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He hovered uncertainly in the center of the room, his wits clearly addled, for he did not blush at her praise as he might have done otherwise. Indeed, he seemed positively doltish as he continued to shy away from the tremendous opportunities she was clearly offering him. “You want me to look at your ankle?”
“That’s right.” She smiled her most disingenuous smile as she raised her skirt to just above her slipper. “I don’t know why, but there was something comforting about seeing it was you, Mr. Woking. I mean, because we know one another so well. It made me feel...safe. Yes, put your hand around it and see if you feel any bones sticking out. I’d hate anything to snap if I put pressure on it when I try to stand.”
Obediently Mr. Woking went onto his haunches and gently grasped Araminta’s ankle. He began to run his hands over the contours, almost reverently, and Araminta reached forward and put her hand gently on the top of his head. He looked up in surprise.
“I have never given you credit for being such a fine gentleman,” she murmured.
His eyes widened and his stupid mouth dropped open. Gritting her teeth, Araminta forced a tender smile. “You were always so kind to Hetty, who then repaid us with such unexpected, scandalous behavior. She didn’t deserve you but you are so worthy, Mr. Woking.”
“Worthy? Of what, Miss Partington?” His eyes were even wider now as Araminta leaned closer. It seemed that unconsciously his hands had strayed a little higher toward her knee. Araminta tried to keep from shuddering; tried to keep from her mind the rapture of just hours before, which she could never relive. Her life was in ruins, or it would be unless she could find a father for her child.
“Of love, Mr. Woking,” she murmured, closing the gap between their faces and touching her lips to his wet, flaccid mouth.
He might be a ninny but it seemed he came alive to all possibilities at such a touch. With a low groan, Mr. Woking’s arms wrapped around Araminta’s shoulders and before she knew it, he’d joined her on the sofa.
Dear God, it was a nightmare, the feel of his slimy tongue plunging into her mouth, but she had to keep up the charade. Somehow it felt less personal if she could get him to concentrate on doing what she needed him to do, away from her face.
He was still slightly in his cups, she realized. He’d been stumbling along the pavement though apparently very much aware of the dangers to her reputation during their initial encounter, but now it seemed such reservations were put to rest by her encouragement. The bodice whose cut she was so keen to ensure could comfortably fit Lord Ludbridge’s hand was now tugged and mauled to accommodate Mr. Woking’s eager, seeking, hairy hand, and her fuller skirts, smoothed and pressed with such care with thoughts of Lord Ludbridge’s advances proving the prelude to a glorious marriage proposal, were now nearly ripped from the high bodice by Mr. Woking in his haste to do what Araminta needed but despised him for.
Still, with time running out for Araminta, the dreadful, unwelcome but necessary deed had to be done. So she suffered his mouth on hers, his seeking clammy hands mauling her breasts, her thighs.
Wordlessly, she helped him with the buttons that secured the front fall of his breeches so that his member sprang forth, joyfully. Araminta closed her eyes. What choice did she have when ruin was her only alternative?
With a little judicious help, she angled herself so that he had access to her cavern of delight with as few preliminaries as possible, gritting her teeth once again as he entered her. He grunted, and after a few quick thrusts, finished the act, rolling onto his back with a groan of pure pleasure.
Araminta tried not to cry as she lay beside him, staring at the ceiling. This was not how tonight was supposed to end. She swiveled her eyes to the right, expecting to be faced with Mr. Woking’s limpid gaze, but his lids were closed and he was snoring softly.
She jabbed him sharply in the ribs and he opened his eyes, giving her a shocked look as if he’d not truly expected to see her beside him. Well, she wished it was all just a bad dream, too.
When his gaze travelled down the length of her dress, which was rucked up to her thighs, he appeared to gather his wits. Leaping up, he grasped Araminta’s wrists and helped her to her feet.
“Miss Partinton, what have I done? Dear Lord, what has just happened?” he cried in horrified tones, as if he’d not known what he was about before.
Araminta stepped into his embrace and rested her head against his chest as she looked up at him with an adoring smile.
“I’ve just agreed to be your wife, Mr. Woking. That’s what just happened.”
***
Snuggled together in the carriage, Ralph held Lissa’s hand and, between kisses, explained that he was taking her to someone who “mattered” in government, someone he believed could help them.
“He was formerly attaché to Rear Admiral Lord Worthington, an MP who was involved in the initial case that never really got up against Sir Aubrey in which he was accused of Spencean sympathies,” Ralph told her. “I’ve made extensive, discreet enquiries regarding the best person to deal with in this matter and was referred to Sir William Keane. He wants to learn everything he can about Lord Debenham, whom he suspects of being the real villain—not Sir Aubrey, as I think we both know—in the plot to assassinate Lord Castlereagh and bring down the government. So my dear, are you up to this?”
Lissa felt dazed, both with love for the darling, enterprising man beside her, and at the sudden turn of events. “I think that after c
limbing two stories down a rope in the middle of the night, I’m up for anything,” she said, pretending mild indignation.
“That’s my girl. Don’t mind my question. Lip service, that’s all it was.” He grinned and gave her a playful dig in the ribs. “Of course I knew you were up to it. Now, aren’t you going to tell me how clever I was to rescue you and to source someone who could help us?”
“Are you in danger, too, Ralph?” Lissa was suddenly worried. “Have I put you in danger?”
“I’m in danger every moment I work for that blackguard,” Ralph responded pleasantly. He patted her hand and Lissa rested her head upon his shoulder and felt as if her heart really would burst for joy.
“If Debenham were committed for at least one of his misdemeanors—one that is technically against the law—I could seek another position without fearing retribution. But beggars can’t be choosers, and I felt it safer to remain within the viper’s nest rather than risk the viper’s bite by going elsewhere.”
“Yes, I do see that. And to answer your other question, yes, I do think you were astonishingly clever in rescuing me, and, yes, I am dying to know how you knew I was in danger.”
His expression grew serious. “I knew you could be in danger after Debenham stormed in, furious that a sketch had been done without his knowledge. I fobbed him off with a false name but I knew it wouldn’t be long before he tracked down Master Cosmo.” He squeezed Lissa’s hand. “The problem was, I was in Little Nipping, and unable to get home for a full day. Debenham had come on horseback. In fact, he’d only just arrived at his estate before he thundered back to London.”
