, paper, inkstand, and letter opener were sent flying in different directions. Luke bashed Montrose’s gun hand against the leg of the desk, and the pistol flew from his grip. He released Montrose and sat up, aiming his fist at the man. He stopped when the letter opener was pressed against his heart.

Sweating, his head bleeding where hair had been torn from the scalp, Montrose gave his reptilian smile. “I’m going to have her before I kill her, and I want you to know that before you—”

Luke heard a loud crack. Montrose jerked, then turned to stare at Prim, who was holding the pistol in both hands. Luke saw a red hole had appeared in the killer’s neck. Rushing to Prim, he took the pistol from her and slipped his arm around her as her knees buckled. Montrose was still staring at them. Luke tossed the pistol aside and turned Prim away from the sight, holding her head against his shoulder.

“It’s all right, love.”

“Oh, heaven. Oh, heaven.”

She sagged against him. Frightened, Luke lifted her, even as Montrose’s body hit the floor, and carried her to his own chamber. He laid Prim on his bed, searched in the darkness, and lit a lamp. Taking her hands, he rubbed them while murmuring to her.

“It’s all right, love. He’s gone. You’re safe now.”

She shot upright with a gasp. “He was going to kill you!”

“But he’s gone now, my love. My brave love.”

She clutched his hands and began to repeat over and over, “Oh, oh, oh.”

Alarmed, Luke tried more reassurances, but that had no effect. Finally he wrapped his arms around her, tucked her face into his shoulder, and squeezed her hard. Her cheek was thrust against his bare skin. He could feel her shaking through the mattress, but as he rubbed her arms and rocked with her, the trembling subsided.

At last she lifted her tearstained face to his. “I—I killed him. Oh, I feel ill.”

“Now you listen to me, Primmy. You had no choice. It was that way from the beginning, the moment you saw him do for Pauline. It was going to be you or him.”

“I k-killed him.”

Luke shrugged. “You would rather he killed you?”

There was a brief silence.

“No.”

“Or me?”

“Of course not.”

He kissed her on the nose and wiped her wet cheeks. “There’s some things, love, that we ain’t never going to understand in this life.”

Prim snuggled closer to him and gave a trembling sigh.

“I think I shall be able to bear it, if you will help me.”

“That’s what I want to do, love. I’ll help you, no matter what.”