“Yes,” Balthazar said, bending down to pat the little bug-eyed dog. “Good dog.”
“Indeed. I owe you both my thanks, but now we must run,” I said. “I’ve a place in Shoreditch that Newcastle doesn’t know about. Will you take me there?”
Balthazar picked me up in Newcastle’s thick coat, since I could hardly walk the frozen streets barefoot, and with Sharkey trotting alongside us, carried me through the snow.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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THIRTY-SEVEN
I HADN’T RETURNED TO my attic chamber since the night I warned Edward about the King’s Club. Once there, I sent Balthazar back to tell Montgomery what had happened. I was left alone in the quiet room, only my memories for company. I used to long for solitude like this.
Without Edward or me here to care for them, the roses had wilted, filling the room with an earthy scent of sweet decay. The threadbare quilt was pooled on the dusty floor, and I knelt to shake it out and draw it around my frozen shoulders, then crawled into the single bed still dressed in my clothes, where for once I slept a dreamless sleep.
It couldn’t have been more than an hour or two before a frantic knock woke me with a jolt. I was terrified until I heard Montgomery’s voice. I threw open the door, and he pulled me into his arms.
“Balthazar told me what happened,” he said. “I came immediately, and Balthazar, too. He’s going to sleep on the landing downstairs, keeping guard.” His cheek nuzzled my own. “I’ll murder that bastard Newcastle myself.”
I pulled him inside and closed the door. “It won’t do any good. He isn’t working alone. If you killed him, you’d have half the police force in London after you.” I sat on the bed again, amid the traces of lingering warmth.
“Newcastle will likely send more officers to arrest you,” Montgomery said. “Elizabeth has a plan to set it up so it appears you’ve fled. We’ll sneak you back into the professor’s house once it gets light.”
“And Edward?”
“He was unconscious when I left.”
His eyes fell to the bed. With the sheets twisted in knots, it was all I could do not to think about that passionate night Edward and I had spent together. From the way Montgomery’s hand balled into a fist, it seemed he was thinking the same.
“How long was he staying here?” he asked.
I fumbled with the corners of the quilt. “A few weeks. It was before the masquerade.” Before you. “He had better control of himself then.” My fingers drifted to my shoulder, where the scratches had all but faded.
“I’d rather not think about that. About him.” He sat on the bed, rubbing my shoulders through the quilt. “All I want is to be with you.” He drew my hand to his lips and kissed the silver ring, sending my heart pounding.
It struck me that he and I would be alone all night, a night when anything could happen. We were engaged, after all. I knew that proper young ladies didn’t sit in bed with brooding young men, even those they were engaged to, yet I had long ago stopped caring about society’s opinion regarding my chastity.
I stood and went to the door, needing a moment to breathe, and double-checked the lock. I lingered there, resting my forehead against the door as I tried to get my trembling nerves under control.
When I turned around, Montgomery was bent over to unlace his heavy boots. His strong hands worked fast. His blond hair had strayed from its tie and fell over his eyes. By the time he finished and looked up at me through those fair strands, I was helpless.
I had made love to Edward in a rush, and now regretted it. I didn’t want the same to happen with Montgomery.
Blast regret, I thought. I want him.
I would have stumbled across the room to him if he hadn’t stood first and dragged me back to the bed. My lips found his as I shrugged the quilt to the floor.
“Take off this dress,” he whispered. “It smells of Newcastle’s tobacco.”
My hands fluttered to the buttons. Was I supposed to act a certain way? Try to entice him? From the look of it, he didn’t need any enticement. He looked ready to tear my dress off himself if my hands moved any slower.
He pulled at the fabric, eager to get it off. Then there was the matter of my winter petticoats. Each one was a frustrating process of untangling cords and peeling them off, one by one. As the pile of my underclothes grew on the worn floor, our hands only moved faster. I kept imagining what his rough hands would feel like against my bare skin.
I paused. As much as I wanted him, it still felt wrong like this. Too sudden. This was no desperate act of loneliness, not like before.