Tarnished Knight

CHAPTER TWELVE





Esme hummed under her breath as she diced a carrot, wielding the knife almost as easily as Rip could. Of course the way he used it was entirely different to her. Or perhaps not. Her smile faded as a flash of the cleaver thunking through solid bone hit her.

Weeks ago. But the memory was still as fresh as yesterday. And just as unsettling.

The door to the kitchen opened and Rip’s eyebrow arched as she flinched, her fingers curling over the knife. He stomped his shoes in the doorway, getting rid of the snow and then tugged his collar high. Most of the snow had melted but last night had dropped one last white blanket across London.

He took in the spread of diced vegetables and lamb. “Shepherd’s pie. Used to be me favourite.” He rarely ate now; he didn’t need to. Only bites sometimes, to savour the flavour.

“Used to be?” she asked with a smile as he wrapped his arms around her and dragged her back against the cradle of his chest.

“Mmm.” Rip breathed in her scent, the rasp of his stubble roughening her neck. “I’ve a new favourite now.”

Her. The thought thrilled her. Last night they’d shared another controlled blood-letting. He still drank most of his blood cold but it was becoming easier for him to control himself. And perhaps the fear of hurting her had been greater than the actual risk. No matter how much the hunger took him, even his darker side seemed protective of her.

“You should come outside,” he said. “Got somethin’ to show you.”

“I have to get dinner on.” Still, she leaned into his embrace as his lips traced the side of her neck. “Perhaps… Perhaps just for a moment.” A gasp, and then he let her go.

“Asked Lena to cook,” he said. “You deserve an afternoon off and what I got to show you might take more than a moment.”

Esme turned in his arms. “A present?”

A look of amusement softened the harshness of his face. “You’re getting’ greedy.”

He’d been showering her with gifts ever since he’d gotten her back. Books he found in the markets, pieces of ribbon, a pair of mink gloves that must have cost him a small fortune… The gifts were overwhelming but Esme hadn’t had the heart to chide him. She saw the pleasure he took in finding something to please her and knew that he’d never had that before. Someone to lavish his attention on. Warm arms that opened every time he turned to her. And a smile and kiss especially for him.

Her gentle giant. So fierce on the outside and strangely soft beneath.

“Show me,” she whispered.

With an almost boyish smile, Rip slipped his mech fingers through hers and led her to the door. The gesture wasn’t lost on her.

Outside the children were playing, Meggie watching wistfully from the stoop as Lark pushed Charlie facedown and shoved a handful of snow down the back of his shirt. He might be a blue blood now but Lark knew every dirty trick in the book.

Skirting the yard, Rip led her to the old stables. “Turn around,” he murmured.

“Why?”

A silk scarf untangled in his fingers and then he wrapped it across her eyes, effectively blindfolding her. The silk whispered over her skin. Esme sucked in a sharp breath as he knotted it behind her head. “John?”

“Trust me.”

“Always,” she admitted, letting him take her hand again. He led her forward and Esme hesitantly followed.

“There’s a step,” he murmured, trying to help her.

Esme’s boots slipped on the edge and she stumbled. In the next second he’d swung her up into his arms.

“That’s better.”

“I agree,” she replied, resting her fingertips against his chest. His heartbeat clipped along at a good pace. Strange. As though he was nervous.

The door clicked shut and Rip shoved the latch into place. Locking them in. Even through the sudden fall of darkness, Esme could sense light flickering. Perhaps candles.

“John, what are you up to?”

“You can take the blindfold off now,” he said simply.

Esme tugged it free as he put her down, her eyes widening as she took in the room. It was transformed. All of the stored furniture was gone, replaced by a handful of tasteful carved pieces and a gold damask curtain that draped across half of the room, teasingly beckoning at something beyond. Hundreds of small candles had been placed in old jars until she felt like she stood in the centre of a chandelier. They tracked over every available surface and a path of them led toward the curtain.

“What—What does it all mean?” she whispered, turning in circles and examining the room. It looked almost like a sitting room, with the old fireplace cleaned out and a pair of embroidered sofas sitting on a rug.

“Thought we needed a place to ourselves,” Rip said, one hand resting on the low-hanging beam overhead. He watched her carefully, as though trying to scrutinise her expression. “Yet it’s close to the house – nice and safe. Just--” And here he stumbled, hints of red creeping up his cheekbones as his eyes dropped. “If you wanted. Thought the pair of us…”

The words trailed off.

“I love it,” she said, still turning in small circles. She loved the Warren with all its hectic noise and laughter, but she had never had a place of her own. Somewhere just for them.

“You do?” He let out a relieved breath and followed her as she headed toward the curtain.

“What are you hiding behind here?” She yanked it back and stared at the enormous white cast-iron bed, with its pristine pink-and-white quilt and the mound of fluffy pillows. Candles trailed over the polished secretariat and the enormous copper bath in the corner. A new spigot gleamed in the wall. Hot water, just for her.

“’onoria ‘elped me pick all the cushions and fripperies,” Rip admitted.

“How the devil did you manage all of this without me knowing?” She took a step forward, trailing her fingers over the soft quilt. It was beautiful. Perfect. Candlelight blurred as happy tears flooded her eyes.

“Remember those times Lena took you shoppin’ the last few weeks?” At her incredulous look, he laughed. “Blade and Will ‘elped me with the ‘eavy stuff. Tin Man too. Only when you weren’t ‘ere though.”

The shopping trips. Traipsing through milliner’s as Lena prattled on, searching for the precise shade of cotton that she wanted for a dress. Cotton that never seemed quite the right colour.

“I can’t believe you were all plotting against me,” she said, spinning around again. The silk scarf dangled from her fingers. Esme glanced down, a soft smile dawning on her lips. “How could I ever thank you?”

Again his cheeks coloured. “You don’t ‘ave to thank me,” he said gruffly. “I like makin’ you smile.”

Esme slid onto the edge of the bed, her velvet skirts whispering over the quilt. She patted the bed beside her. “Perhaps a kiss, to start with?”

Rip knelt on the bed, his hands clasping hers as he tumbled her onto her back. Esme stared up at him, candlelight warming his skin. “I won’t say no,” he teased and leaned down to brush his lips against hers.

Aching sweet and just as tender. But it wasn’t tender she wanted, not now. Her nails dug into the back of his hands as her fingers clenched, her thighs parting to welcome his weight atop her.

Rip drew back, breathing harshly. The obsidian glitter of his eyes reflected back a hundred candles. Esme slipped free of his grip, her arms sliding around his heavily muscled neck. Yanking his head down, she kissed him hard, stealing his breath, her tongue darting over his. His hips gave a teasing little flex, driving her into the feather-soft mattress.

Esme turned her face, kissing his cheek and nuzzling his ear. Her sharp little teeth worried at the fleshy lobe and he gasped, his hips thrusting hard, a sound almost of anguish stealing across his lips.

“You like that?” she whispered, licking the imprint of her teeth.

“Like it?” he shuddered. “I love it.”

Esme put a hand to his shoulder and shoved. “Roll over.”

He complied, landing flat on his back with her straddling him. The irony of seeing her fierce giant lying amid acres of fluffy white-and-pink cotton made her smile. Running her hands up under his coat, she slipped it over his shoulders, effectively trapping him.

“And now you’re all mine,” she whispered, leaning forward and untying the red scarf at his throat. Her nimble fingers darted over the buttons of his shirt and as each inch of tempting golden skin was revealed she licked it, swirling her tongue around his nipples and worrying them between her teeth.

“Esme.” His hand slid through her hair, destroying her chignon. Not to push her away or pull her closer, but simply to hold her. As if he couldn’t quite decide what to do.

She kissed his throat and then whispered into his ear, “I love you. All of you. Every wickedly delicious inch.”

Rip’s arms curled around her and he held her close, his body stiff, as if he couldn’t quite believe the words. Esme seized the chance to slide her hand between them, her fingers darting under his waistband.

He sucked in a breath between his teeth. “Esme, I don’t--”

“Shush,” she whispered, her fingers closing over the silky-soft feel of him. So thick and firm. Throbbing beneath her touch. Wanting her so much that a slippery pearl of his seed gleamed wetly at his tip. She ran her thumb over it, again and again and Rip threw his head back with a groan.

“I’ll stop if you can’t control it,” she whispered, “just let me please you.”

His hand slid through her hair, trembling. Then he nodded.

Esme’s tugged her fingers free and reached for the length of silk. “Hold onto the bed,” she said. “I’m going to tie you up.”

“Won’t ‘old me.” Rough voice. Wicked eyes.

“I know. It’s a reminder. So if you feel yourself approaching the edge, you might be able to pull yourself back.” She ran the length of silk through her hands, her smile widening. “I think I quite like telling you what to do.”

“Do you?” His expression promised retribution.

“I do.”

Rip stared at her, then slowly reached back, the muscle in his biceps flexing and thin veins trailing up his arm. Esme leaned forward and swiftly tied his wrist to the bed. Then she used the other end to tie his mech hand down.

Slowly her hands crept to the buttons on her jacket. Rip watched with an intensity that made her shiver as she stripped herself out of her jacket and shirt.

The skirt took longer and required her to stand. Each layer slowly made a pool on the bed as she wiggled out of her under-skirt, camisole and bustle. Esme felt wicked as she slowly undressed, letting her hair out of its braids to tumble in loose waves down her back.

“Christ.” Rip’s eyes ate her up, his fingers curling into fists. “You’re so beautiful.”

And she felt it too, the way he looked at her. Wild and free and entirely sensual. Nobody’s housekeeper or friend, but a lover, his gaze caressing her, as liquid as any touch.

“More,” he whispered and her hands went to the hard metal busk of her corset.

She tugged it free until she wore only her shift and drawers. Then they too pooled around her ankles until she stood above him on the bed, her skin gleaming palely in the candlelight. She had a woman’s body, lush and full, her belly slightly rounded from sampling each dish she prepared. And he loved it. She saw his gaze lock on her breasts as she ran her hands up and over them, cupping their plump weight.

Breathing hard, Rip strained against the silk.

Esme straddled him, the dusky tips of her nipples begging for his mouth. Rip licked one, the muscles in his neck straining. His teeth rasped over her, the hard pressure of his erection thrusting against her thigh. Esme moaned and worked her hands lower, tugging at his buttons until his cock jutted free. It spilled into her hands eagerly and Esme clenched her fingers, working his enormous length.

She loved watching him writhe beneath her, his eyes shut and his mouth parted as she wrung each gasp from him. Kneeling lower, she kissed his stomach, tugging his pants down over his hips. His boots hit the floor with a thud, then she stripped him of his pants and slid between his thighs. Rip watched her curiously and Esme flashed him a wicked smile.

Leaning down she took his erection in hand. “However can I thank you?”

“Esme,” he growled in warning as she pumped her hand over him.

“Perhaps you’d like me to kiss you.” Leaning down she pressed her lips against the smooth skin over his hips. “Here?”

Her only answer was the sound of his harsh breathing.

“Or perhaps here?” she asked, trailing her tongue across the groove of his hip and against the base of his balls. “No?” Looking up, she smiled at his dazed expression. “Where do you want me to kiss you?”

“You… know where…”

“Say it.”

“My cock,” he growled.

“John,” she whispered in a shocked tone. “What a wicked man you are.”

“Aye, I don’t think I’m the only one who’s wicked--”

The scalding heat of her mouth on him stole his breath, and his words. Esme took as much of him as she could, her tongue tracing lazy circles around the head of him.

“Christ, Esme.” He shuddered, his erection thrusting past her lips. “Christ, you’re the devil, woman.”

Another gasp.

She worked him wetly, loving every moment of it. Watching him lose control, tugging unconsciously on his bonds. Desperate for her. Gasping. Cursing her.

She couldn’t stop herself. She wanted more, wanted to feel him between her thighs. Sliding her hands up over his chest, she straddled him again.

“Esme.” He threw his head back, spine arching and she was lost, aching so much she couldn’t stop herself from rubbing her own secret wetness over him.

Rip hissed under his breath as the tip of his cock parted her. One hand tore free from the silk, then the other, hands clenching in the smooth flesh of her bottom. Thrusting her down until he buried himself to the hilt inside her.

Esme threw her head back and cried out. “Yes.” Fingers curling into the hard muscle of his shoulder blades as he sat up. The action drove her down further until she was so full, too full of him.

His cool lips on her breast, teeth grazing, licking, suckling at her until she wanted to scream. She could barely move but he urged her on, hands kneading her bottom. Each glide of her hips ground her against him, the base of his shaft riding over the delicate flesh between her thighs until she shuddered. So close to breaking apart, to shattering completely.

“More,” he growled.

But she could hardly move, she was trembling so much. “I can’t--” Teeth sinking into her lip, she cried out as he rasped over her again.

Then she was tumbling onto her hands and knees as he spilled out of her and came to his knees behind her. Hands firming on her hips, he drove into her until Esme cried out in pleasure, her fingers curling in the quilt. So deep. As if he sought to bury his seed in her body.

A fist curled in her hair, dragging her up gently. She curved back against his body, her hips arching obscenely as he ran his mech hand over her stomach and up, cupping her breasts. The angle softened the impact of his thrusts. Then his other hand slid down, parting her curls and dipping wetly between her thighs.

“John,” she whispered, sensation streaking through her. She pressed closer, wanting to feel every inch, his hard thigh muscles against the back of hers and fingers stroking her with cool possession. Knowing exactly where to touch, exactly what made her body tighten, liquid fire igniting in her veins.

Her man. All hers.

She came with a gasp, shuddering as his thrusts eased and he forced her to ride it out with exquisite slowness. Then she tumbled to her hands, unable to bear it any longer. “John, oh God, John.”

Rip gripped her hips, thrusting long and hard. She could feel the tension in him, his fingers tight in the flesh of her bottom, as though he fought to hold on himself. And she didn’t want that. She wanted him there with her, losing himself in the moment. Proving to himself that he could. Reaching back Esme cupped his balls, hearing his soft exhale as he thrust just a little harder, a little deeper.

Her body clenched around his, a wet, silken fist, as he shuddered and rode over something hot and sensitive inside her. Esme quivered, her body tightening again as her clever fingers played over him.

“Jaysus, luv.” A gasp, torn from his lips. Her victory. Then he thrust harder, fingers digging in as she tightened further…

She cried out again, resting her forehead against her forearm on the bed, feeling the shudder deep within as they both came. Panting, Rip collapsing over her… Somehow they disentangled and then she was in his arms as they tried to catch their breaths. Sweat slicked her skin, his seed wetting her thighs.

“Esme, you’re wondrous.” Rip kissed her shoulder, dragging her back into his arms. “So beautiful, so f*ckin’ tight.” His stubble rasped her skin and she heard a soft laugh. As if he couldn’t quite believe what had happened.

Rolling over, she rested her chin on his chest and smiled at him. A delicious shiver trailed down her spine as aftershock ran through her body. “You look eminently pleased with yourself.”

Rip kissed her nose. “I am.” He laughed. “Startin’ to think I’d never ‘ave you.” His gaze sobered, voice going gruff. “Didn’t ‘urt you, did I? Can’t judge me strength anymore.”

“I believe I’m going to have fingerprint shaped bruises on my hips, but I survived.” She smiled and kissed him. “I am made of sterner stuff than you believe.”

“I know you are.” His fingertips trailed over her cheek. “Do you think we made a babe?” he whispered, voice rough with unsuppressed desire.

“Would you like that?” she asked, a little hint of hesitation filling her.

They’d never spoken of it before but he had to know her feelings on the matter. She couldn’t look at a child without feeling a pang of sweet sorrow deep inside. And Rip… he knew her so well. Sometimes she didn’t have to even speak for him to know what she was thinking.

Except when it came to her feelings for him, of course.

She smiled and traced his mouth.

“Aye, I’d like it,” he replied gruffly. One hand stroked over her hip with a tenderness that almost brought tears to her eyes. Then his smile widened; that wicked smile that always made her breath catch. The one only she ever got to see. “I guess I’ll ‘ave to see to it that I get you with child.” He rolled over her, skating his fingertips down her sensitive stomach. “I’m fairly certain I’m up to the challenge.”

Esme slid her hands over his shoulders. “I won’t be a fallen woman, you know?”

“Aye, I know.” He nipped at her shoulder. “Tryin’ to ruin all o’ me surprises, woman?”

“Surprises?”

He kissed her breasts, stubble rasping against her sensitive skin. “Under the bed, luv. I bought you another present to replace the one you lost. Figured this time I’d put it somewhere safer. Per’aps your finger, aye? This one?” Taking her left hand he drew it to his lips and sucked her ring finger into his mouth, watching her with those amused eyes.

Esme’s breath caught. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“Aye.” His voice roughened in a growl. “I’m an old fashioned sort o’ man. Ain’t one of the Echelon with their consort contracts. I were born on the streets and ‘ere on the streets, when a lad fancies a girl ‘e asks ‘er to be ‘is alone.”

Esme glanced toward the side of the bed. Her curiosity was rampant to see the ring and he knew it. “All yours then?”

“Mine,” he agreed promptly. “If you’ll ‘ave me?”

She answered him with a kiss.