Page 29 of The Hellion is Tamed
“Christ,” Simon muttered.
When she was settled on the velvet squabs, the gigantic overcoat in a puddle around her, she glanced out the window to find Simon standing in the same spot, his face drawn in lines of battle. After scratching his chin with his shoulder, a cautious signal, he dug deep in his checked waistcoat and came out with a handkerchief.SAembroidered on the corner in somber gray thread. “You may want to wipe the blood from your cheek before you face the duchess. It’s going to be enough to explain the damaged clothing. But you made this bed, so it’s only appropriate you lie in it.” He shoved the strip of cloth into her outstretched hand, their ungloved fingertips brushing, sending a bolt of heat through her body.
And, she prayed to all that was mighty, through his.
Giving up, she sighed and flopped back against the seat, pressing the handkerchief against her shuddering belly. Touching him was going to be a danger hereafter. Another problem that blasted kiss had introduced. When she was prepared to make it worse. The minute they got out of sight, she was going to lift the wadded linen to her nose and breath the deepest breath she’d drawn all day. Inviting his scent into her soul.
He stuck his head in the window before they rolled away, determined to get the last word. He was tall enough,plentytall enough, to lean right in and over her. Incredible, when the Alexander brothers didn’t share a drop of blood, that they were near the loftiest men in London. “I want to know everything about this time tracer, a minor detail it would have been fantastic if you’d shared before. Julian will need to record your considerations in the chronology, discuss it with the League. I don’t believe it’s something we ran across in our research to find you. If we’re going to protect you from him, we have to knowhow. Andwhy.”
She was tangled up in emotions she craved and loathed. No one,no one, had ever stepped in to protect her. She’d had no father, and her mother had been ill every day Emma had known her. Her granny too old, then gone before she knew it. The feeling of being safeguarded was magnificent and…frightening. As tangible a weight as the coat draped across her shoulders. Though she wasn’t prepared to accept it. “I saw you with the countess when I came back. My ‘knicker twist,’ as it were. Orhers, should she have been wearing any.”
He rocked out of the carriage, then back in, moonlight a hazy wash over his ruthlessly handsome face. The mist had curled his tawny hair about his ears and jaw, and she wanted nothing more than to knot her fingers in the overlong strands and draw his lips to hers.
“Countess,” he whispered, baffled. Shaking his head, his hand came up to grip the window frame, his gaze searching her face. His fingers were long and slim, the nails ragged as if he chewed on them. A spot of ink marked the rough pad of his thumb.
Intimate details she unwillingly cataloged, hating the both of them for the need to.
“I didn’t have first-rate control then. I practiced, but it wasn’t, it stillisn’tperfect. I even ended up in Scotland once.”
His fingers clenched until his knuckles whitened. “Brilliant.”
“No, it truly wasn’t. Cold as a witch’s teat there. Anyway, when I returned, I tried to land smack at the viscount’s, Julian’s, estate in the country, where I met you before. I thought of you and it, that place, but somehow, I bungled the job and ended up in—” She bit her lip and released a pained exhalation through her teeth. “This vulgar pink bedchamber. You and a countess and her tiara. And not much else. Except for that bloody birthmark on your bum!”
“Oh…” he breathed, a comical expression of horror on his face. “That’s not good.”
Emma snorted beneath her breath, unable to think of another thing to say.
“It didn’t mean anything. They never do.” His lashes lowered, partially concealing his discomfort. “And she wasn’t a countess.”
Incensed because he’d made no effort to deny what she’d known was the truth, Emma pried his fingers from the window frame and banged on the carriage’s roof. Mackey whistled, and the conveyance jerked into motion, throwing her against the squabs. She wasn’t going to look through the rear window,dammit, but in the end, she did.
Simon stood in the Blue Moon’s shadowed entrance, his expression vacant, his eyes haunted. The Soul Catcher shimmered a radiant blue from the depths of his coat pocket.
Then, without so much as a twitch of his pinkie, he turned and walked inside, closing the door behind him.
Emma collapsed, her breath leaving her in a piercing sigh. It seemed she and Simon were always walking away from each other.
Ravenous countesses, unwanted supernatural gifts, London’s dense fog and eighty years standing between them.
* * *
He’d had too much to drink.
But the looming distance between his female troubles and his ability to do anything about them were welcome.
Simon’s brothers, who’d barreled into a deserted Blue Moon after closing, were not.
“Humphrey, take the gin from him, will you?” Julian advised from his spot behind the desk in the gaming hell’s study, a sketchpad balanced on his knee, his charcoal making light strokes across the page. “I worry this is what goes on when I’m in Oxfordshire. He’ll be on the floor soon, with Finn not far behind.”
Humphrey reached over him, the bottle leaving Simon’s hand before he could recapture it.
“Nothing but grief since she stepped into my life,” Simon whispered against the rim of his glass, determined to enjoy the last sip if that’s all the controlling viscount was going to allow. Emma’s fiery kiss was burning a hole in his brain, and he needed alcohol to eradicate the reflection. “Josie doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about.”
Finn rolled his head to look at Julian. He was half-slumped in a massive leather chair angled before the hearth, one leg hooked over the arm, the other stretched before him. He sat so close to the fire, Simon imagined his boot was getting toasted. “Who’s Josie?”
“The madam in St Giles he visits,” Julian said without looking up. “Great Russell Street,isn’t it? A philanthropic venture, if you can believe it. Childhood friend. A few years back, they formed a rescue alliance for impoverished women, taking them out of that life and placing them in service. Covert, but I admit, quite impressive. I employ two of them currently, a scullery maid and a governess, believe it or not. The Duke of Ashcroft has at least one or two himself. Finn, I’m sure you have someone he’s foisted on you.”
Simon pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “OldNicholsStreet. Russell is two over.”