Page 23 of The Finest Print

22

Accounting Ledger of E. Fletcher

Week of 20 May 1848

Secrets of the Old Bailey Vol. 1, No. 7

Earnings less expenditures—￡20

Remaining debt owed—￡25

N.b.—expenditures now include purchase of paper, inclusive of tax

Ethan stared at Belle’s lacquered front door. It was early evening, and there was nothing overtly wrong about him coming to call. Except he hadn’t been invited. If he were a gambling man, he would wager Mrs. Bowers did not take kindly to unannounced guests.

But Belle hadn’t left him much choice—nor, as it turned out, had she left him the correct draft when she departed the shop earlier.

He sighed and wrapped two fingers around the door knocker. The resounding clang seemed louder than it needed to be.

There was a long pause.

He rubbed the back of his neck and raised his hand again.

The door swung open. To his surprise, Belle’s face appeared in the crack.

“Ethan?” She looked thoroughly perplexed. “What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

“You tell me.” He raised an eyebrow. “You left the wrong journal, and Newburn needs your fair copy first thing tomorrow.”

“Are you certain?”

“I went through it all.” He shook his head. “But I didn’t see anything for number nine. The silver theft, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Belle frowned, opening the door wider. He could now see she was wearing a pale pink wrapper. “Come in. It must be upstairs. My notes are all over the place…”

Ethan hesitated. It was very hard to look away from the smooth expanse of her collarbone. “Where is your housekeeper?”

“She’s with her daughter tonight.” Belle motioned him inside. “Her grandson is colicky. I told her to go see the babe, to take Harriet to help. It’s only me here tonight. Lena already departed for my aunt’s.”

Her gaze turned velvety. “I was going to come to you later, but I’ve been a bit distracted.”

“Yes,” he acknowledged, following her inside. “I noticed. I thought I should check on that too.”

She reached behind him to close the door, and Ethan ran one finger down her spine. He might not be a betting man, but he liked his odds that she wasn’t wearing a corset.

“Did you say your journal was upstairs?”

She slid him a look. “Come on, then. Though be warned, my bedroom isn’t fit for company.”

“I promise I haven’t looked at a single thing since you opened the door half-dressed.”

She led him up the stairs and down a hall to an airy bedchamber. Everything was dark wood and ivory lace. A polished desk sat in front of her window, just as he’d always imagined.

But the most notable feature of Belle’s bedroom was that it was a complete disaster.

All over the bed, draped over both upholstered armchairs, and spilling from an adjacent door was a mess of clothing—gowns and shawls and ribbons and jewelry scattered in a glittering tableau.

“Belle?” His lustful urges were momentarily waylaid by the shock of such clutter. “What in hell?—”

“I was helping Lena.” She winced and set about gathering armfuls of rustling fabric. “She wanted to wear my bronze shot-silk, but it didn’t quite fit, then she wanted me to try it on, because I never get to wear it…and then things got a bit out of hand. Not all of this is mine,” she added, depositing a pile in her small dressing room.

He was silent, looking about, taking in all of her fine, fine things. He picked up a pale blue gown, rubbing the satiny fabric between his calloused fingers.

“I wore that to my first ball.” Belle lifted the bodice from his hands and held it in front of her, moving to stand in front of the gilded mirror over her dressing table. She swayed slightly, the skirts swirling around her shins. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

“It’s very pretty.” He joined her at the mirror. “I can’t imagine how beautiful you must have looked.”

In truth, he could imagine it all too well. A cloud of silk, her radiant face. Something heavy pressed upon him, and the weight of it hurt.

She draped the gown over a chair. “And I wore this.” She lifted a delicate necklace from a tray on her dressing table. “A gift from my aunt. Sapphires and seed pearls.” She gently fingered the string of tiny jewels. “You know, I can’t remember the last time I’ve worn it.”

“Why not?”

“I haven’t had a reason to wear it,” she told their reflections, a wistful little smile playing on her lips. “I don’t go anywhere that calls for anything so splendid. But I like knowing I have it.”

“You could wear it for me.”

An odd tangle of defeat and determination knotted inside his chest. Never in his life could he give her jewelry like this, but he could give her a reason to wear it. It mattered in a way he couldn’t explain, that Belle had someone to dress up for, should she wish.

She shook her head. “It’s silly…”

“I’d like to see you wear it.” His palms fell to her shoulders.

“All right.” She blushed and raised the necklace to her throat. “You’ll need to help—the clasp is finicky.”

“I’ve got it.”

He slid his fingers along her collarbone, then around to the back of her neck. Her hair was bound in a loose knot that left her nape exposed. He gently stroked her skin as he fastened the clasp of her necklace.

“There.” He looked up, his green eyes finding her hazel in the mirror. “You can’t tell me you looked better than this the last time you wore it.”

She reached behind her, wrapping her arm around his neck. Her reflection grew heated at the lazy intent in his gaze.

Then she blinked, seeming to return to herself. “The notebook,” she said hastily, turning from the mirror. “I nearly forgot.”

“Don’t worry about it right now,” Ethan muttered, trying to draw her back to him.

“No. I forgot once already.” She moved to her desk, found the journal, and held it aloft. “I can’t let you leave without this.”

She frowned as she brought it to him. “Goodness knows, it’s distracted me enough today.”

“Is this what made you so prickly this afternoon?” He flipped through the journal. “If you were having trouble with the draft, you could have told me.”

To his own surprise, he’d come to truly enjoy playing the foil in her machinations. It brought him untold satisfaction that Belle could invent scenarios as outlandish as she pleased, safe in the knowledge he’d rein her in when needed.

“Not the draft.” She shook her head.

“What then?”

“The serial as a whole, I suppose.” She sank to her desk chair, sitting on top of a paisley-printed shawl. “This morning, my cousin Oliver brought a copy of Secrets to my aunt’s house.”

“In Mayfair?” He’d never been to Mayfair, but he’d gleaned enough of London in the last two months to know Clementina Bloom would be an unexpected visitor.

“Someone was reading it at his club, and he picked it up for me…and now, my whole family has seen it.”

He nodded slowly, starting to understand the shape of her odd mood. “I see.”

“My aunt was worried about it being inappropriate. She didn’t want Oliver to give it to me. She was…a bit embarrassed, I think.” Belle looked at her hands. "She made sure to note my manuscript is far superior to a penny blood.”

Her expression grew pained, and Ethan felt a dull discomfort move through him. Right . Her manuscript. The one he couldn’t publish for her.

“What did they say when they found out you’re Irascible Nell?”

“Oh.” She bit her lip. “They didn’t find out. I didn’t tell them.”

She looked up at him, a faint uncertainty in her hazel eyes, and Ethan’s agitation sharpened.

“You didn’t tell them?” He lowered his brow in consternation. “So you…what? Pretended you didn’t write it?”

“I couldn’t. I wasn’t ready. I still need to find the right opportunity…”

He regarded her, staving off a faint rankling. He was used to scrambling her name every week, hiding her identity in spite of their sensational success, but he hadn’t thought she would flat-out deny what they were working on when confronted with the chance.

“I don’t usually make assumptions,” he said slowly, “but I can’t help but assume the paper falling onto your breakfast table might have been an opportunity, sweetheart.”

“It’s not so easy for me.” Her face was racked with nerves. “You know good and well how I get stopped up. Those women on the street, the evening with Duncan—I’m not good in the middle of a moment. I take four drafts to do anything for a reason, Ethan.”

He folded his arms. “You’re fine with me.”

“I’m many things with you.” She peered up at him, her forehead creasing in concern. “Are you upset with me…for not telling my family?”

“I don’t exactly relish the notion you feel the need to hide what we’re doing.”

What had he vowed, the very first week? I can make something fit for her name. It’s what he’d promised himself, even before he wanted to promise Belle anything. His nostrils flared, a fight working its way up his spine as he considered the prospect of battling her shame.

“You said your aunt seemed embarrassed, but given your reaction, I can’t help but wonder if she was the only one. I’m well-aware of all the many ways I’m holding you back. God knows, your writing shouldn’t be another.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” she said firmly. “I really do believe that, because I thought about it all day—at the expense of nearly every other thought. But it doesn’t mean others won’t find it embarrassing. You must understand, me writing a penny blood would be a tremendous scandal in some circles. And it wouldn’t be my first.”

She looked down.

“Whether or not I’m Irascible Nell, I’m always going to be Belle Sinclair. I’ve chosen to manage that by keeping things separate. Today, they nearly collided, and…it was unsettling.”

He understood what she was trying to say, but he could clearly remember when she hadn’t been so quick to keep things separate. He strode to her window and looked out, spying the railing he’d leaned against two nights ago.

“When we first met, you wanted to publish under your own name,” he said. “You shook my hand and told me you were the author of your manuscript. You were proud of it.”

“I did.” Belle was still eyeing him carefully. “When I was trying to publish a novel, yes, I wanted to use my name. But I’m not writing a novel anymore. I’m writing penny fiction.”

“For me.” Ethan felt compelled to say the obvious, necessary thing. “You’re writing penny fiction…because that’s all I can offer you.”

“Yes.” She lifted her chin. “That’s true. You couldn’t publish a novel, so we didn’t. It’s not a judgment on you. It’s what happened. I can mourn something I never had at the same time I embrace something I do.” She rose and drew nearer to him. “You’re acting obtuse, and I don’t know why. Don’t you sometimes miss publishing the news?”

He worked his jaw. “Yes.”

Her color flared high as she put her hands on her hips. “How is that different? Neither of us planned to write a story paper. We’re compromising, we’re seeing what comes of it. I like what I see. But not everyone will, and that is a challenging prospect.”

He expelled a helpless groan. “You still can’t see it, can you? Belle, I cannot compromise when it comes to you. I cannot bear to watch you do it for me.”

He cast his gaze about her bedroom—the finery splayed on her bed, the beautiful desk where she no longer wrote her novel. Everywhere was evidence of what their compromise cost her.

“The last thing I want is for you to settle for me,” he said roughly. “If I ever find I’m holding you back?—”

“Holding me back?” She breathed a soft, incredulous laugh. “ You’re the one who pushes me. Two months ago, I was half of the woman I am now. Because of you .”

“Belle…” His voice caught as her words landed.

“Enough.”

The fight was leaving him and finding Belle. Her eyes glittered in the slice of sunset falling through her window.

“I see you, Ethan. Allowing a pile of disordered ballgowns and discarded jewelry to put you on edge.”

She swayed closer, keeping her eyes on him.

“As if anything in this room could hold a candle to you.”

Closer still.

“As if anything in this city could hold a candle to you .”

In an instant, his blood turned thick as honey. He tracked her, riveted, as she stalked across the room to the pile of gowns on her bed.

“Do you see this?” She snatched up a shimmery green bodice. “I wore it the last time I attended the opera. I dressed myself with such care, only to overhear a group of matrons say the most wretched things behind my back.” She raised the dress for his inspection. “Do you think this matters to me?”

“No.” The air in his lungs grew heavy. “No, I don’t.”

She threw the green aside.

“Here—” She flung a length of yellow silk toward him; he caught it one hand. “I wore that shawl to my engagement soiree. Duncan told me it didn’t suit. And you know, I stopped wearing it, even while I kept wearing his damn ring.” She raised her chin. “Should I care about that?”

“No.” His pulse slammed in his ears. “ Hell no.”

He tossed aside the silk and stepped toward her.

The sharpening of her usual reserve whetted his own primal response.

Belle was offering him every one of her beautiful edges.

He knew exactly what to do with them.

“And this one…” She grasped an ivory lace bodice. “This was to be my wedding gown. Can you imagine anything less important than this?”

“Not a damn thing,” he said huskily, closing the gap between them.

She dropped the gown at his feet. He held her blazing stare, his chest straining in tempo with the rapid rise of her breasts.

“I’m sick to death of you acting like you can’t offer me anything, Ethan.” She slid her palms up his shoulders. “I want you . Only you. Always you.”

“You mean that.” His voice was raw with conviction. He wasn’t asking her a question—she meant it, and yes , he knew it.

“I mean it,” she whispered hotly.

He put his hands in her hair, angling her face to his. “Why?”

“Because I love you. Because you make me mad in more ways than one. And because you are the only person on earth I can use even half of my words with.”

She was incendiary, sparking something blistering and uncontrollable within him. She was about to find out how shatteringly good she made him feel?—

As if he were the biggest man in the world.

“Then do it.” He inched her back, and she gasped, her glazed eyes reflecting his own mounting fervor.

“Do what?”

“Use your words with me.”

Another step.

Another .

Her breath came fast against his throat.

“I want all of your words, Belle.”

Her back hit the door of her dressing room, and he lowered his lips to her ear.

“Remind us both why nobody in this entire goddamn city can hold a candle to me .”

Her sigh hitched as she wrenched him down, dragging his mouth to hers. He groaned at her unmastered assertion, her gentle nip at his lower lip. Christ . He stroked the hungry press of her tongue and she yanked him closer still, winding his loose tie around her fist.

“What do you want right now?” he rasped, nudging his nose against hers. “Anything…I’ll give it to you.”

Her chest heaved as she leaned against the door. He braced his arms on either side of her, caging in her blossoming demand. He was in thrall to her boldness, greedy for her greed.

“I want you to undress me,” she whispered.

He was already opening the tie at her waist. Beneath her wrapper, she wore nothing but the sapphire necklace and a pair of lace stockings. He took her in—rosy and ready—and his cock pulsed.

“I’m going to take such good care of you.” He eased his thumbs over her stiffening nipples before dragging her wrapper to the floor. “Tell me how.”

“Ethan…”

He sank to his knees, nosing the soft curls between her legs. She was wet, as wet as he was hard, and he groaned as he wrapped his hand around her calf.

“You want these stockings off, sweetheart?”

“No.” Her cheeks were pink. “Leave them on.”

He licked his lip. “Yes, ma’am.”

He spread her thighs, his palms pressing wide, and waited.

“Your mouth on me.” She squirmed against his hands. “Please.”

God, yes.

“Do you want me to make you come?” He kissed the crease of her hip. “Or just play a little?”

Her flush found the tips of her breasts.

“Make me ready for you,” she panted.

He loosened a gravelly moan and slipped his tongue over her swollen, eager bud.

“And then?” He looked up at her, kneading his fingers into her bottom. Her expression was glassy, her hair spilling from its knot. He compulsively dropped one hand to his trousers to palm his straining cock. “Tell me, Belle. It’s going to feel so good.”

“I…I want you to handle me.” Her voice was ragged as he nestled his mouth between her shaking thighs. “Don’t be delicate. Show me you understand this is real , that you’re exactly what I want, that you can have whatever you want of me.”

She drew a breath.

“Then I want you to take it.”

A powerful, alien sensation tore through him as he held her legs open and licked a long stripe.

They moaned in tandem.

She was so wet, it was turning him senseless, and he licked her again… again. Lips, mouth, teeth—he angled her closer, his fingers digging proprietary crescents into the skin of her thighs.

She wanted to come with his cock, she was telling him this, her pleas desperate in his ears, but he was lost to the intoxicating desire sliding beneath his tongue. For the first time since he met her, he was going to deny her.

“Ethan, I’m ready,” she gasped. “You can?—”

“ You can,” he ordered, his throat burning. He pressed his mouth back to her. He couldn’t stop—all sugared softness, all for him. “You’ve put me on my knees, Belle. For the love of God, let me stay here.”

“Yes, yes .” A shiver tore through her, her fist tight in his hair. “Don’t stop.”

He dragged her leg over his shoulder, widening his access, tonguing the slick of arousal on her thigh. She heaved a faint sob when he settled his lips back around her clitoris, and he chased the sound, circling hard, soaking up her crumbling cries until she was pulling him closer, shuddering above him, coming undone under the demand of his mouth.

Her calf slid limply along his back, and he opened his trousers with one hand, seeking relief, any relief. His cock jutted hard against his stomach, and when she saw it, she moaned softly.

“Now.” She tugged at his shoulders. “I swear to God, Ethan…”

He was already on his feet, yanking off his shirt.

“You still want me to handle you, sweetheart?” He needed to be sure.

“You’ll have to withdraw,” she managed. “But yes, I want this.” She bit his earlobe, and he slipped into some sort of haze. “I need it.”

And yes , she did, she loved this, he could see it all over her. He pressed her more firmly to her door, and his cock thickened to the point of pain.

“You asked me if I know what’s real,” he muttered. “I know what’s real.” He tweaked her nipple, and she moaned into his chest. “This.” She spread her legs, so good for him, and he fit his palm against her. “ This .”

“ Yes . It’s yours, please …”

“What else is real, Belle?” His hands fell to the back of her thighs, and he lifted her, holding her to the door as she wrapped her legs around his waist. “What else?”

“You,” she gasped. “You?—”

“Me,” he confirmed, dragging his length along where she was wet and hot and so gorgeously needy. “ Me inside you.”

He sank to his bollocks, his back rigid with pleasure. Her arms twined around his neck, and the glorious drag of her stiff nipples along the hair of his chest sent him momentarily spiraling.

He gripped her hips and lengthened his thrusts. Ruthlessly claiming, roughly reassuring, deep-seated plunges rattling the door. Her hair tumbled loose, sticking to her neck, and he buried his face in her glossy strands and salty skin.

She clutched him as he pinioned her to the door, the prettiest gasps urging him on.

Deep, deeper, more.

He filled her, stretched her, nearly splintered within her, but no —not yet —not until she felt him everywhere, not until he took care of her, his brilliant girl…he’d do anything for her, anything, anything .

“I feel it.” She dragged her bottom lip over his chin, to his mouth, taking his half-rendered promises on her tongue. “You’re there, Ethan. We’re there."

He swore, forcing himself to steady, even as the bite of her fingernails channeled straight to his cock. He hissed an agonized exhale and angled his hips, working hard against a spot that had her keening into his neck?—

And then— oh God, thank God —she shattered around him.

She sagged as she spiraled, her cries blunted by his shoulder. He moved on instinct, he had to withdraw, he had to do it now …

He set her on her shaky feet and pulled from her, slamming both his open palms to the door above her head.

“Belle—”

He kissed her, and she grasped him, bringing him to release with the slick friction of her fist. In a fog of black relief, he spilled onto her stomach, shuddering with the brutal force of his climax.

She burrowed her face into his chest, her ribs shaking beneath his hand.

“Holy hell ,” he muttered, pressing a hard kiss to her hair.

He eased her to the floor and tugged her into his lap, pushing aside her crumpled wedding gown. He found a handkerchief and cleaned her stomach as she stared at the ceiling, dazed.

“I love you too,” he whispered, not exactly sure when she’d said it, just that the words were ringing softly in his ears.

“I know. Blast, I’m going to miss you this week.”

She lay her head on his shoulder, gently scratching the hair on his chest, pulling them into a lull.

“I’ll write to you,” she murmured. “And I’ll come to the shop…as soon as I can…”

She went on, something or another about what she would be doing with her family, but Ethan was only half listening.

He was instead staring down at the soothing pass of her palm over his chest.

At her beautiful, unadorned left hand.

My God .

In an instant, his clarity was pristine. He could see straight through his misguided principles, to where Belle was waiting, steadfast and certain.

He kept insisting— insisting —he couldn’t promise her anything.

But he damned well could offer her a promise.

With dazed resolve, he reached for his trousers. He thought he might have… yes . He had cut a length of twine from a bundle of serials earlier, and there it was, still in his pocket.

“I can come by Tuesday,” Belle was saying. “Possibly sooner. It depends if…Ethan? What are you doing?”

“Something incredibly ill-conceived but wholly necessary.”

He lifted her hand and wound the twine around her fourth finger, measuring the length.

“Ah…” She looked up at him in question.

“One day,” he said hoarsely as he began to loop the twine. “I’m going to own the shop outright.”

She watched his face as he tightened the knot. “All right.”

“I’m going to find a tenant for the upstairs residence.” He checked his knot. “Then I’m going to lease the worst house on the nicest street I can afford.”

She let him turn over her palm, gentling her fingers between his.

“I’m going to fix our broken desk and set it in front of a west-facing window. I’m going to come home every night to find you sitting there, half-covered in ink and half-formed ideas.”

He looked up, caught in the warm relief of her hazel eyes.

“And you will see me Monday.” He was loosening, reckless with devotion. “Because that’s the day I’m going to speak with your father.”

He slid the twine back around her finger.

She grew still, aside from the steady bloom of her smile. “You are?”

“I am.” He kissed her palm once, then again. “If you would like that.”

“Yes.”

And it seemed to him she was answering many questions at once.

“ Yes , Ethan.”

“I’ll do better than this when I can,” he said, rubbing his thumb over the little circle of twine from the printshop. “Unfortunately, a ring is about tenth on my list.”

“I wouldn’t go to too much trouble.” She kissed him, her lips tilting into his. “We’ve already established I have little use for jewels.”

“It will be a long wait, Belle,” he warned her. “A long, long wait. Longer than the repayment of the debt. Do you understand that? I need to have something of my own first.” He shook his head, his throat tight. “My circumstances haven’t changed, only my heart.”

“I understand.” She was beaming. “I’d rather wait for your circumstances than your heart.”

In his darkest days, he knew he would return here, to this moment.

Anticipating the rest of their lives.

Knowing it was all still possible.