Thief of Shadows (Maiden Lane #4)

Thief of Shadows (Maiden Lane #4) Page 33

He trailed one hand down her belly to the fine curls that decorated her nest. Searching, seeking that little nub that she’d shown him. Circling, softly petting.

She gasped again and opened blue eyes lit with erotic mischief. “Are you trying to steal the reins from me?”

Even with his penis buried deep within her, even moments from climax, he arched an eyebrow. “You have them only by my permission.”

“Watch.”

She placed her hands behind her on his legs, her back slightly arched, her pelvis tilted, and slowly rose. The position gave him a splendid view of his glistening cock emerging from her delicate folds. He stared, unable to tear his gaze away as she slowly reversed course and his ruddy flesh bore into her sweet hole.

“Good?”

He heard her laugh breathlessly and looked up. She was flushed, a sheen of perspiration making her face glow. She was a goddess.

A mocking goddess who meant to drive him insane.

He moved without thinking, grabbing her hips, arching, turning. She lay flat on her back and he rose over her, having kept his place even as he’d repositioned them.

He braced his hands on either side of her startled face and smiled—though it near killed him to do so. “Watch.”

Her gaze went to where they were joined, and he felt himself flex within her. Slowly he withdrew, each inch a blissful agony, until only his head was still lodged within her. Then he reversed and slowly, deliberately, thrust back into her, all the way, until his hips met hers firmly.

He leaned down, his mouth less than an inch from hers. Sweet. Tempting. And whispered, “Good?”

“Oh, God, Winter,” she moaned, her blue eyes dazed with arousal, “do that again.”

“With pleasure,” he ground out.

And he did. Again. And again. And again.

Until she was moaning with each thrust and withdrawal. Until his chest was so tight he thought it might explode. Until she clawed at his buttocks and begged.

Until he could hold back no longer. Until he let the beast go and pounded into her, out of control, out of his mind with lust.

In the end, when he arched in a rictus of honeyed pleasure, she looked up at him with swimming blue eyes and gently touched his sweaty cheek with one finger, and he knew.

He’d poured his soul along with his seed into her.

Chapter Thirteen

Next, the True Love took a little glass vial and sat down and thought about what the Harlequin meant to her and how she mourned his loss from her life. As she contemplated these sad thoughts, tears dripped from her eyes and each one she carefully caught in the glass vial…

—from The Legend of the Harlequin Ghost of St. Giles

It was still dark when Isabel mounted the stairs back up to her bedroom, but it wouldn’t be for long. She’d lain with Winter after they’d made love for the second time, dozing a bit, just enjoying being close. When at last he’d roused and dressed, she’d been loath to leave the library. Only the knowledge that the servants would find it strange that she’d spent the night there made her move. She trusted her servants—and paid them very well—but they were human, after all. No point in giving them more to gossip about than her actions with the Ghost of St. Giles already had.

It was too early for even the chambermaids to be up and stirring the fireplaces, but Isabel realized she wasn’t alone when she got to her bedroom. A little form lay just outside the doorway.

Isabel paused and looked down at Christopher, perplexed. There was a carpet in the hallway, but even so, the floor could hardly be a comfortable bed. Yet the boy was curled on his side like a little mouse, his chest rising and falling gently in deep sleep. He looked so young in sleep, almost a baby. He had his mother’s fair hair but she realized as she stared at him that his chin and nose were his father’s. Someday he might look like dear Edmund.

Isabel sighed. No one was about, and no doubt poor Carruthers still slept peacefully in her bed in the nursery. There was no help for it. Carefully she bent and gathered the warm little body into her arms—a little awkwardly for she wasn’t used to this. He made not a sound as she carried him to her bed, but she was somewhat surprised at the solid weight of him. Gently she laid him on the bed and pulled the covers to his chin.

“Is he here?” Christopher’s sleepy brown eyes blinked up at her. His words were so slurred, she wasn’t sure he was entirely awake.

“Who?” she whispered.

“The Ghost,” he said, quite clearly now. “I dreamed he came and saved you, my lady.”

She felt the corner of her mouth quirk up. “Save me from what?”

He rolled into a little ball on his side, his eyes unblinking. “I dreamed you were crying in a tall tower all alone and the Ghost came and saved you.”

“Ah,” she said, her brows knit. What an odd dream for the boy to have. “It was only a dream, Christopher. I’m quite all right.”

He nodded, a huge yawn splitting his face. “Then he did save you.”

She blinked at this logic and Christopher began to softly snore.

For a moment she simply stared down at him, this child who would not go away, no matter how often she chased him. This child who demanded her maternal love, withered thing though it was. Her eyes suddenly swam with tears. She remembered Winter’s repeated words: If not I, then who? She’d never be as saintly as he, but perhaps this one, small thing she could do.

She bent and kissed Christopher’s forehead before climbing into bed herself.

WINTER GAZED DOWN at Peach as she lay sleeping and wondered what would be best to do with the little Jewess. He didn’t have much knowledge about the Jews in London—other than that they were technically illegal and thus a very secretive society. He could convert the girl, he supposed, and raise her as a Christian, but something inside of him balked at the notion of changing her so fundamentally. Of teaching her to lie all of her life.

At least she looked better than when she’d first come to the home. Her cheeks were filled out and were a healthy rose color, and she even seemed to have grown taller, if that were possible in such a short amount of time. Dodo lay against her, protectively cradled in one of Peach’s arms. The little terrier eyed him warily, but at least she wasn’t growling.

Winter switched his gaze to the other human occupant of the narrow bed. “Joseph.”

Joseph Tinbox, who had been lying with one arm flung over his head and one leg hanging off the bed, opened his eyes groggily. “Wha—”

“What are you doing in Peach’s bed?” Winter asked mildly.

The boy sat up, his hair plastered to his skull in back and sticking straight out in front. “Peach had a nightmare.”

Winter cocked an eyebrow skeptically. “A nightmare.”

“Aye.” The boy was wide awake and using his most earnest expression now. “I couldn’t let her sleep alone after that.”

“And you heard this nightmare from down the hall in the boys’ dormitory?”

Joseph opened his mouth and then realized the problem: It was simply impossible to hear anything but a full-out scream from the dormitory at the opposite end of the hallway. He lowered his chin, peering at Winter from under his thicket of hair. “She’s been havin’ nightmares, she told me.”

Winter sighed. The protective streak in the boy was a good one, but…“You’ve reached an age, Joseph, when it will no longer do to sleep in the same bed as a female, no matter how noble the reason.”

He could see by Joseph’s confused look that the boy had no idea of what he spoke. Still, it was the sad state of the world that people judged others not by the best that they could be but by the worst thought in their own hearts.

“Come, Joseph. Peach is old enough to sleep by herself,” Winter said, holding out his hand. “She has Dodo to protect her, after all.”

Joseph Tinbox gave him a look full of ancient childhood wisdom. “Dodo is a dog, sir. She can’t answer back when Peach wants to talk about the things that happened to her.”

“I’m sorry, you’re quite correct,” Winter said. He cocked his head. “Is Peach telling you all about what happened to her?”

Joseph nodded, his lips pressed tight together.

“I see.” Winter glanced about the room, his brows knit. “Then perhaps a compromise is in order. What if you were to sleep in the cot next to Peach’s bed? That way you could still hear her should she wish to talk, but you would both get a better night’s sleep, I think.”

Joseph thought the matter over as solemnly as a judge before nodding decisively. “That’ll work, I ’spect.”

He climbed into the cot and gave a great yawn.

Winter picked up his candle and turned to go. It would be daybreak soon enough. But Joseph forestalled him with a question.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Where do you go at night?”

Winter paused and glanced over his shoulder. Joseph was watching him with perceptive eyes for one so young.

In that instant, Winter grew tired of lies. “I right wrongs.”

He expected more questions—Joseph was usually full of them and his answer was too obscure—but the boy merely nodded. “Will you teach me how sometime?”

Winter’s eyes widened. Teach him to…? His mind instantly balked at the thought of putting Joseph in danger. But were he ever to ask for an apprentice to his Ghost, he knew instinctively that he could find no one with more courage than the lad.

He hesitated before speaking. “I’ll think on the matter.”

The boy blinked sleepily. “Thank you for letting me stay with Peach, sir.”

Some sudden emotion swelled Winter’s chest.

“Thank you for caring for her, Joseph,” he whispered, then shut the door.

“WHERE ARE WE going?” Christopher asked eagerly the next afternoon.

“To a place with lots of children,” Isabel replied. “You might find one or two to play with.”

Christopher looked uncertain. “Will they like me?”

Isabel felt a pang. On impulse, she’d brought Christopher with her to visit the home. He’d been so happy this morning when he’d woken in her room and she hadn’t scolded him. She thought he might enjoy the company of other children his age, but what did she know about children, after all? Perhaps this had been a terrible mistake. Christopher looked so apprehensive! He’d had very little experience with other children, she realized. Louise took him away to visit her once in a while, but she had no family and her friends had no children. Christopher had been rather isolated all of his short life.

She wasn’t his mother, but Isabel felt guilty anyway. She should’ve noticed before now how lonely the little boy must be. And she realized suddenly that it was because of Winter that she was more aware. He’d opened something up deep inside her. Made her look at her life and world with new eyes. The thought made her uneasy. What they had was by necessity destined to be a short-lived thing. Someday—probably someday soon—she would have to walk away from Winter. Yet the more time she spent with him, the more she was seduced by his grave, dark eyes. Those eyes saw her true self like no one had before.

Isabel shuddered. When she did leave Winter, it would be like pulling off a layer of skin.

“My lady?” Christopher’s high voice brought her back to the present. She looked at him and smiled reassuringly.

“I don’t know if the other children will like you,” Isabel answered, “but I expect if you are kind to them, they won’t find fault.”

Christopher looked only marginally reassured and Isabel gazed out the window with a silent sigh. No doubt Winter would think her a fool for bringing Christopher.

But when she saw Winter half an hour later, he had other matters on his mind. He stood on the home’s steps, talking to Captain Trevillion, the dragoon officer.