Touch of Passion (2 page)

The handsome young gentleman smiled and lifted a slender, long-fingered hand. “Yes,” he murmured, “I shall.”

With a swiftness that seemed inhuman, he had placed his outstretched fingers upon the hand that gripped Loris, and the next thing she knew, she was released. The man cried out and fell to the floor, writhing beneath the fingers that still touched him as if their simple pressure alone were somehow imparting great pain to his entire body.

It was impossible that such a big, brawny man could be harmed merely by a touch, yet he knelt on the floor before her very eyes, crying out and begging for mercy.

The young gentleman scarce paid his captive any mind and
instead glanced at his twin. “I remember precisely what Father said, Dyfed,” he commented, as if in answer to some silent question. “I'm not burning anything, and this could hardly qualify as a riot. As to the other, I'm only using a very little, and only for the noble cause of rescuing a helpless female. Malachi would scarcely be alarmed. And if you're so concerned about spectacle, you might recall that we're in public.”

“I forgot,” his brother replied with a flush of obvious aggravation. “You made me forget with your wild . . . your wild . . .” He seemed not to be able to find the right word and, when his brother laughed, finished angrily, saying, “
Why
must you always go straight into every trouble that presents itself? For pity's sake, let the man go!”

“In a moment,” said the other, calmly returning his gaze to the pleading man who knelt before him. “I want to make certain he's learned his lesson.”

His brother set aside the tray he'd yet been holding and, with a gentle hand on Loris's arm, pulled her back from the shocking sight. All around them the crowd pressed in, as amazed by the spectacle as Loris.

“Malachi
will
be furious,” he shouted above the keen cries of pain. “Regardless of the circumstances. Do you really want to have another audience of that sort with the
Dewin Mawr
?”

“Oh, very well,” the other replied, reluctantly releasing his victim.

The big man fell to the ground, whimpering with relief, and was at once dragged away by his friends, some of whom glanced back at the young lordling with fear and disbelief.

“Aye, take him away,” he advised, “and teach him some manners. Ah, Mr. Goodbody”—his tone cheered as the innkeeper reached them—“well met, sir.”

The Goodbodys found the custom of these particular young gentlemen to be most welcome, for they always had money and spent it freely. Mr. Goodbody, at the moment, looked very nervous about the thought of losing such desirable patrons.

“I'm sorry, sir,” he said at once, his breathing labored from his hurry to reach them. “We do get that kind in from time to time. I apologize if you were bothered. He'll not be let in again, nor his friends. Loris! Stupid girl!” Grabbing her by the shoulder, he gave her a rough push toward the bar. “Get out of here and stop causing trouble. Leave these gentlemen be and fetch Tilda to serve them.”

“Stop,” the gentleman who'd rescued Loris said, in a tone of voice that even Mr. Goodbody was forced to obey. “The young miss did nothing wrong. She must not be scolded.” Moving nearer, he handed Loris her tray. “Indeed, she was merely clearing a table for us when she was so rudely assaulted.” He gazed at her for a long moment before turning back to Mr. Goodbody and saying, “Don't ever touch her in such a manner again. She is never to be harmed.”

Loris's eyes widened, and she glanced at the innkeeper. If any other man had said such a thing to Mr. Goodbody, no matter how rich, he would have been barred from the Red Fox forever. But the way this young lord had spoken seemed to have stunned Mr. Goodbody into submission, for he merely nodded, bowed, and moved away.

“Are you all right now, miss?”

He was gazing at her with genuine concern, she saw when she dared to glance at him, the usually mocking expression absent from his handsome face.

“Yes, sir,” she murmured, clutching the tray against her chest. “Thank you, sir.”

“Leave the poor girl be, Kian,” his brother said. “Can't you see that she's afraid of you?”

Without another word Loris curtsied and turned about, heading through the smoke toward the kitchen.

Five minutes later she stood in the damp alleyway, shivering in the cold, foggy night air, her ears yet ringing with Mrs. Goodbody's angry voice and her cheek stinging from the sharp slap she'd been given for being the cause of so much trouble. It occurred to her that the young gentleman had perhaps given his command to the wrong person.

Loris was grateful for a brief respite, though it was likely to earn her another slap, for she had sneaked outside without permission. And she was glad, too, for the cold air, despite her shivering, because the very sharpness of it helped to clear the remnants of noise and bitter smoke out of her ears and eyes.

With a sigh, Loris leaned against the clammy brick wall and relaxed. The shouts and laughter coming from the tavern's side door were dimmed here, sounding far more pleasant and cheerful. They were among the earliest sounds she could remember from her childhood: men and women laughing, drinking, and shouting with merriment or sudden anger. There were variations, depending upon the place and time and mood of the customers, but the sounds were always the same.

She often wondered what life beyond London's docks was like. Her parents had told her stories of other places, of the beautiful countryside where they had both grown up, but these had seemed like nothing more than unreal fairy tales to Loris. Her father had promised to take her out of London someday, to show her that he and her mother were speaking the truth about flowers and trees and unending valleys carpeted with green, but, like most of his hopes, it had never come to pass. His love of gaming had made all three of them captives to the docks and rookeries. When her mother died, Loris had felt, along with the loss and grief, a measure of envy. Heaven, she believed, would be welcome to all those who had lived in London's cold, dark, filthy alleyways.

There had just been the two of them after that, Loris and her father. Somewhere, she knew, there were other relatives, for once she'd overheard her mother speak wistfully of going home to repair matters with her parents, but Loris's father had quickly hushed her and insisted that there was no going back. And he had forbidden her to speak of such things in front of Loris again. Even as her mother neared death and had pleaded with him to at least let their families know about Loris, her father had remained unmoved. It was
the only thing Loris could remember him denying his wife and, realizing how strongly he felt about their families, she'd never found the courage to question him about them. Not a day went by now that she didn't regret that reticence. Even if her parents' families had been cruel and horrid, throwing herself on their mercies surely wouldn't have been worse than being dependent on the Goodbodys. At the very least she would have been among her own people.

Perhaps her father had not been the best or wisest of parents, spending so much of his time and their modest funds in taverns and gaming hells, but he'd done his best to keep her safe and clothed and fed. More than that, he'd called upon the formal education he'd received in his youth and taught Loris to read, write, and do simple sums.

Those had been happy times, when Loris and her father had talked of so many better dreams, when he had foolishly thought that his daughter might somehow find her way out of the docks. Perhaps if he'd realized that his gaming and drinking would one day leave Loris without any hope at all, he would have stopped.

But it was foolish to recall such things now. She had been born in a tavern, would live all her life in and among them, and would the either in or because of one, just as both her parents had done.

“Aren't you cold?”

The voice startled her, but she knew at once who it was and turned her head to look at him.

He stood but a few steps away, near the open kitchen door, the tavern's dim light and smoke drifting out behind him, both illuminating and obscuring his tall, slender figure.

“No,” she said without thought, stupidly, then, realizing how foolish that sounded, especially as she stood there shivering, amended, “Yes.”

He took a step nearer; Loris pushed away from the wall and stood upright, watching him warily. He had been kind to her, but she had learned in her childhood to be careful with all men, even those who seemed kind.

“I mean you no harm,” he said soothingly as he came near, his face and figure growing clearer in the mist. “I could not harm you, Loris, even if I had some wrong wish to do so.” He stopped and gazed at her very directly. “But that moment will never come.”

She was still wary, despite the gentleness of his words. He was a shockingly handsome youth, and that, coupled with his obvious wealth, probably meant that he'd been spoiled beyond all reason. Why else would so young a gentleman frequent a tavern like the Red Fox? In such places he was treated like a full-grown man, especially by the whores. He had no cause to treat her with anything other than guile in order to gain what he wished.

Everything about him bespoke wealth and high birth, from his tailored clothes to his finely formed features. His long, unusually light-colored hair was neatly tied back upon his neck. His blue eyes were disarmingly clear, so that they made her think of sparkling crystal, and yet were as penetrating as a hot sun. And his face was, simply, alarmingly beautiful. She'd never seen the like. He looked otherworldly, like one of the characters in the fairy stories that her father had told her at bedtime, slender and regal, almost delicate in form, yet undeniably powerful.

Loris knew which twin he was. From the very first night they'd come, from the very first moment she'd seen him, she had known who he was. Probably, she told herself, because of his expression, which was far more cunning than that of his brother. She wasn't truly afraid of him but recognized the look of a fearless, dangerous man when she saw one.

“She struck you,” he said, and lifted a hand to touch her still-stinging cheek.

Loris stepped away. “How do you know that? You can't see that well in this darkness. Or did you hear what she said to me in the kitchen?”

“I didn't hear it,” he told her, moving forward with purposeful care, clearly striving to not frighten her. “But I know she hurt you. I can make it better. Let me.” Slowly, he
stretched his hand out, and his fingers stroked her cheek with a gentle, tender touch. “You see?”

The stinging began to fade and within but moments had gone altogether, so that she could feel nothing but the pleasurable caress of his fingertips.

He had drawn even closer, so near that Loris could feel the warmth of his body. She stood, transfixed by the intense blue eyes, so light that they were visible even in the darkness, and wondered if he possessed some kind of hypnotizing magic. She felt captive, as if she couldn't move while he stood there, his hand resting now upon her cheek, warm and strong.

Loris had felt this way with him once before, on that first night when he and his brother had come to the Red Fox, well over a month ago. There had been a moment during the night when she had passed near his table and their eyes met . . . and he had stared at her almost as he was doing now. She had felt captive then, too, and drawn to him in an irresistible way. But the moment had passed, and Loris told herself that it had only been a trick of her mind. The fine young lord couldn't have truly taken notice of her. It had simply been a mistake. A dream.

But this wasn't. He was very real, standing before her. And he was gazing at her in the same compelling manner as he had then.

“Loris,” he murmured, and smiled, seeming pleased by the sound of the word. “How did you come to be given such a name? I have never heard it before.”

“My father named me,” she replied, her voice small and thin to her ears.

“It's beautiful,” he said, still smiling. “As you are. You have such lovely hair, like gold”—his fingers slid upward, touching one of the unruly curls that had come loose from the ribbon she'd tied it up with earlier—“and such dark, pretty eyes. It wouldn't have mattered what you look like, but I confess to being glad that you're so pleasant to gaze upon.”

She opened her mouth to protest the compliments, as she knew she should do, but couldn't. The words were far too
sweet, and he said them in such a wonderful manner. No one but her parents had ever spoken so kindly to her before.

“Where is your father?” he asked. “And your mother? How did you come to be at the Red Fox?”

“My parents are dead,” she told him. “My father often gambled here, before he fell ill. When he died, the Goodbodys were kind enough to take me in.” She left out the fact that they had demanded her service in payment for the money her father had owed them.

Sympathy filled his gaze, and he murmured, “I'm sorry. If I'd only known earlier that you were here, alone, I would have found a way to come to you. But of course that would have been impossible,” he added, a touch of sudden amusement in his tone, “for I didn't truly believe you existed until I set sight on you. And even after that it took some weeks before I at last believed the truth.”

Loris reached up to the hand that yet cradled her face with the intention of pushing it away, but before she could do so his fingers folded over her own in a movement so quick that she couldn't comprehend how it was that their hands were suddenly clasped.

“Sir—”

“I'll not harm you,” he said again, and lowered her captive hand to gaze at it. “I realize that you have no cause to think well of me. I've done nothing to gain your goodwill these past several days”—he glanced up, looking suddenly embarrassed—“though I have wished for it. You see, I am not always kind, as my brother is, and when I first saw you and felt such strange magic, I fought hard against it.” He sounded nervous, as if he were making a confession of grave wrongdoing. Clearing his throat, he pressed on. “My behavior when you've been present has been . . . well, perhaps we shouldn't speak of it in detail.” He gave a small shake of his head. “I wish I'd not been so free with the other women in front of you, but it can't be helped now. I thought, at the time, it might somehow change things, but that was a foolish wish. You've no need to fear that the behavior will continue.” He
lifted his other hand so that hers was completely enveloped in a warming clasp and smiled at her reassuringly. “Now that I'm certain of what's happened, I'll be different. Everything will be different, Loris. You need never worry. I shall be faithful, even if I have not been before.”