She broke his hold, her shimmering eyes flying wide. “What about caution?”
“I have never been cautious with you, Octavia Pierce. Never.” He caught her hand and pressed his mouth to her palm. “I simply cannot be.”
She said nothing, her lips parted as her breathing slowed, firelight dancing across her smooth cheeks and pert freckled nose. She drew her gaze away and dipped her head to his shoulder, her hands curving around his ribs. He encircled her slight body with one arm and stroked along the length of her tumbled hair.
Finally she slipped off his lap and pulled up a corner of the bed linens to wrap around her. She looked small and vulnerable in his bed, and he wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, this time more tightly so that she would not leave. But lines of tension creased her brow, and she remained withdrawn, as though uncertain.
“What is it?” he said quietly. “Do you wish to tell me the news that brought you here tonight?”
“You brought me here tonight.” Her eyes were too wide. Wary. It stilled his heart.
“The other reason you came,” he made himself say.
“I suppose I must. I don’t wish to think about it, but until I tell you I will not be able to let it be.” She glanced toward their clothing strewn upon the floor. “It is quite unpleasant. Perhaps we should be dressed for this conversation.”
“Under no circumstances.”
Hesitation entered her eyes. “Ben, I do not—”
“Octavia, you are not going anywhere any time soon.”
“But—”
“You came here of your own volition. Pay the consequences of your folly.” He could not help smiling.
Her lips twitched. But then she frowned. “This is very important. It is also very grim.”
“I have been responsible for dealing with important and grim matters every day for the past seven years, and longer. That you are involved this time is my sole concern.”
Her warm eyes questioned, pools of liquid hope.
“Tell me about your business,” she whispered. “About what you do.”
“My business is . . .” He drew a breath. “ . . . broad.”
She nodded, rapid little movements of her head, her cheeks flushed. A sensation filled Ben like a fist opening up, releasing years of regret and resentment.
“I pursue and halt those who seek to do harm to others.”
“Halt them from doing harm in what manner exactly?”
“Enslaving people. Waging unjust war. Bankrolling tyranny.”
“Good heavens.” She released a breath, a soft swish of air. “Quite a bit broader than I had imagined.” She seemed to consider it for a moment. “Tea and woolens serve as a cover for all of that?”
“Something must. Not everyone considers the activities of my organization in a positive light.”
“I daresay. Where does all of this take place?”
“Wherever it is needed.”
She said nothing in response. They sat for a moment like that, the flame-lit night holding them in its generous embrace. Finally she drew in a long breath.
“Marcus is being blackmailed by the Mr. Sheeble he spoke of before, to aid him in shipping poor girls to India to be wives for English soldiers and Company clerks. Apparently this supply of English girls is to prevent them from taking Indian brides.”
It was the missing piece of the puzzle. Better than Ben had assumed for the girls who survived the voyage, but not by any means legal. And so many had died.
“Is that all?” he asked.
“Well, I dare say that is quite a bit of ‘all’ already. Although perhaps not to you, I suppose. But, no. There is a girl involved. Her safety is Marcus’s greatest anxiety. It seems that something untoward is occurring, and he is unhappy about it. He is assisting with this next journey only in order to protect this particular girl from danger.”
“They are being taken under false pretenses and are perishing on the voyage east.”
“Dear Lord.” Then her gaze sharpened. “You know about it already?”
“Some, but this completes the picture. How much did he tell you about the girl?”
Tavy held Ben’s steady, warm, perfectly beautiful gaze that she could live inside forever.
“He did not tell me. I met her.”
His regard did not alter, but a muscle ticked in his jaw. Her fingers itched to smooth it away, to uncurl his fists. She did not care about the girl or Marcus’s faithlessness. Tavy understood better than she should why Marcus had treated her shabbily. She had lied to him as much as he had lied to her, both of them trying to escape what their hearts wanted most by using the other as a shield.
“It is all right,” she assured. “Not about all those girls, of course. But about the one girl and Marcus.”
The furrows between Ben’s brows deepened.
“Truly.” She dipped her gaze to his hands, which held the fates of so many people, and worked her fingertips along his palms until he released his grip. Strong hands, and beautiful. She loved the way he touched her, the way he looked at her. “I have been considering it all day, you know, and I think he imagined I could guide him away from his infatuation for this girl. Not that he would transfer his feelings for her to me, but that I would be a steadying influence on him. He actually said something like that once or twice. That I was steady.”
Silence met her. Tavy looked up and her heart pirouetted. A half smile crooked Ben’s mouth.
“What?” she breathed.
“He does not know you very well, does he?”
Throat dry, she shook her head.
“Not well at all,” he murmured.
“You do?”
His grin slipped away.
“What if I have changed?” Her voice quavered like a silly girl. “What if I have decided that adventure is not exciting after all? You see, I think after this escapade, I am weary of it.”
“Then,” he said without a hint of levity, “you must forthwith live a quiet and staid existence. Perhaps take up stitchery or some such thing.”
“Stitchery.”
“Yes. Or is that what old spinster women do?”
Her heart thudded. “Spinster women?”
“No,” he replied without a moment’s lapse. “Stitchery would not do for you. Absolutely not.” His voice was husky.
Tavy laughed and his eyes sparkled. A thrill of happiness scurried through her. Ben pulled her to him, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her on the mouth, then on the brow and neck and everywhere in between. She slipped her hands along his sides to his waist, her heart expanding. Being with him felt so right. And yet it had felt this way before, in the country, when she was foolish enough to believe that making love with him meant something else. Something more.
She had felt it long before that too. Seven years ago.
But this time she knew better. This time she would not be so foolish.
“I should leave now.”
“No.” He spoke against her neck, his mouth delicious and hot upon her skin, making her tingly all over. “You will not.”
“You are accustomed to people doing what you wish, I suspect. But would you hold me here against my will?”
He drew back, his eyes serious. “The temptation would be great. Do you wish to leave?”
She placed her hand on his chest. He covered it, flattening her palm to his firm muscle. His heart beat steady and fast, and hers tripped in reply.
She shook her head.
He drew her down into his arms. She curled against his body, the male beauty she still could not quite believe she could touch after all the years struggling not to dream of him. Her palm smoothed along his chest.