Zoë Archer - Sweet Revenge

Why, indeed? She couldn’t answer him. Only that it did upset her, far more than she would have believed. He seemed to accept the role he’d been given, a role that vastly underestimated his capabilities. No one, it appeared, ever told Jack Dalton that he could be anything more than a brute for hire.

But he had a brain. A very good one. And it had lain fallow for far too long.

She saw examples of wasted potential every day. One couldn’t live in London without seeing the mudlarks, crossing sweeps, match girls, or men sitting on curbs when their jobs had been made redundant. It always stirred her. But never as much as Dalton did.

“I just don’t like to see squandered possibility,” she muttered.

“A missionary at heart,” he said, wry.

If that’s what he believed, she wouldn’t disabuse him. Better that than him thinking she had more than a professional interest in his welfare.

A faint noise sounded in the corridor outside, the creak of floorboards beneath carpet as someone made their way down the hall. Both she and Dalton stiffened, exchanging glances with each other. From beneath the door, light gleamed. Something jingled. The housekeeper’s keys.

Dalton dropped the curtain immediately, throwing the chamber into darkness. Both he and Eva raced for the shelter of the folding screen. The screen itself wasn’t particularly large, but Dalton was, so they had to stand close together, her back pressed against his front. His arm wrapped around her, beneath her cape, and his hand spread across her stomach.

The moment they settled into place, the door opened. More jingling and footsteps as the housekeeper walked into the room. A small glow spilled upon the walls—she must be carrying a lamp.

Eva tensed and felt Dalton do the same. Had the housekeeper heard her and Dalton and come to investigate? If so, behind the screen would likely be the first place the housekeeper looked. Talking their way out of the situation wasn’t possible, and Eva didn’t want to subdue and tie up the poor woman—though if it came to that, she was prepared.

The footsteps stopped, and the housekeeper sighed. Yet she didn’t look behind the screen. More light filled the room.

Cautiously, Eva peered around the edge of the folding screen and saw the housekeeper standing exactly where she and Dalton had been moments earlier. The older woman gazed out at the ballroom across the way, a wistful look upon her face.

“My, isn’t that lovely?” She sighed again, then hummed along with the faint music, swaying slightly.

Eva edged back. She and Dalton hadn’t been seen. And so long as they stood behind the screen, they wouldn’t be. Yet she couldn’t feel calm, not until the housekeeper left. From the expression on the older woman’s face, rapt with attention, it appeared that might be a while.

She kept herself still, willing her breathing and heartbeat to slow. But as she did, she became aware of Dalton’s nearness. With so little room behind the screen, their bodies pressed against each other. Knowing that she was going to be in and out of a carriage all day, she’d worn a small bustle, and it now kept a minor distance between her and Dalton. Yet her back leaned fully against his chest. His heat spread through her, and the hard, broad muscles of his torso formed a living wall. She caught the scent of soap and wool and … him.

Her every part was aware of him—his size, his strength, the potency of both his body and his will. Her own flesh felt tight, sensitive, and when his breath curled warmly over the back of her neck, she fought a shiver of burgeoning arousal.

His palm was large and hot against her belly. She shifted, adjusting her footing, and his thumb brushed against the underside of her breast. Heat streaked through her. Such a simple, light touch, yet it spread through her in quivering waves. She was half afraid, half desirous that his hand would move higher, cupping her breast.

His hand stayed where it was. She felt and heard a slight catch in his breathing. He was as affected as she.

She could sense that his mouth was barely an inch from her nape, and had a powerful urge to lean back even more so his lips could touch her flesh. What would his lips feel like? Rough? Soft? Or both? Yet, despite her desire to find out, she held herself motionless.

It was all she could do to keep her eyes open. She felt both languorous and inflamed, conscious not only of Dalton but also the fact that they had to remain quiet and still. They couldn’t be discovered by the housekeeper. They couldn’t take this attraction any further.

After what felt like ten lifetimes, the housekeeper sighed again and let the curtain fall. She walked back to the entrance to the chamber, paused for a moment at the doorway, then closed the door behind her.

Both she and Dalton waited as the housekeeper’s footsteps faded down the corridor. Another minute passed, yet neither she nor Dalton moved. Eva told herself it was merely to ensure that the housekeeper didn’t suddenly return.

Finally, when a suitable period of time passed, she stepped—stumbled—from behind the screen. Her legs felt unstable, her head light.

She heard Dalton’s muttered curse behind her. It sounded as though he were making adjustments to his clothing—specifically, his trousers.

Immediately, she went to the window and pulled the curtain back to look into the ballroom.

“Rockley’s still there,” she said in a low voice. “We’re safe.”

“Wrong about that, love.” Dalton appeared beside her, his face hewn into hard angles. Dark stubble lined his jaw. He was the embodiment of uncompromising masculinity.

“You and me,” he continued in a rumble, eyeing her, “we’re dangerous as a loaded gun.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

The night yielded nothing. Nothing useful, anyway.

At two in the morning, Rockley had finally left the ball and gone home. No other side trips. No late-night secret meetings in riverside warehouses. No visits to one of his preferred brothels. Just home.

Far as Jack could tell, all he’d gained was an even greater hate—if it was even possible—for Rockley. The bastard continued on with his life just as he’d always done. Protected, privileged, Society’s untouchable ideal. Finding a way to ruin him would be one hell of a miracle.

The other thing Jack had gained tonight: a fierce hunger for Eva.

As he lay in his narrow bed at Nemesis headquarters, staring up at the patterns of light on the ceiling and listening to Lazarus snoring in the room down the hall, he still ached with wanting her. Having her pressed up against him, smelling so sweet, feeling her curves … it had been a temptation almost no man could’ve resisted. Somehow, he had, but it didn’t help that she’d shown him far more empathy than anyone ever had before.

Through the whole of that day, dragging back and forth across London, stuck in a small hackney, his awareness of her kept growing. Like a weed, poking through the stone wall of his anger.

She seemed cold as frost on the moors, but beneath that was a woman of determination, of passion. What would it be like, stripping away all her layers, thawing that frost? What kind of woman would be underneath?

A hot-blooded one. And damn him if he didn’t burn to uncover her.

Lying in his bed, he let his mind travel down the path he hadn’t taken behind that folding screen. He pictured it: his mouth on the back of her neck, kissing, biting her silky skin, his hands cupping her breasts, feeling their shape and softness. He pretended that her corset didn’t cover her breasts, so that when he played with her nipples, he’d feel them grow hard beneath his fingers. She’d lean into his touch.

Jack closed his eyes, allowing himself to fall deeper into his fantasy. He reached down and took his aching cock into his hand.