Page 12 of Benefactor to the Baroness (The Seductive Sleuths #3)

A s Fontaine escorted Mrs. Summersby back to the front door, it felt as if her corset were far too tight. Each breath ended on a gasp and her vision darkened at the edges.

There were five—possibly four by morning—children in her house who had to be cared for, and nowhere to take them. The orphanages were full. What if she asked Captain Charles to allow her to bring the children with her to Halifax? That would get them out of Mr. Newton’s reach, although she didn’t know what she would do with them when they arrived, if the Halifax branch would take them in. Not to mention the difficult matter of feeding and supervising so many children along the journey.

She was getting ahead of herself. The captain likely wouldn’t even allow her on board unless she brought along her supposed companion, especially if she had several children in tow. She shoved her hand into her pocket, seeking the one item she never left her house without. It was an awkward, and admittedly ironic, quirk of her past life that she still felt compelled to carry a box of matches with her everywhere. When she was nervous or anxious it calmed her to turn the small item around in her fingers.

“I’ll come with you,” Mrs. Summersby said. “You can hire someone to watch over the children or bring them with us.”

Could she bribe the captain? Mr. Newton had initially refused her requests to take orphans from the workhouse until she had laid bills in his palm. That was the way of the world in Whitechapel, but she didn’t know if the same rules held for sailors.

“Lady Kerry, did you hear what I said?”

Fontaine’s legs wobbled. Finding Captain Charles had been a stroke of good luck. What were the odds that she could find another ship departing in the coming days for Halifax, especially one that would allow her to travel unaccompanied with a gaggle of children? If she did not sort out the problem with the foundation, Mrs. Eris would certainly report the problem to Mr. Hill, and then her chance of securing his endorsement would vanish. She would be removed from the board and would have to start again with a new charitable organization—assuming Mr. Hill didn’t sour her reputation.

She put one hand on the wall and clamped down on the wiggling, unpleasant feelings in her stomach.

“Lady Kerry!”

Fontaine jerked her neck up to find Mrs. Summersby’s nose inches from hers. The other woman’s eyes were wide, her cheeks rosy, her lips slightly parted.

All thought of the children, and the foundation, vanished from Fontaine’s mind. She had never noticed before, but Mrs. Summersby had two different-colored eyes. One was a dark blue, and the other was brown. There were also faint freckles spattered across the bridge of her nose, and a thin scar at her temple.

Fontaine raised her hand and touched the jagged section of raised skin. “How did you get this?”

The tip of Mrs. Summersby’s tongue swept across her lips. “My nephew. Basil. I was carrying him down the steps and…” Her eyelids fluttered closed. “I fell.”

Fontaine slid her hand down Mrs. Summersby’s face, then curled her fingers about the other woman’s neck. It would be so easy to kiss her. All she had to do was pretend to stumble, lean forward, brush their mouths together. If Mrs. Summersby recoiled, Fontaine could pretend it had been an accident and apologize.

She could do it. She should do it. What was the worst that could happen?

An image of Mrs. Summersby’s face twisted into a mask of disgust appeared in her mind, before Fontaine banished it. Yes, there was the risk that Mrs. Summersby would reject her, but there was also the possibility of so much more. She imagined stoking Mrs. Summersby to a conflagration, bringing her pleasure over and over again until they were both boneless with exertion.

After everything she had lived through, she refused to let fear stop her from pursuing something she wanted.

She exhaled harshly through her nostrils and pressed fractionally closer until her chest was brushing Mrs. Summersby’s.

“Can I kiss you?” Fontaine whispered.

The seconds seemed to pass like minutes as she waited for a reply, certain Mrs. Summersby would shove her away, then storm off in disgust. But when her response finally came, it was in the form of a whisper that caused gooseflesh to erupt on her arms.

“Yes.”

They moved in unison, touching their lips together in the gentlest of caresses that sent waves of heat through Fontaine’s body and made her long for more.

The noises Mrs. Summersby uttered did not help. She sounded as if they were already naked and tangled together on a bed, rather than touching in only one small place.

If a simple kiss was so powerful, what would it be like to taste the rest of Mrs. Summersby?

Fontaine increased the force of the kiss, just enough so that Mrs. Summersby knew it hadn’t been a mistake. When she didn’t pull away, Fontaine felt as if she would swoon right there. She had never felt this way with Malcom. This tense feeling, as if she were a balloon and at any moment, someone would prick her, and she would explode into a thousand pieces.

She wanted to slide her hands up Mrs. Fontaine’s thighs, kiss every hollow on her body, taste the inside of her mouth and every other place she would allow her to taste.

Was it her imagination, or was Mrs. Summersby leaning in closer, too?

Then a hand touched her waist, and she gasped. The moment her lips parted, Mrs. Summersby’s tongue swept inside hers, and the heat inside her increased tenfold.

Mrs. Summersby returned every stroke in equal measure. She raised her hand to Mrs. Summersby’s breasts. A cry came from deep in her throat, which Fontaine eagerly swallowed, delving deep into the other woman’s mouth while curling her arms about her back, drawing them so close that their stomachs pressed together.

Then the sound of distant carriage wheels filtered into her mind, and she realized they were on the brink of being discovered. She didn’t want to pull back. She would rather have locked the door and crawled beneath Mrs. Summersby’s skirts on the carpet before the fire. But Mrs. Summersby did not deserve their privacy to be interrupted in such a way.

She gentled her kisses, withdrawing slowly until they were once again panting with their foreheads touching. Mrs. Summersby’s lips were swollen, her eyes cloudy, her cheeks rosy. A strand of silver hair had separated from her chignon and bobbed by her cheek.

It was the most beautiful thing Fontaine had ever seen.

“Lady Kerry, I…” Mrs. Summersby whispered. “I…haven’t the faintest idea what to say.”

“Call me ‘Fontaine.’”

Mrs. Summersby licked her lips again, then said in a voice full of passion, “ Fontaine .”

Was it too soon to kiss her again? The way the woman said her name, as if they were lovers, made her want to wrap her arms around Mrs. Summersby and whisk them to a bed. Preferably for the rest of the night, if not longer.

Mrs. Summersby tightened her fingers on Fontaine’s waist. “I suppose you may have my leave to call me ‘Rosemary.’ Given the circumstances.”

“I would very much like to kiss you again, Rosemary,” Fontaine said.

Rosemary’s cheeks somehow became even redder. She tilted her chin up. “I-I would like that as well. But… we cannot.” She cleared her throat. “It wouldn’t be proper. Not here.”

Proper .

Of course, that was what she would say.

Unfortunately, she was very much correct. If they were discovered, their reputations would be ruined. They would be expelled from society, forced to live on the fringes, never truly accepted by their peers. Fontaine knew several such couples, and although they had never complained to her about their exile, she often wondered if they regretted making their relationship public.

“You are right,” she said, as she leaned in. “We cannot.”

“We absolutely can’t,” Rosemary replied.

They inched closer, noses brushing, breaths mingling, until Fontaine could see a smattering of faint freckles along Rosemary’s cheeks. She was even more beautiful up close, wrinkles and all. Fontaine had always assumed that the stories she’d read about infatuation were elaborate lies designed to make marriage more bearable. She hadn’t imagined that another woman could set her skin aflame, and make her nipples so erect, they dug into the material of her shift and corset.

“Once more,” Fontaine whispered. “No one has to know.”

Their lips touched, and she pressed herself to Rosemary, sliding her hands up the other woman’s shoulders until her hands touched her hair. Then Rosemary was touching her back, and all sense of caution and rationality vanished from her mind. Every touch, even through so many layers, was scalding.

She removed her gloves, then brushed her fingers over Rosemary’s bare throat, tracing the gentle lines until she reached her pulse, which thundered fiercely. She pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the spot. Rosemary gasped and threaded her fingers in Fontaine’s hair.

Fontaine blew on the place where she had licked.

“Oh, stop that,” Rosemary said.

Fontaine nibbled the spot where Rosemary’s pulse felt strongest. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Neither do I, but we must.”

Rosemary was right. They couldn’t be together, and not just because society would scorn them. If anyone saw them together and told Mr. Hill, she would lose her post. She had her widow’s portion, but it wasn’t nearly enough to support her and continue her charitable efforts. She needed her place in society, her ability to move among the elite, in order to raise the funds, she required.

God, how she wished things were different. If they were both wealthy. If she didn’t need to maintain her reputation. They could escape into the country and live together. But she couldn’t simply turn her head and forget everything she had seen and lived through. The children of London needed her.

“Thank you for your assistance, Mrs. Summersby,” Fontaine said, stepping back. “I could not have rescued the children without you.”

Rosemary huffed. “Do you think I would allow you to continue this foolish quest of yours alone?” She pushed away from the wall and fluffed her skirts. “I will need time to pack. How long is the journey to Halifax?”

Fontaine’s mouth dried. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’ll come with me?”

Rosemary flitted her hands over her hair, tucking strands back into place. “I already told you I would.”

It should not have been such a surprise, after everything Rosemary had done in the past two days. She presented a stern, cold mask to the world, but in truth, she was the kindest and most generous person Fontaine had ever met.

“Thank you,” Fontaine whispered thickly.

“Thank me when we have completed our task,” Rosemary said as she opened the front door. But before she left, she cast a glance over her shoulder. That moment of eye contact, so full of promise, caused gooseflesh to erupt on Fontaine’s arms.

Then Rosemary was gone, and Fontaine realized with a muttered curse that she’d just agreed to spend three weeks in close contact with a woman who could arouse her desires with a mere look.