Page 42 of A Shop Girl’s Christmas (Pennington’s Department Store #3)

Cornelia couldn’t believe it when Lawrence and Esther rose from the table, suggesting that they show Elizabeth and Joseph the new billiard room. It was profoundly amusing that her brother and sister-in-law felt the children would benefit from seeing it, too.

As their voices faded along the corridor, she slowly turned to Stephen.

He softly smiled, mirth shining in his dark brown eyes. ‘Well, that wasn’t the subtlest exit I’ve ever seen.’

‘No, it wasn’t.’ Cornelia smiled, delighted by the amusement in his eyes. She’d rarely seen him so relaxed and she was suddenly keen to be alone with him behind a locked door. ‘Why don’t you join me in my father’s old study? Harriet’s maid will soon come to clear the table. It would be better if we can talk alone and uninterrupted.’

A flash of uncertainty sparked in his gaze before he stood, easing her chair back to allow her to stand. When they stood face to face, her mouth barely inches from his, she fought the urge to lean into him… to lean on him. The atmosphere burned with unspoken words.

She quickly turned away before she did something as idiotic as grab his hand and press it to her breast. Or kiss him hungrily, like her body, soul and mind pushed her to do.

When he raised his hand as if to touch her face, she hurriedly swept from the room. What was the point of succumbing to the need burning inside her? What was the advantage of pursuing a man like Stephen Gower when her children remained so confused and insecure? Her family as unsure of her intentions as she was herself. The stigma of her divorce continued to hover over her boys in the school playground, and even drew occasional whispers at Pennington’s.

Hopelessness pressed down on her as she walked ahead of Stephen into the entrance hall and along one of the three corridors. His footsteps followed her, sure and steady, as she walked along the wood-panelled walkway, the black wall sconces flickering, sending shadows rippling across portraits of horses and hunting prints.

As Cornelia reached the door of her father’s former domain, her steps faltered as memories assaulted her. Verbal condemnation, her father’s words like puncture wounds to his children’s self-esteem, but Lawrence… dear, darling, Lawrence, had sustained beatings, thrashings, isolation and hunger.

‘Cornelia? Are you all right?’

She took a breath as she felt a sudden need to open up to Stephen. She fought back her fear and vulnerability and directly met his gaze. ‘My father was a cruel man. His whims and the punishments he meted out were a mirror to his soul. A deep darkness that Lawrence, Harriet and I are only truly coming to understand as we grow older.’

He gently took her hand. ‘He hurt you?’

She nodded. ‘He hurt all his children. Come.’

The room was in darkness, the logs in the enormous grate unlit.

She shivered and crossed her arms. ‘I think I may have made a mistake bringing you in here. I thought Harriet might use this room nowadays… but then maybe even she can’t pretend the cruelties in here never happened.’

After he’d walked into the room, she slowly closed the door and locked it.

She forced a smile. ‘We should speak quickly, before the others notice us missing.’

He came closer, the musky scent of him scattering her dark memories. When she was with Stephen, when she looked into his eyes, she felt entirely safe, entirely human. As though her parents and David had each lost their power to destroy her life.

Tears pricked her eyes.

An abandoned shawl lay on a sofa and she snatched it up, throwing it around her shoulders. Holding it tightly against her breasts, Cornelia tried hard not to shiver. From the cold… not from her need to be held by Stephen.

He held out his hand towards the sofa. ‘Why don’t we sit? I have something important to say to you.’

The tone of his voice did not speak of love or desire, but of solemnity and seriousness.

Determined to not give into her heart and have it broken a second time, Cornelia brushed past him.

They sat side by side and his gaze wandered over her hair and face before settling on her eyes. ‘Cornelia…’ His chest rose and he spoke quickly. ‘I met my old inspector yesterday. He came to Pennington’s.’

‘About Lillian?’

‘Yes. It’s possible whoever attacked her has attacked before and was behind the recent killing. It’s also highly probable this animal could strike again.’

She tightened her fingers on his. ‘Then we need to find him urgently. More so than ever.’

‘ I do, not we. I don’t want you near this any more.’

‘But—’

‘No, I mean it.’

He placed his hand on her thigh, his dark gaze boring into hers. Heat from his fingers seared through her clothes and, God help her, she wanted more of his skin on hers. More of his strength inside her.

She swallowed. ‘I can’t leave you to go after this man alone, now that you’ve told me he could kill again.’

‘Neither can I have you exposed to danger. You have Alfred and Francis to think of. Your brother and sister. Even Mrs Culford and Miss Pennington. You have many, many people who love and care for you. Please, let me take this investigation from here. I intend to speak to the Bath constabulary and my inspector is doing all he can, using the resources he has at Scotland Yard.’

‘I see.’

‘You have to believe I won’t forsake Carter and I won’t forsake you. The biggest failure of my life led me to leave London and a job I loved. If I fail again, God only knows where I’ll go or what I’ll do. If I know—’

‘What happened?’ Her heart bled for the pain behind his eyes, the fervour in his voice. ‘What made you leave London?’

He hesitated and then shook his head. ‘You don’t need to know.’

‘Yes, I do. I want to know. I want to know you .’

The shawl slipped from her shoulders. His eyes roamed over the neckline of her dress to the inch of décolletage she’d half-heartedly convinced herself wasn’t for his benefit.

‘Stephen, please.’ She raised her hand to his jaw. ‘Tell me.’

Voices sounded in the distance, but neither of them moved. Instead, he clasped her hand and pressed a firm, lingering kiss on her palm.

Slowly, he lifted his head. ‘Cornelia. Beautiful, wonderful, amazing, Cornelia. Why did you have to come into my life now? Why have you stirred a need in me I have neither felt nor wanted before now?’

A tear rolled down her cheek, but she smiled, her heart swollen with love for this man. This policeman. This hero. ‘Tell me.’

He lowered her hand and entwined her fingers in his. ‘There were two women. Prostitutes. They came to the station, believing their lives were in danger and I took their names, but thought them drunk, deranged, maybe both. I went on another call instead. A young boy had rushed into the station saying his younger brother was being beaten by his father, and so I sent another officer to follow up the women’s claims. I made that little boy my priority, not the women.’

Pain etched his face and her heart ached for him. ‘A child must always come above an adult. You made the right choice.’

‘You don’t understand.’ His jaw hardened. ‘Those women were found killed, beaten to death, that very night. Left for dead in an alleyway, as though their lives were meaningless. The officer I sent after them? He was killed, too. Stabbed through the heart.’

‘Oh, Stephen.’ She closed her eyes, only imagining the burden he must carry every day. It was no wonder he had left London, come to Bath to be with his mother, his family. She opened her mouth to console him when he spoke.

‘The Board undertook an inspection into the part I played in the tragedy. I failed them, Cornelia. I failed my honour and I…’ His eyes burned with self-hatred and anger. ‘Failed my badge.’

Fear and hopelessness wound tight inside her. ‘Their deaths were not your fault. You did what you had to do in the moment.’ She shook her head, leaned closer to him, willing him to release his guilt. ‘Their passing was no more your fault than Lillian’s is Joseph’s.’

Unable to bear the agony in his gaze, she clasped his face and kissed him, pouring her comfort and love onto his lips so that he might understand what he had become to her. What he meant to her.

His lips barely moved against hers and then, like a spark to a flint, he pulled her close and crushed her breasts against the hard planes of his chest. Arousal shot through her. The intensity of their kiss deepened, his hand on her breast as she wantonly moved her fingers across his knee towards his crotch.

His breath merged with hers as she pressed her hand to his erection. A low, guttural groan escaped him. They could be so much to one another. Could show each other a whole new way to live and love. Find solace, comfort and happiness in one another’s arms.

It was as if the last few weeks they’d grown to know and care for each other culminated on an urgent wave, consuming them, urging them on in a way that was illicit, but impossible to stem.

He tugged at her bodice and she leaned back to loosen the ties. His eyes searched hers for permission, and she nodded.

Gently, he drew open the bodice and lowered his head, carefully lifting her breast from her chemise to take her nipple into his mouth. She closed her eyes and moaned, pushing her chest forward so that he might feast harder.

Arousal burned, her lust so fierce that she feared they might never have the opportunity to sate it. She pushed her hands into his hair, holding him against her bosom, relishing the soft strands in her fingers and the coarse, roughness of his attentions.

She wanted this man in her bed and in her life.

There could be no going back. Not any more.