“He doesn’t know anything.”
“We’re going to leave now,” she announced, “and you’re not going to give chase.”
“Lucifer will ’ave me ’ead if I let Wolf go.”
“Don’t give chase and you’ll find five hundred pounds sitting on your doorstep come dawn.”
“A thousand.”
“Eight hundred.”
Willie nodded.
But once Marcus and Esme were in the hallway, they ran, out of the building and down the street. As they passed an alley, he threw the confiscated knives into it. A few yards away was a waiting hansom. They’d barely climbed in before it took off, and he had a feeling she’d generously paid the driver to ensure he wouldn’t leave before she returned. The woman left nothing to chance. Her revolver and reticule were resting in her lap. She wasn’t going to shoot him, but even if she was contemplating it, he didn’t bloody well care. He’d come close to dying and the thrill of still being alive was racing through him.
“Christ, you were magnificent back there.” He cradled her cheek, plowing his fingers up into the loosened strands of her hair to give him purchase,and turned her face toward him, taken aback by the anger and hurt he saw there.
“You didn’t think I needed to know what you were up to?” she spat out.
Her fury with him should have doused any flames of desire, but it only served to increase the smoldering within him. “I didn’t want to place you in harm’s way.”
“So you placed yourself instead. Alone. With no reinforcements whatsoever. What an utter fool you are.”
He was most certainly that, because the more cross she became the more he wanted her. He’d grown up in a family where emotions were never shown. Highs and lows were never revealed. Dreams and disappointments were never shared. His parents had never let on if they worried about him, not even when he’d fallen from a horse at the age of nine and broken his arm. During the past year, he and Griff had grown closer, but Marcus had yet to connect in any meaningful way with Althea. To have this womanworriedabout him... he didn’t quite know what to make of it. To be so vexed, she had tocare, at least a bit. When was the last time any woman had?
Dear Lord, were those tears glistening in her eyes, captured by the passing streetlamps? “Esme—”
She smashed a fist into his unwounded shoulder. “How the devil will you restore your family honor if you’re dead? You’re so damned reckless.”
“You’re so glorious in your fury.” And he knew then that no matter how terrifying those first few moments had been when Willie’s minions had surrounded him, he’d have moved heaven and earth to lay eyes on her again. “Nothing would have kept me from returning to you.”
“You idiot man. You... you...”
He watched as a tear rolled along her cheek. Without thought, he swooped in and captured it with his tongue. “Don’t weep, Esme. Don’t—”
He covered her mouth with his own because he could think of no words to reassure her and it hurt, deep down, where a small part of his heart had not rotted, to see this courageous woman, this warrior, distressed at the thought of his demise. He couldn’t voice the depth to which her arrival had terrified him more than being surrounded by thugs with knives. If she’d perished, he’d be the one weeping, inconsolable. How was it even possible that she could mean so much to him in so short a time? Was it because they journeyed on the same quest? Because of the battles they’d fought, the confidences they’d shared? What he felt was so much larger than a common goal—
Lust. It was just lust. It had to be because the thought of it being anything more... she wasn’t going to fall for a man who thrived in the darkness, who had considered once striving to dethrone the leader of the Devil’s Hand, of taking his place in order to control those who paid homage to him.
The salt of her tears on his lips unmanned him. Her eagerness drew him in. Perhaps it wasn’t lust but merely a need to reaffirm that they were both alive, that air filled their lungs, and their skin was warm. Hers so soft. Her cheeks anyway. Her chin. Her throat. His fingers skimmed over her face as the kiss deepened.
In spite of the small confines, she was agile enough to climb into his lap. He dropped his head back and she followed, eagerly taking possession of his mouth as though she owned it. Perhaps she did. Somehow it had become hers. He couldn’t imagine another woman’s lips upon his, couldn’t imagine ever wanting the taste of another woman. She consumed him. Caused him to burn like an eternal flame. This passion for her would never be doused. Even if he took complete possession of her, already he knew he’d want her again. She would have been a formidable wife for any man but fate had dealt her a devastating blow. Yet instead of wallowing in her misfortune, she’d become guardian of a queen. Had become a queen herself, of fire and brimstone, courage and strength.
As the carriage slowed, they broke away from each other and she scrambled off his lap to face forward, leaving him only her profile to gaze upon and an inability to determine her mood from that alone. “Esme—”
“I reacted to being alive. Don’t make more of it than that.”
The hansom stopped, the doors sprang open, and she made a hasty departure. Climbing out, he looked up at the driver. “You’ve been paid, I assume.”
“A fortune, mate.” Then he set the horse into motion and disappeared into the encroaching fog.
Marcus strode up the steps and into the residence. She was standing near the table of decanters, already downing something as he approached.
“Esme.” She set the glass down with a soft clink but didn’t turn to look at him. He wished she would. “Thank you for rescuing me. I’ll find a way to pay you back those eight hundred pounds.”
“I’ll send word and the Home Office will provide the funds, although I suspect Willie—honestly, he needs a more ferocious name—will find himself in the clutches of Scotland Yard before he has a chance to spend any of it.” Slowly she faced him. “I do wish you’d trusted me with your plans.”
“It wasn’t a matter of trust. I was afraid it might go bad, and I didn’t want you there if it did. I have no desire to see you hurt.”
