Winter's Heat: A Nemesis Unlimited Holiday Novella (8 page)

She plucked the small metal object from his hand, holding it up. “A key.”

“To what? A door? A safe?”

Ada peered at it closer. It was a slim key, not very weighty. Familiar, somehow. Then she knew. “For luggage.” She gazed at him. “A valise.”

He cursed softly. “The bag isn’t here. But it’s got to be stored somewhere else, for safekeeping.”

“And the key hidden to keep the contents protected,” she added. Now she swore. “We still don’t know where the valise is, and what’s in it.”

Yet he wasn’t deterred. “It’s not in the Larkfields’ room. And neither of them have left the house all day. He likely planted the key last night after the dinner. I’ll leave the key here for now, so he doesn’t get suspicious.”

“Maybe they gave the suitcase to one of the servants,” she offered. “Had them hide it someplace off the estate.”

“They didn’t bring their own valet or maid,” he said. “Mistrust is running high. If they wanted anything done with the valise, they’d do it themselves.”

“If they didn’t leave Covington Hall all day,” she said, “then they must have hidden the valise somewhere in the house.” She shook her head. “The place is enormous, and Larkfield knows it well. He could’ve hidden the bag anywhere.”

Still, he remained undaunted. He’d always been so confident. That hadn’t changed.

“Then,” he said with conviction, “we bloody well find it.”

*   *   *

They returned to the house in silence. Ada had no idea what Michael was thinking, but she couldn’t stop remembering how he felt beneath her as he climbed, or the way he moved so sleekly and purposefully in the ruin.

Once back outside Covington Hall, they stood at the base of the building, exactly where they’d descended hours before. The wall loomed above them, and far up, the window that was their destination.

Michael turned so his back was to her. “Hop on. Ferry’s returning to the dock.”

Yet she didn’t move. She looked up at the wall and flexed her fingers.

He realized what she intended to do and shook his head. “No. Absolutely not.”

“I watched you on the way down. How you found foot and toeholds. I could feel the way your body moved.” Her face heated at this confession.

“This isn’t a little garden wall. I fell and busted my arse countless times when I was training.”

“Then I’d better not fall,” she answered.

His face darkened. “Ada—”

“I need to try this, Michael.” She fought to find the right words. The idea had been growing within her ever since they’d started back from the ruin, until it filled her with a blazing urgency. “I need to know … what I can do.”

For a long moment, he only stared at her, his brow lowered, his hands on his hips. A debate seemed to rage within him. He took a step in one direction, then the other. A tight, controlled pacing. Finally, he cursed under his breath, and her heart leapt. In fear and excitement.

“I’m going to be right behind you,” he growled. “And if I tell you where to move or how, you do it.”

“Yes,” she answered at once. Her pulse beat thickly.

“Face the wall,” he commanded.

She did as he directed. He stood right behind her.

“Now, find some good handholds, places in the mortar where you can shove your fingers in tight and get a good grip.” When she’d done so, he continued, “Next, find your toeholds. Those’ll be harder to find, because your feet are bigger than your hands. Just get enough of a wedge in with the toe of your boot. Start with one foot, then the other.”

She searched for good places for her feet. It took a few tries, her boots sliding on the wall, but she was determined, and as soon as she got one foot wedged between the bricks, she found another toehold. For a moment, she simply hung there on the wall, only inches from the ground. A small victory, but one she savored.

“Use the strength of your legs and your arms,” he ordered. “Push up with your legs and use that momentum to lift you higher once you find your next handholds.”

Taking a deep breath, she reached up to locate places to put her hands. As soon as she found them, she shoved upward using the power of her legs. Though she’d lost a little of the strength she’d had as a housemaid, working as a shopgirl wasn’t soft or easy labor. All that bending and carrying bolts of heavy cloth had given her unladylike muscles, and she used them now to propel herself up the side of Covington Hall.

Her fingers ached and her body complained from the hard use. Her limbs trembled, and sweat slicked her back. She glanced down and saw that she’d reached ten feet up the wall.

Suddenly, he appeared beside her, holding on to the wall. “Now climb on. I’m not putting you in any more danger.”

“But—”

“You’ve proven what you can do. And it’s bloody amazing. But I’m not putting you in any more danger. Next time,” he added, “we’ll climb a hundred feet. Together.”

She couldn’t argue, not when her body shook with effort, and she’d done what she’d wanted: shown herself what she was capable of. So she did as he directed, and carefully climbed onto his back.

Though her arms and legs ached with weariness on the climb back, she was even more aware of him under her. How their bodies rubbed against each other. All brought into sharp relief by how they’d worked so well together, how right it felt. Her weariness burned away like morning mist, leaving hot need in its place.

Suddenly, the ledge appeared. She stretched out and grasped it. Then hauled herself up off Michael and onto the wide stone ridge. As soon as she was clear, she slid through the open window. She tumbled gracelessly to the floor of the landing, only just managing to break her fall enough to keep from making a racket.

She leaned against the wall, trying to calm herself. Michael climbed through the window with a sight more elegance than she’d demonstrated.

“You should get back to the male servants’ quarters,” she said when he leaned beside her.

“I can’t,” he answered tightly. “Not yet.” When he looked at her, moonlight showed the bright desire in his eyes. He stroked along the line of her jaw, and her breath caught.

Pleasure lit like electrical sparks in her chest. The night had filled her with possibility, with strength.

She took hold of his hand and pulled him behind her—he willingly followed—until she ducked into a linen closet. Shelves and cupboards lined the walls, with a single window overhead to give some light, and there was just enough room to sit on the floor. She pushed him to the ground, and he sat with his back against a cupboard, his legs stretched out in front of him.

As she shut the door behind her, the scent of lavender thick in the air, possibility and reckless daring tumbled through her in bright waves. She felt capable of anything. Expansive with potential. Her body ached—not with tiredness. It wanted, wanted. And it didn’t give a damn about consequences.

She suddenly straddled him. He sucked in a breath, but his face remained expressionless. Only his eyes gleamed from beneath lowered lids. He kept his hands at his sides. One might think he was unmoved by the fact that she sat upon his thighs, their bodies inches apart. Yet the muscles of his legs tensed beneath her, and his chest rose and fell in rough staccato rhythm.

Ada stroked her hands up his arms, feeling their tight strength. She ran her palms over his hard shoulders and learned anew their lean shapes. Through his woolen clothes, his body was warm, solid. As she touched him, he didn’t move, simply watched her with that predator’s gaze.

Threading her fingers into his hair, she lowered her head. Put her mouth to his as her heart pounded. His lips were firm and silken, but as she brushed her own lips against his, he made no move to return the kiss. She traced the seam of his mouth with the tip of her tongue, urging him to open for her. And while his breath was rough, he still kept his hands at his sides, his lips immobile beneath hers.

She pulled back. A knot of hot anger burned. “You said you wanted all of me.” She started to slide off his lap.

His hand shot out and grasped her wrist. “Still do,” he rumbled. “Said I wouldn’t kiss you until you asked. You haven’t asked.”

Anger quickly gave way to a fiery burst of gratification. “I’m not asking.” She moved back to sit astride him. “I’m telling you.
Kiss me.
”

“Damn right I will,” he growled, and then he cupped the back of her neck with one broad, callused hand, urging her close.

When their lips met again, it was hot, demanding. They didn’t waste time with prefaces or gentle, shy exploration. This was a kiss of long-simmering need. Their mouths were open, and they hungrily fed upon each other, tasting, claiming. He had a warm, spicy flavor she devoured, her tongue slick against his as they almost fought to see who could take more of the other into themselves.

This
is what had haunted her all these months. This passion they created that coursed through her in drugging, sparking cascades. More than physical need, it was the want of one self for the other, for all that they were, brought into bold relief by desire. He kissed her as though his next breath demanded it.

She stifled her gasp when his other hand boldly cupped her arse and pulled her snug against him, hips cradling hips. Despite layers of heavy clothing, she still felt the press of his arousal, right against her own aching center. Instinctively, she rocked against him. Sensation pulsed through her. He gripped her hip tighter, urging her close, rising to meet her with a delicious grind.

Her body was alight. The fire surged along her limbs, in the sensitive places of her body. Her breasts were straining and tight against the bodice of her dress, and slickness gathered between her legs.

She almost growled in protest when Michael’s mouth left hers. But then she bit her lip to catch her moan when he dragged his lips along her jaw. He took her earlobe lightly between his teeth, then continued nipping and kissing his way down her throat. She felt the heat as he seemed to breathe her in deep, nuzzling against her hair, drawing in her scent with a primal need.

Her high-necked dress frustrated them both, but he had nimble fingers, and in moments, the buttons lining her bodice loosened. Cool air touched her flesh, replaced almost immediately by his mouth, with more kisses and even a savoring lick of her skin.

She pulled off his cap and clutched his head close, reveling in the sensation, even as her undergarments thwarted his attempts to taste more of her. One of his deft hands found its way beneath the edge of her corset, his fingers sleek and hot on the tops of her breasts.

Ada pressed her lips tight, fighting to smother her sounds of pleasure. Yet when his fingers found the hard point of her nipple and stroked, a quiet moan slipped from her.

They both froze. In the absolute silence of the servants’ quarters, her muted cry seemed as loud as a shout. Though no footsteps sounded, or doors opened, Ada scrambled off of Michael. She hastily fastened the buttons of her bodice, fingers shaking, as she struggled to calm her breathing. Michael shoved on his cap to cover the tangled mess she’d made of his hair. Grimacing, he also adjusted the crotch of his trousers.

She couldn’t blush or feel embarrassed. She’d wanted this. Him. But they were getting closer to figuring out the Larkfields’ plans. There was no surer way for them to be sent packing than being discovered on the verge of making love right there in the linen closet.

He stood, and helped her to rise. Neither spoke. But his gaze—half in shadow, half in moonlight—seared her. His hands knotted at his sides, as if fighting the urge to touch her.

He stood and silently opened the door. They walked to the window on the landing, and he climbed up into it. With one last, burning glance, he slipped through the window and then began to climb down.

Hands shaking, she closed the window. A light snow had just begun to fall. He’d have a cold walk back—but maybe he needed the chill as much as she did. Silently, quickly, she hurried down the corridor to her bedroom.

As she shed her clothes and donned her nightdress, she felt like another woman had taken control of her body. No, that wasn’t true. She seemed more herself than she’d ever felt before. The Ada who explored crumbling ruins by moonlight for clues to a crime, the same woman who’d climbed part way up the side of a building, and the person who’d allowed herself at last to give in to the passion that had always roiled within her—that was the real Ada. Not the housemaid with ambitions to become a housekeeper. Or the shopgirl who walked in parks with tame sweethearts. The one who silenced herself.

And Michael had been part of this revelation.

Carefully, she changed and slipped back into bed. Despite her full day’s work and late night adventures, her body still hummed with energy.

Sleep would be impossible tonight. Not when her body and mind were filled with Michael. And with her true self finally coming into its own, taking over. Maybe she’d never go back to the old Ada, but she had no idea what it meant to be the new Ada.

Chapter Eight

Tension knotting his shoulders, Michael entered the drawing room and set a tray of tea upon a table. The three women sitting at the table—Lady Cowan, Mrs. Herbert, and Lady Larkfield—paid him no attention. He didn’t mind. It allowed him to watch Lady Larkfield as he arranged the cups and plates of cakes. Despite her lazy pose on the settee, small lines of strain tightened in the corners of her mouth, her eyes were sharp as daggers, and she’d tried to hide the circles beneath them with a subtle layer of cosmetics.

He backed away as Lady Cowan poured the tea. The room itself was festively adorned, including a decorated tree.

But as he stepped from the drawing room, the Christmas spirit had no hold on him. In the fake ruin was the key to a missing valise. A valise that could possibly land the Larkfields in the clink for their crime. When the workhouse had been raided, some of the children had been placed in other orphanages, but beds were always in short supply, and too many of the children had scattered through the city. They’d have no holiday this year, no oranges or Christmas crackers. The best they could hope for was to find someplace out of the cold, and hope holiday charity moved passersby to toss them a ha’penny when they begged.