Page 29

“Thank you. As am I.” In truth, this woman—his partner—had crawled beneath his skin and had hacked through the thorny brambles he’d let grow around his heart as a form of protection.

She’d dragged him out into the sunlight to heal—his own personal sunshine.

“I mourned for that loss probably longer than I should have.”

“You had every right.” Tears glimmered in Caroline’s blue eyes; her compassion and understanding gutted him. “You are more than a Runner.”

He scoffed. “Principal agent, or in my case, on my way to being an inspector.” His shrug brought out another round of pain in his head. “Besides, a Bow Street man’s life is a lonely one.”

“It can be, but that is a man’s prerogative. You’ve suffered enough, Felix. Learn to live again. Find a reason.” She gently worked the buckles. The pressure of the harness and brace eased from his thigh, and still holding his gaze, she pulled the false leg away.

“What if I can’t?” He knew his limitations as a one-legged man. Unable to bear what he might see in her eyes, he focused on the flickering candle in the holder. “Say something.” Emotion graveled his voice. “Tell me I’m hideous, that now you know why I act the prick and keep people away.”

“Do shut up, Major.” Caroline set the leg against the wall near his shoulder.

Then she walked on her knees to sit next to him.

Wordlessly, she urged him close enough that she took the remainder of his leg into her lap.

“I don’t think any of those things… except for you being a prick.

” She massaged the stiff, taut muscles while she kept her focus on her hands.

“Things happen in life. Some are unpleasant. The trick is to continue on because we must.”

Despite himself, Felix moaned with pleasure.

No one beside himself and his surgeon had touched his damaged leg before, and the fact that she did without hesitation left him stunned.

The tension eased from his body and still she worked on the muscles in his thigh.

He relaxed, leaned the back of his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

The pounding throb lessened in his head while the ache about his heart that he’d managed to ignore faded somewhat.

How was this possible in the mere sharing of what had been eating him from the inside out?

“My problem was in thinking working for Bow Street was my whole identity.”

“No, your problem was never asking for help when you desperately needed it. Even now.”

“I asked you.”

She snorted. “Only because you wanted to distract me from my own problems.” When he didn’t answer, Caroline continued. “You should have told me earlier about your leg. Especially when we were swimming.”

“I didn’t want you to see me like this. Beneath the water, not having a leg was hidden.” The words were pulled out of him, for this woman was nothing short of amazing. She was capable of his salvation or his downfall, and he wasn’t certain which one she would bring about.

“There is nothing damning about having a false limb. You are still every inch a virile man. Any woman who believes otherwise should be committed to Bedlam.”

The words bolstered his confidence and banished lingering fears as much as caused his length to harden. Yet he didn’t trust his voice.

Couldn’t, for he’d been wrong before.

“Scars mean you’ve lived, that you continue to do so despite the odds, and that you’re a fighter.

” She drew her touch along the side of his face and he let her, loath to break the moment.

Every sweep of her fingertips brought him a measure of peace that had eluded him for far too long.

“Except you stopped living after you were given the false leg. Until now. Why?”

“I was embarrassed, ashamed. I didn’t know how to navigate my life when I wasn’t whole, feared being involved with anything lest I failed on any front.”

“Yet you’re doing splendidly.” Silence reigned between them, broken only by their breathing.

Then she said, “Battered armor is more valuable than shiny, for the dents and scratches mean a man will fight for what he believes in and for whom he has vowed protection.” She finger-combed the hair from his forehead, her touch cool.

When he finally opened his eyes, he held her gaze.

Compassion and something he couldn’t quite identify sparkled in those blue depths.

“I’m rather rubbish at talking about how I feel.

” He paused, choosing his words carefully.

“It doesn’t come naturally, possibly due to my time in the military. Emotions make a man weak.”

Caroline nodded. “Sharing emotions doesn’t mean you’re worthless, either.” She stopped her massage but left her hand on his thigh. The heat of her empowered him. “Being strong doesn’t make you invincible, but having those two sides prepares you for anything you might wish to pursue in life.”

He nodded. “I apologize for acting the arse.” His voice shook with emotions that threatened to break him; ever since he’d met her, he felt as if he were becoming someone… different. Never had he let anyone see beneath his carefully crafted facade. Not even his sister, though she probably suspected.

“Thank you. Why does it feel as if you’re pulling away from me? Am I not investigating well enough?”

“Ah, Caro, you are more than excellent on this case.” At every turn she surprised him. “It is me who is failing. I should be able to piece something together by now.”

“Give it time. The answers will come. I think you know this, but you try to forget your stint with Bow Street. And I think you also know you have a future in London of doing just that. Because you are good at it.”

“Perhaps.” He wrapped a hand along the back of her neck, glanced his gloved thumb along her jaw, her bottom lip, the upper curve of her cheek where a smudge of dirt marred her skin, and she shivered.

“Would that you will find how you fill your future as well.” Not stopping to consider the consequences, he scooped her into his lap so that she straddled his waist. Her skirting bunched between them.

“Because you are an amazing individual.”

“Oh!” She settled one hand on his shoulder and the other along the side of his neck as she held his gaze. “That is the nicest thing you’ve said to me.”

“I apologize that I’ve shown myself as… what did you call me?

A troll beneath a bridge?” When she giggled, he pressed his lips to hers.

When she uttered a tiny sound of surrender, he settled her more comfortably in his arms and kissed her, continued to play her mouth until the cold seeping through his backside was forgotten.

Her petal soft lips cradled his like a lover, the plump flesh hot against his.

He wanted her, hungered for her, needed her, but trapped in a vault of death was not conducive to such amorous activity.

So he contented himself with taking his fill from her mouth, again and again drinking from her, nibbling at her lips, licking them, fencing with her tongue, thrilling at the glide of silk on satin.

When she wriggled on his lap and heat further hardened his member, she plucked at the knot of his cravat, and he broke the kiss with a heavy sigh.

“We should stop before one or both of us are embarrassed.” Mostly him, for they couldn’t come together again. Not without extracting promises.

It wasn’t something he was ready for .

The pout on her kiss-swollen lips nearly had him reneging on his vow to himself. “I don’t mind if you don’t.” Her eyes twinkled with a wicked promise he’d do well to ignore lest he lose the rest of his self-control.

“While it might be gratifying, I do not plan to spend the remainder of my life in this tomb, and this place isn’t fit for such activity.” He eased her from his lap. She stood and paced about the tight confines of their prison. “Thank you for listening to my rambles. I appreciate the friendship.”

Caroline nodded. Some of the light faded from her eyes. “I’m happy to help in any way I can.” Her voice shook slightly. Darting her focus to his leg, she asked, “Do you need assistance putting it back on?”

“No.” He pulled the limb toward him. “But perhaps I can help you. Give you something to calm your nerves.”

“How?”

“I designed the artificial leg myself.” With a twist of his wrist and a press of two places on the upper portion of the leg, a secret compartment popped open. “Take a couple of sips of this.” He tossed a shiny silver flask across the space at her.

“What is it?” She fumbled at the stopper.

“Fine French brandy.” He gestured at her. “Drink up. It’ll help clear your head.”

The tendons in her neck worked with her first swallow. She ended up coughing and then wiping her streaming eyes. “Nasty stuff. How do you manage to drink it?”

“It’s an acquired taste.” He chuckled at her reaction. “Take another swig.”

With a sigh, she drank again, and when finished, she ran the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip, much to his discomfort. “Better, though I doubt I shall ever become accustomed to the taste of liquor.”

“Perhaps that’s a good thing. It can be just as large a demon as laudanum.

” He took the flask when she offered it and then downed his own portion before replacing it in the slot designed for the container.

“The interior of the leg also holds a knife for emergencies or sometimes I put a small caliber pistol there, as you well know.”

She smiled. “Do you realize how interesting you are?”

He snorted. “That is debatable.” But her praise warmed him. He began the task of strapping the limb back to the remainder of his leg.

“It’s true, but even with that knowledge, we are trapped here, and sooner or later the candle will burn down.” A trace of fear lingered in her voice.

Though he wished to say more to her, a rattling outside their prison echoed eerily in the silence. Then the smooth door swung open and the shadow of a slight man holding a lantern aloft stood in the frame. “Mr. Smythe?” Never had he been so relieved to see the groom.

“I saw someone driving a gig out this way with two big burlap sacks. When the vehicle and horse returned, luggage was gone, and I was curious, especially at this time of night.” The groom peered into the vault. “Come on, then. Linger too long and ghosts will attach to you.”