Читать книгу Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 1 - Louise Allen, Christine Merrill - Страница 23

His lungs heaving from the effort of taking four precipitous flights of stairs at the run, Nick Stangate stood in the doorway and regarded the goddess standing at bay in front of him. In the strong light she seemed bathed in a strange sunlight that gave her an ancient magic all her own and his breath caught in awe. Then he saw her wide, frightened eyes, the way her breasts rose and fell with her breathing, the courage that made her stay there, facing him down despite her terror.

He strode forward and seized her arm, forcing himself to ignore her nakedness, her nearness, holding her despite her frantic efforts to wrench herself away. ‘Tallie, stop it! Listen to me, there isn’t much time, Hemsley and a pack of his friends are on my heels—this is a trap.’

He saw Tallie turn her eyes on the artist, only for him to shake his head in furious denial at the accusation on her face. ‘Good God, no, Miss Grey, I had no idea. Mr Laidlaw’s offer seemed perfectly genuine—he seemed perfectly—’

‘Later,’ Nick snapped. ‘Laidlaw is genuine. He’s Hemsley’s cousin, just back from Greece, and he must have seemed the ideal tool for his purposes. Harland, where are the back stairs?’ The terrified girl was struggling in his grip, he tightened it, one part of his mind recoiling at the thought of hurting her soft flesh, the other ruthlessly aware that he was going to have to force her to obey him for her own protection.

‘There are none,’ the artist wailed, then gave a startled exclamation as the knocker thudded again. He ran towards the door, calling ‘Peter! Do not open it!’

‘Too late,’ Nick said grimly, ‘they’re in.’

Tallie tugged at his hand. ‘Let me go, I must get dressed at least.’

‘No time. Harland, can you hide her clothes, her reticule?’

‘Yes, my lord.’ He was already hurrying towards the screen. ‘I have trunks full of old clothes, hangings for props …’

‘Nick!’

‘Quiet.’ He dragged her towards the window, thrust it up and peered out into the darkness. The street seemed miles below; the attic of Harland’s house was a clear storey above the other houses surrounding it.

‘Thank Heavens for small mercies: there’s a ledge.’ It was narrow, shining with dampness, maybe crumbling, but it stretched across the width of the house just below the window line. He closed his mind to the possible dangers, focusing on the immediate one. ‘Harland, close this after us—hurry, man!’

The artist thrust Tallie’s evening cloak into a mass of multicoloured hangings, tossed her reticule and shoes on top of a bookcase and hurried towards them.

Nick began to climb out of the window, keeping a grip with one hand on Tallie. ‘Come on.’

‘I …? cannot. I can’t stand heights … I …’

The sound of approaching voices was getting closer. ‘Harland, get out there and hold them up as long as possible. I’ll try and shut the window after us. Do nothing to draw attention to it.’

As the artist ran for the door, Nick forced himself to stillness, pulled Tallie close and folded his arms round her. She was quivering against him, her soft warm skin achingly vulnerable under his hands. He pushed up her chin and put all his power into his voice and his eyes.

‘We are going out there and I will keep you safe. I will not let you fall. I will not let them find you. Do you believe me, Tallie?’

‘Ye-yes.’ He saw the terrified green eyes focus, her lips tighten. He could almost feel the effort of will it was taking her to control her fear. ‘I believe you, Nick.’

He released her and ducked under the raised sash and out onto the sill. The drizzle had stopped, but everything he touched had a grimy, sooty dampness. He tugged at the cornice above his head, found it firm. He craned back, wondering if he could get them up on top of the cornice where the attic roof met the gutters, but there were no handholds. He reached in to Tallie with his free hand. ‘Come on, out onto the ledge, face out and inch along to your right. There is a downpipe—hold that with your right hand and the edge of the window reveal with your left.’

‘Don’t let me go!’ The panic was back in her voice.

‘Just while I close the window. You can do it, Tallie, come on, show me.’

With a little gasp she took his hand and climbed out, her naked limbs flashing white in the darkness. Then she was standing, groping with her free hand.

‘I have got the pipe.’ She swallowed audibly.

‘Here is the window reveal.’ He guided her hand to it. ‘Now, hold on.’

Her fingertips seemed to cling to his for a fraction of a second, then she released his hand and he saw her fingers tighten on the rough brick. Nick shoved down the window, stepped across and flattened himself against her, his back to the drop, his hands gripping the same handholds above hers.

The sound of the door banging open and loud voices in the studio reached them clearly. Against his chest he could feel Tallie’s breathing. Rapid, frightened. Then she whispered, ‘It is all right, Nick. I won’t panic, I will not let you down.’

The trust in her voice was so absolute it almost unmanned him as nothing else could have done. For a moment he closed his eyes, let his forehead rest against the wet brick. He found his voice and whispered, ‘I know you won’t, my brave darling. But I’m afraid we have to move: if anyone opens the window, they’ll see us.’

Tallie wondered if she had heard him aright. It was difficult to think, let alone to hear properly. The blood seemed to be roaring in her ears, the sound of Nick’s heart was loud where her face was pressed against him; on the other side of the window shouts and catcalls marked the hunt in progress.

Below them, four storeys down, was the street, below that the spiked railings and the further drop to the unyielding flags of the area courtyard. Her naked back pressed against rough brick, her skin was crawling with cold and terror. But he had called her my brave darling. The poor little flickering flame of courage that had helped her get out onto the ledge burned stronger, then the rest of his words came into focus. Move? He wanted them to move?

She heard herself say, ‘Yes, Nick', and, as nightmares do, this one shifted into new horrors.

He was edging carefully along the ledge, nudging her feet along inside his, his body arched out to give her room. He seemed to be holding on to something above their heads, she could feel the tension in his arms as they rose past her face. At first all she was aware of in their infinitely slow progress was pain; the bricks grazing her buttocks and shoulders, the grit on the ledge digging into her feet, Nick’s body ruthlessly pushing her on, so hard against her that she could hardly breathe.

Then the cold began to numb the pain and fear took over. Under her bare feet she could feel how crumbly the ledge felt; pressed against him so tightly she was utterly aware of the strain on Nick’s body and arms, the gasp of pain as he arched himself out to enable her to slide around the downpipe. Once, twice, his foot slipped and the jerk as he took the weight on straining arms froze her with terror.

It seemed endless, this nightmare; perhaps she would spend eternity on this ledge, her back raw, her feet frozen, crushed against the man she loved until even his strength gave out and he fell, leaving her alone as he plunged to his death far below.

He stopped suddenly; she felt his hand outstretched, groping into air. ‘The corner,’ he whispered. ‘The ledge goes around and continues down the side of the building. If we go round, we will be out of sight.’

There was a moment where his body left hers, the damp night air striking icy on the one part of her that had been warm, then he was swinging her around the corner as behind them the window creaked upwards and loud voices echoed out.

‘Not out here, not unless she’s jumped.’ The voice was unfamiliar, drunken, utterly uncaring.

‘The bitch. How the hell did she escape?’ That was Hemsley.

Faintly from inside the room she heard the indignant artist. ‘Gentlemen, you have made a mistake. Someone dropped off a note for their mistress earlier, then left again. No one is here …’

‘I am going to make Jack Hemsley sorry he was ever born,’ Nick said close to her ear. Under any other circumstances his tone might have been considered politely conversational.

Tallie shivered. ‘You are going to call him out?’ she whispered back.

‘Eventually.’ Nick lingered over the syllables as though savouring them. His tone changed. ‘Thank goodness for that, the moon’s out.’

It was intermittent, still partly obscured by the clearing rain clouds, but Nick seemed pleased, which as far as Tallie was concerned was all that mattered now. She was keeping upright by sheer will-power and the strength of his body and she was so cold that she could feel nothing else at all.

Nick moved as though to turn his body and she gave a little cry.

‘Shh. It is all right. The roof next door is lower than this one and almost flat, just a few more inches and we will be over it and can get down.’

How would that help? Tallie wondered hazily. How could you get off a roof?

‘I’m going to let you go for a moment, Tallie,’ Nick said firmly. ‘Just stay still, leaning back. It will only be for a second.’

Before she had a chance to protest he was gone. Terrified, her eyes tight shut, Tallie flattened herself against the wall and waited for the sickening thud from far below. When he spoke, his voice coming from the level of her ankles, she was so shocked that she lost her balance and tumbled straight off the ledge and into his arms.

‘Shh, it’s all right, my darling, I have you, we’re quite safe, off that ledge now.’

Tallie made a huge effort and opened her eyes. She was cradled in Nick’s arms as he walked across the flat leads of a house. She was also stark naked. The linen drape had vanished and her white skin was luminous in the moonlight. ‘Oh!’ Tallie tried to wriggle free, but Nick held her tightly.

‘As soon as we are in the house you can have my coat, I promise. No one can see us, we are still too high up. Can you stand for a moment?’

Without waiting for an answer he set her on her feet, steadying her with one hand while he bent to tug at a trapdoor let into the roof. ‘Damnation, it is bolted.’ He tugged a knife from his boot top and attacked the edge of the trap. The wood splintered with a sound like gunshot and the flap hinged open. ‘Sit down while I investigate—there can’t be anyone sleeping up here or they’d have appeared by now.’ He swung himself into the hole and vanished.

Tallie sank down onto the cold leads and peered into the blackness below. She was shivering uncontrollably now and it was very hard to focus and to think straight. Nick’s voice came up to her in a clear whisper. ‘Sit on the edge and drop, I’ll catch you.’

Beyond caring what she was falling into, Tallie did as she was told and was caught neatly and swung to the ground. Nick had already stripped off his coat and began pushing her arms into it like a nurse dressing a clumsy child. It was blissfully warm from his body, but the cold went so deep her very bones seemed frozen and the shivering did not stop.

Nick forced the door with as much ruthlessness as he had opened the hatch and led her out onto a landing. Peering over the balustrade, she could see the staircase descending into darkness.

‘Either all in bed, which seems unlikely, or out,’ he whispered. ‘Come on.’ Tallie took a faltering step and felt her legs go. The next moment she was caught up in Nick’s arms again and he was descending the stairs, step by cautious step.

When they reached the hallway she was vaguely conscious of him fumbling with the door lock, then they were out on the street and Nick was striding rapidly out of Panton Square, across Coventry Street and into the narrow mews entrance of Coventry Court. Goodness knows what this looks like, Tallie thought hazily, but no one raised an outcry. Nick whistled and a carriage emerged from the shadows.

‘All right, my lord?’

‘All right, Roberts. Drive us to Upper Wimpole Street, fast as you can.’

‘No one there,’ Tallie mumbled against Nick’s chest. ‘All gone … Putney.’

He lifted her onto the seat. ‘What did you say?’ Tallie made herself focus. ‘No one at Upper Wimpole Street. Gone away on a visit.’

‘Hell.’ The carriage door closed and she was vaguely aware of Nick in low-voiced conversation with the coachman. It all seemed a long way away. She wasn’t even very cold any more, just numb and dizzy and very sleepy …

She was so warm, so blissfully warm. Tallie lay with her eyes closed, letting her sore and aching body relax into the softness of the mattress. Over her there was the comforting feel of linen sheets, the reassuring weight of bedcovers. She nestled her head into the goose-down pillow and sighed gently, letting the memory of why she had so much wanted to be warm, why she seemed to be bruised all over, come seeping back into her half-conscious mind.

The studio, Jack Hemsley—and Nick appearing just in time to save her. So strong, so reassuring, and he had called her my darling. Tallie drifted back to sleep, dreaming of Nick, dreaming of his arms around her, the steady beat of his heart against hers, his strength and his courage as he got them both safe along that ledge and to freedom.

When she surfaced again the early morning sunlight was flickering on her closed lids. She was still deliciously warm, wherever she was. This was definitely not her bed, although that was not an alarming thought. She allowed the idea to penetrate her waking consciousness and with the realisation came the awareness that while she might be warm all over, it was her back, her buttocks, her thighs that were warmest. And they were warmest because she was curled up against another naked human being. And the weight over her waist was not the bedcovers, but an arm.

Tallie’s eyes snapped open onto closed green brocade bed curtains. Whoever she was curled up against was lying very still; their breathing was hardly audible. Tallie made herself relax and concentrate on what she could feel.

A long arm, still now but promising strength. A long body. A male body. Tallie might never have seen a naked man in the flesh, but she had seen enough drawings of classical nudes in Mr Harland’s studio to have a fairly clear understanding of the male anatomy. And the scent of him. Nick.

Before she could give herself time to think, Tallie levered herself up on the elbow she was lying on and twisted round to face the man behind her. It was a confused and tangled manoeuvre. Somehow she ended up with both his arms around her and her uppermost leg over both of his.

It brought them so close together that she had to tilt her head back to focus on his eyes. Those grey eyes with their long black lashes. They held hers and she could not pull her gaze away. Fascinated, she saw his pupils widen, the dark flecks expand until his whole gaze was almost blackly intent on her.

He did not speak; she seemed to have lost the power to. His breath feathered her lips and she felt them part as though welcoming a kiss. Her tongue touched her sensitive upper lip and she saw the awareness of it in his eyes, knew from the change in the breath caressing her mouth that his lips had parted in response.

Nick’s arms held her to him, encircling her but not moving. She was conscious of every point where the pads of his fingers rested lightly on her sore, grazed shoulders and the small of her back. The heat and the gentle pressure stung, but it stung with the reminder that she was alive, able to feel pain and pleasure; alive and with her reputation intact only because of the man who was holding her in his arms.

The embrace brought them breast to breast, just close enough for her nipples to brush the crisp hair on his chest. The sensation was incredible. Their breathing was enough to generate a teasing friction that tormented her nipples into hard peaks of arousal, made her breasts ache and grow heavy, made her want to arch into him, beg him to take her in his hands and caress her.

Waves of heat flooded through her, down to where her leg lay over his, her soft smooth skin of her inner thigh against his hard muscle. To the place where she was left in absolutely no doubt of just how aroused he was. She saw reflected in his eyes her own shock and excitement, realised just what an effort of self-control was keeping him still. If she in her inexperience throbbed with the need to move against him, draw him to her, surrender herself to him, how was he fighting the instinct to crush her under him, take her, make her his?

Her eyes stayed locked with his, despite the languorous feeling of surrender that seemed to drag at her eyelids. His breathing was harder, faster, the breath on her parted lips like fierce kisses, demanding, promising. Their breathing quickened. She was aware of the infinitesimal movement of his fingers as he widened his already spread fingers on her back and all the time she was aware of the heat and arousal and sheer overwhelming masculinity of his need for her.

Only his stillness and his silence kept her from moving, arching into him, urgent, begging for his caresses. Perhaps her own stillness was strengthening his resolve, perhaps in itself it was an incitement. Tallie did not know, could not read the dark grey eyes, hazed with passion. Passion for her.

Was that what it was? Only passion? Could he love her? Tallie tried to speak with her eyes, tried to fight the clamorous messages her body wanted to send him and replace them with a message of love, of trust.

She tried to free her mind, fight all her instincts that had taught her to guard her feelings, hide her innermost emotions in case she was hurt, exposed. The heat in his eyes was still there, but something else as well, something she had not seen before, something she could not read.

Tallie found she had a voice after all. Her lips moved but only the faintest whisper emerged. ‘Nick.’

It broke the spell of his control. He moved, his breath hot on her mouth. His lips touched hers, his hands tightened on her back. Tallie gasped and arched towards him as though bonds had been released.

‘Tallie.’ His voice was ragged, hoarse, the voice of a man who has reached the end of his tether.