Page 10 of The Lyon’s Love Letters (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #78)

T hey were back in the carriage and rolling toward the main street of Islington before Elliott spoke. “That was difficult.”

Anna sighed. “Yes. That poor woman.”

“I feel as if—” Elliott stopped. Leaning forward, he stared out the window at a familiar figure in the street. Urgently, he thumped on the ceiling.

“Aye, guv?” the driver called.

“There was a coaching inn at the end of this street, wasn’t there? Pull into the courtyard.”

“Aye, guv!”

“What is it?” Anna asked, her blue eyes wide with concern.

“Remember that man who followed me from my rooms?”

Her mouth twitched. “You mean the day I jumped out of a carriage and chased you into a print seller’s?”

“Yes. That one. I just spotted him. We need to warn Lawson.”

She sobered instantly. “Should we go back?”

“No. I believe Lawson can handle himself. Especially with warning. Did you see that shotgun propped behind the umbrellas inside the door?”

“No!”

“Lawson ran Kenniston off. He can handle the man’s lackey.”

When the carriage eased into the courtyard, Elliott jumped out and ran inside to search out a messenger. When the boy was off, and paid extra to beat anyone else heading for the cottage, Elliott returned. “Let’s get the lady home safely, eh?” he called before climbing inside again.

“Aye, guv!”

“Good heavens, the excitement never ends,” Anna said on a sigh.

Regret bloomed in his gut. “I feel as if you’ve seen nothing but the worst side of life since we met.”

“The turmoil had already struck by the time we met.” She patted her reticule, where she had folded away the papers. “And with these, we can not only keep Kenniston from harassing the both of us, we might be able to prevent him from harassing anyone ever again.”

He felt obligated to warn her. “The odds are low.”

Her chin lifted. “But they are not nothing. Unless I don’t try.”

How valiant she was. How proud of her he was. Did anyone else know all that she had endured? Did anyone realize the blows she had suffered, or how she had refused to crumble beneath them? He saw, and he felt humbled by her, honored to be in any way of service to her. And quite desperately in love with her.

It was awful. It was wonderful. It was foolish—for what could he do about it? But he loved her, and he would suffer worse for the chance to continue doing so.

She searched his face, and whatever she saw of what he was feeling, it seemed to give her strength. “Elliott, all of this was going to happen to me, in any case. My father. My cousin. Kenniston. But you—you have given me the chance to face it all on my own terms.”

“Mrs. Dove-Lyon—” he began.

“Has been wonderful,” she interrupted. “But her first instinct has been to pluck a husband from thin air and throw the pair of us at a vicar. Where you…” She paused and reached across to take his hand. “You have supported me, listened to me, treated me as if I have a brain and the fortitude to use it. Not one man in a hundred would have done so.”

Longing for her nearly robbed him of his breath. He couldn’t let her go. He couldn’t. Perhaps there was a way. If she would agree. He cleared his throat. “Not one in a thousand, I’d say.”

The corners of that luscious mouth turned up.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I’m just trying to leverage my worth before I say something I shouldn’t.” He ran a finger across the back of her hand and fortified himself with the vision of touching her every day, for all of their days. “I have no right to ask.”

“Say it,” she urged.

And even that made him smile. She didn’t back down from anything. Not even him.

“Wait for me,” he said in a rush. “I shouldn’t ask. You need someone now, and I have nothing to offer you yet. I live in bachelor’s rooms on a bachelor’s allowance. I can’t take you to my parents. My father would flirt with you and my mother would despise you for outshining her—and I would still be unworthy.”

“Never,” she said, tears in her eyes.

“It is how I would feel. But I can change that. I can learn, make myself useful. Find a place that will allow me to work toward the dream of you. The dream of giving you a home, a life, a husband you can be proud of. I promise I can make it happen, as long as I have the promise of you.”

“I can make that promise, if you will vow something in return.”

How serious her expression had turned. “Anything,” he breathed, knowing it was true.

“Four years,” she said quietly.

Again she surprised and puzzled him. “Four years?”

“In four years, I will receive my inheritance. It is a large sum. And it is a long time.”

Relief flooded him. “Four years is a perfect amount of time. Plenty of time for me to establish myself, to build a life for us.”

“And therein comes the vow.” She bent over and pressed her forehead to their clasped hands, and then looked up into his face. “I told Mrs. Dove-Lyon that I would only take a husband who agreed to leave the money under my control.”

Did she think that was a challenge? “Yes.” He kissed her forehead tenderly. “The money is yours. Do with it what you want. A hundred dresses? Or buy an inn to rival Mrs. Morrison’s. Throw it in the Thames, if you will. You have already given me what I need—your faith and your love. All I need is you.”

“And this is how much you have turned me upside down and all about—for that is not what I am asking of you. What I want is your promise to take me and my money at the end of four years. No quibbling that you haven’t done enough, earned enough, become enough. Do you understand? I am willing to work and wait—”

“We can make a race of it,” he said, relieved again, knowing that he could swallow that amount of pride, after having the chance to prove himself. “See who advances the farthest or earns the most.”

He’d momentarily diverted her. “A race?” She sounded delighted at the chance to pit herself against him. “Can we add stages? Will there be a prize?”

“You are the prize,” he whispered.

“And you will take me, and what will be our money, without fail, once I turn twenty-five?”

Laughing, he recoiled. “Twenty-five? So old?”

“Practically a crone,” she said dryly.

“I will take you sooner, if I can possibly manage it,” he vowed. “But I promise, we will wed on your twenty-fifth birthday, at the latest.”

“Thank you.” She took her hands back and moved across to sit beside him on his bench. “But now, I need just one more thing.”

“It’s a kiss, isn’t it?” he asked hopefully. “For the love of little green apples, I hope it’s a kiss.”

This time she was the one to surge toward him and fiercely crush his lips with hers. He moaned in answer and kissed her wildly back. and she was awash—in joy, and hope, and powerful need.

His mouth was velvet heat. His arms around her were refuge and safety. His mouth left hers to trace a sweet trail along her throat, and she became a cauldron, bubbling to life, spilling pleasure everywhere.

He whispered in her ear. “Even if asked, I could never have imagined someone more perfect.” His hot breath sent a shiver all through, made her nipples peak against the fabric of her gown.

As if he’d felt it, too, his fingers danced along her collarbone, traced over the swell of her bosom. He dragged his thumbs across her nipples, and she felt it once more, that jolt of desire that struck like lightning right through to her belly, and lower.

She’d often wondered if this would be frightening, giving herself over to a man. But that wasn’t what this was. They were giving themselves to each other. His breathing was as rough and raspy as her own. Wherever they were going, they were going together.

His fingers were busy at the tapes of her gown. The bodice sagged, and he pulled it away from her stays. Then he loosened the ties and her breasts were free, tightening again in the cool air.

He filled his hands with them. Moaned deep in the back of his throat. He teased her nipples to high peaks, then bent down to touch his tongue to her. Her head fell back. Starry desire burst from her. Heat and need pumped through her veins. The space between her legs ached.

He showed her no mercy. His fingers, his tongue, they traveled back and forth, suckling and plucking. She was under his spell. It was so good , and yet not nearly enough. She was exultant with joy and desire. She wanted more , so fiercely it felt like violence.

“Anna,” he whispered.

She could form no words. She only moaned a little and thrust against him in reply.

“We cannot risk…going too far down this road. But I can safely show you how wonderful we can be together.”

He was asking permission. She stared into his eyes. The green had deepened. He looked fierce and wildly happy and somehow primal and proud.

“If you wish me to stop,” he added, “I will.”

“Don’t stop. Show me.”

Triumph flared in his face. He kissed her again, so sweetly that she almost didn’t realize he was hiking up her skirts. Her eyes went wide.

“Trust me,” he whispered as his touch teased its way along her thigh. And then his fingers were between her legs, lightly stroking. She gasped, but her legs fell open and he was touching her where she’d gone hot and slick. He found a rhythm that took her right out of her body. No, she was so deeply connected to her body that she was nothing but aching, reaching need. His fingers quickened, and she braced herself against the bench.

He kissed her again, then his mouth dipped to her breast once more. The sensations he pulled from her were shocking. Something…something called to her.

Her body answered with shaking, rocketing bliss. She was ripping down the middle, bursting at the seams, drowning in a river of pleasure. Awe filled her. And coursing joy.

She returned to herself, bit by bit. Her breathing was ragged, as was his, but she felt limp and somehow…free.

When she shifted her leg, she felt the hard swell of his manhood against her hip. “Oh,” she breathed. “You are…” Her hand hovered over him. “Might I…?”

He swallowed. “It’s not necessary,” he said, his voice strained.

But she heard the yearning. “How noble you are,” she said with a little laugh. “Were you not listening? I would not have fallen half so deeply for you had you not let me take on my share.” She pressed her hand to his bulge. “This feels like my share,” she whispered.

He groaned his assent, then quickly unbuttoned the fall of his trousers. She dipped her hand in and thrilled at his moan of pleasure, at his helpless thrust. He adjusted himself so that his manhood stood out, proud and full.

“Oh.” She swallowed. “I had no idea.” She reached out a tentative hand, but paused.

“Yes. Please,” he groaned. “Touch me.”

She did. It was like nothing she’d ever known. Words flitted through her mind as her fingers explored. Soft. Thick. Hard. Responsive. That was her favorite. He was every bit in thrall to her as she’d been to him—and she loved how powerful it made her feel.

His eyes were closed. His head went back, just as hers had. “Take me in your hand,” he whispered. And he showed her how to stroke him, how to move her hand over him. Rhythm again. And need. Soaring confidence on her part, that she could make him feel as turbulent as he did her. And a joyous connection.

His hips were moving. He began to thrust into her strokes. And then he went taut, everywhere. His back bowed. He bit back a groan and spilled into her hand.

She blinked in surprise, but enjoyed watching him soar the way she had, and tenderly watching him settle down from the stars and back with her.

When he heaved a sigh and opened his eyes, she smiled at him. “That clears several things up for me. I had wondered.”

Choking out a laugh, he pulled out a handkerchief and tenderly cleaned her up. With a huge sigh, he pulled her into his arms.

They reclined like that for a while, undone and thoroughly happy. At peace.

Eventually, though, they had to put themselves back together. Buttons and ties and pins, interspersed with whispers and kisses.

When she was finally tidy and respectable again, she moved back to her side of the carriage.

“Suddenly, so many things make sense,” she said wonderingly.

“What sort of books have you been reading in that library?” he asked with a laugh.

“Nothing that could have prepared me,” she admitted. “How clever we are.”

“And that was just the start,” he said with silky promise.

Anna’s eyes widened. “I know there is…more.” She raised a brow. “But are you implying there is much more?”

“Much more.” With a sigh, he followed her over to sit beside her and gather her close again. “I just want to touch you while I can.”

“Much more,” she repeated, both pleased and surprised. “Those races you mentioned…and prizes?” she asked delicately.

“How clever you are.” He sounded delighted, but then he sighed again. “Four years suddenly seems longer than it did just minutes ago.”

Reaching out, she picked up her reticule. “We have hurdles to get over before our countdown can truly begin.”

“It won’t be easy.”

“No, but we have an ally. Mrs. Dove-Lyon has powerful friends and a kind heart.”

He snorted. “When most people think of the Black Widow of Whitehall, a kind heart is not what comes to mind.”

“Then they do not truly know her,” she said. “A woman can be fierce and kind at once.”

“So I am learning.” He placed a kiss on the top of her head. “I tell you what. You bring Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon over to our cause and I will talk to Elizabeth Hayes and see if we can get a statement from her sister. And then we’ll talk to some of Kenniston’s other servants.”

“It’s a bargain,” she said happily.

“No.” He kissed her again. “It’s a promise.”

Hermia was awaiting her again when she arrived back at the Lyon’s Den. Anna automatically began to retie the strings of her cloak.

“No.” Hermia stopped her. “I’ll take your things. Mrs. Dove-Lyon is awaiting you in her private rooms. You have a visitor.”