Page 8 of The King of Whitechapel (Victorian Outcasts #7)

eight

C HRISTOPHER WOKE UP warm but exhausted.

His body must have consumed all its energy to keep him alive and heat him up again. If Elizabeth hadn’t pulled him out, he was certain he would have died.

Elizabeth. Brave, beautiful Elizabeth.

He swallowed hard. She was asleep in his arms. The blanket she’d used to cover herself had bunched around her hips between them, so their naked bodies pressed against each other. No barrier. No space. Just skin against skin.

Her skin was smooth and soft; it smelled of burnt wood, which wasn’t unpleasant, and had an exquisite shade of pink.

He shouldn’t touch her. He shouldn’t be so close to her. Hell, he shouldn’t even think of her.

He caressed the tangled mop of her hair and the curve of her back before stopping lest she think he was taking advantage of the situation, which he didn’t want. But he couldn’t deny a certain stirring at the close contact with her lovely shapes.

Her naked, spectacular breasts were pressed against his chest, and her leg coiled around his waist almost in a possessive fashion.

He loved how her lower back arched to give way to her rounded arse. He loved how fierce and brave she was. How compassionate and sweet. He loved how she felt in his arms, how he felt with her in his arms.

She shifted, torturing him with the friction of her hips against him. A rosy nipple made an appearance, hardening in the cold air, and he couldn’t gaze away. The temptation to rub it with his thumb to hear her moan was so strong his mouth grew dry.

They looked like two lovers who had fallen asleep after an intense tumble. That made him pause and slapped him back to reality. Both because he didn’t want his body to react to his pleasant thoughts—thank goodness he was exhausted—and because he had to think about her reputation.

No one would ever know they’d spent these days locked up together. He was considered a liar, a thief, and an arsonist on a good day. He didn’t want to be considered a defiler as well.

He pulled the cover up to cover her properly. No more peeking at her pretty nipple. Her soft breath feathered his neck, tickling his skin.

Since there wasn’t much space, he placed his arm around her waist again, not to touch any inappropriate parts of her body, which brought them even closer. Soon, when the storm stopped, she’d return home, and he would never have the opportunity to hold her again. She’d find a husband, who had never been whipped or called names, and would forget about the boy she’d shared a few days with in a cottage. The idea pierced his chest like a blade, but in a way, that future was the safest for her.

The eerie howl of the wind and the crackling of the flames were the only sounds but in a comforting way. He wished that moment would stretch forever, that he could watch her sleep and share her heat with him for hours on end.

She stirred and opened her deep eyes, staring at him with a hint of surprise. He was surprised himself. He barely knew her. They’d confessed each other’s secrets, and the forced closeness had sparked a fast intimacy, but at the same time, he was aware he shouldn’t be naked with her on a sofa, hold her, or caress her. Or even wishing to protect her so fiercely. There was too much desire to be with her in that wish.

“How are you?” She cupped his cheek, and the touch of her soft hand melted his heart. “Your skin is warm.”

On fire.

He swallowed a couple of times. “Much better. Just tired. The cold is exhausting me.”

“I feel tired, too.” She didn’t withdraw her hand, and he didn’t mind.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken such good care of him. His mama had been the last person. The only one. When Pearce had helped him after the beating, he’d simply sent for a physician, which was a lot, anyway. But he certainly hadn’t spent time next to him, making sure he was all right.

And the occasional tumbles he had with those women who didn’t care about his illegitimate status never showed any tenderness towards him. The physical exchange was for mutual pleasure. Nothing more.

The lack of kindness and intimacy had never bothered him—in fact, he’d appreciated it—until now. Maybe it was the absurd situation he was in, but Elizabeth made him long for more, for a deeper connection, for lazy mornings while lying naked on a sofa, for slow caresses.

Her compassion made him realise what was missing in his life. Somehow, it hurt. Deeply. Intimately.

Ignorance is bliss . It was true.

He shouldn’t have tasted her kindness. Now he wanted to get drunk with it. He was addicted to it.

She caressed his jaw, and he couldn’t pretend the gesture was merely to ascertain his temperature.

“I’ve never been more scared in my whole life than when I saw you drop in that lake,” she said, stroking his cheek again.

“That makes two of us.” He tilted his head, brushing her inner wrist with his lips.

A rush of heated energy went through him, warming him in a moment. Something flickered in her gaze, igniting her brandy-coloured eyes.

“What will happen to us?” she asked.

Oh, he knew what she meant.

He stopped her wandering hand by covering it with his. “If they don’t find us, which is likely, we’ll go to Spencer Hall separately. You need a believable story, so no one will suspect we were together. Is there a nearby shelter you could have used close to your house?”

The tip of her tongue darted out to run over her bottom lip, and he couldn’t refrain himself from noticing it. He wanted to taste her lips and see if they were as soft as they looked.

“There’s a small hunting lodge at the edge of the forest. My father and his friends use it when hunting. It has a stove and chopped wood. The gamekeeper keeps it well stocked. I think my parents will believe me if I tell them I stayed there.”

“We didn’t see each other. You left the house to get some fresh air when the storm hit. That’s it. You don’t know where I am.”

She nodded, resting her head on his other arm. “I’m sorry we have to lie though.”

“Well, we certainly can’t tell anyone we lay naked on the same sofa and slept together.” His voice had a quiver of sheer sadness he didn’t know he could produce.

A flush crept over her cheeks. “No, we can’t. I don’t think I can even tell myself without blushing.”

“Listen.” He held her face because he wanted her full attention. “You saved my life. I’ll never forget that. If the truth comes out, you’ll blame me. Say what you have to say to protect yourself. Tell your parents I forced you to stay here with me. Tell them I threatened you. Whatever you need to say.”

Another flame flashed across her eyes. “No! I can lie about where I was, but I can’t lie about you. That’s wrong.”

“Everyone already has an opinion on me anyway. My reputation would remain unchanged. Why ruin yours? If I were a gentleman your parents respected, they’d ask me to marry you. But a bastard? They would never allow that, and you’d be branded as a trollop. Your life will become a nightmare. I won’t allow that.”

He reluctantly released her face only for her to hold his cheeks in both her hands, and he wanted to close his eyes, sink in her kindness, and forget the world.

“Stop. Let’s survive this storm first. Then we’ll …” She fell silent, staring at him with too much intensity. “Do you think your father will make you leave Spencer Hall? Where will he take you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Will I see you again? In London, perhaps? We might meet there.”

“Elizabeth.” He lowered her hands. “You’ll have a lovely, happy life, find a good husband, and have a family. Be loved and respected. That’s your future.”

“It sounds dreadful.”

He laughed and hugged her.

She snuggled closer and rested her cheek on his chest.

“You’ll be happy, Elizabeth. I promise.”

They held each other with desperation, and even though she triggered a hunger he’d never experienced inside him, he wanted to just hold her and make sure no one would hurt her.

He kissed the top of her head before falling asleep again.

* * *

The gale died during the night, not without a fierce fight. It kicked and screamed before admitting defeat and vanishing. Christopher could tell because of the silence. No more thumping against the windows, howling wind, or hissing.

He disentangled himself from Elizabeth’s arms to walk to the window. A shiny blue sky shone for miles overhead. The sun burned with all its mightiness as if apologising for its absence. He was almost sorry the storm had passed.

Elizabeth stretched out her arms over her head, yawning. The movement uncovered her breasts, and he caught a welcome glimpse of her taut nipples.

He averted his gaze, focusing on the view. “The sky is clear.” His voice sounded all wrong as if he’d swallowed sand.

Wrapped in a blanket, Elizabeth walked over to him at the window. Her chestnut curls fell down around her waist, and he wanted to run his fingers through them and see how they caught the sunlight.

“Yes, I think the storm won’t be back.” She sounded sad, or maybe he imagined things.

“We should go.”

She nodded. “We should.”

Neither of them moved. He had to remind himself of all the valid reasons why staying with her was bad. There were plenty—her reputation, her worried parents, her safety. As for why staying with her was good, there was only one reason—he loved being with her.

He collected his clothes. “I’ll change in the kitchen.”

“Does it matter?” She put a hand on the knot holding her blanket up as if threatening to get naked in front of him.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Yes, it does.”

Because they were about to leave the cottage and return to the harsh reality, and because forcing himself not to kiss her was already an arduous task without seeing her naked.

He strode to the kitchen and changed, tugging and pulling at the fabric with too much strength, not caring about the chill. Curse him for being a bastard. He’d never hated his own birth as he did now, which was unfair to his mother. She’d done her best to raise him, and Father had always been present. Still, Christopher was and always would be a bastard.

Elizabeth wore her own clothes when he returned to the sitting room. Her skirt and coat were crumpled and stiff with mud, but she couldn’t return home in his old jacket and trousers.

“Are you ready?” he asked, putting his gloves on.

She smoothed down her skirt. “No.”

Neither was he.

The sunshine couldn’t hide the fact the temperature was still low, and the blinding glare from the snow bothered his eyes. Not to mention that it took them two hours of trekking through the fresh snow to simply reach the road. Sweat soaked him, and he panted, his muscles burning.

They paused on a sunny patch, both breathless.

“Hell,” he said among pants. “At this pace, it’ll take us all day to reach Spencer Hall.”

“Christopher.” She paled, pointing at something in the snow.

He craned his neck to take a look. It was a frozen hand, blue and frosted, poking out of the white mantle. He dug into the snow, partially uncovering the person underneath, but there was no point.

“Don’t look,” he said.

“Too late.” Her eyes widened in horror.

“Let’s go.” He turned her around and led her on. “It won’t be the only one. We must keep going.”

The body only fuelled his determination to get Elizabeth home. Along the way, they met more people who had frozen to death, collapsed roofs, fallen trees, and upturned carts and carriages. The storm had left a trail of devastation and despair behind it.

He plodded on to open a path in the snow, ignoring his tired legs. It was like shoving boulders uphill. Getting Elizabeth safely at home was the only thing that mattered.

“We can take turns,” she said. “I can walk in front and open the path, so you can rest.”

“No, I’m all right.” He wasn’t, but the frantic urge to keep her safe was stronger than his exhaustion.

He exhaled when Spencer Hall swept into view after a curve. He was wheezing, sweaty, and bloody tired, but it was worth it.

“You go,” he said, releasing her hand.

She didn’t move, her cheeks red with the exertion. “When are you coming?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll wait here for a while, then join you.”

“You’ll freeze.”

“I’ll keep moving. Go.”

“Christopher—”

“Go. We’re getting cold and?—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. She kissed him hard, pulling him down by the lapels of his coat. He didn’t hesitate and kissed her back with sadness because, surely, that was their first and last kiss. The fatigue that had plagued him in the past days was gone. The kiss shot energy through him while also scaring him to death because leaving her would hurt ten times more now.

The kiss felt too good, too right, and too impossible. It’d taunt him for the rest of his miserable life, reminding him of what he could never have.

When she darted out her tongue to caress his lips, he had to break the kiss before it was too late, before he kissed her deeply and delivered his whole heart in her hands, never to see it again.

“Go. I’ll see you later,” he said in a curt tone.

“Don’t wait too long. Please.”

She went down the path that led to Spencer Hall, stopping to wave at him.

When she became a tiny dot next to the estate’s front gate, he headed towards the village.

His body would recover from the snowstorm. His heart wouldn’t.