A Secret Surrender Read online

  “Does this house have a library?” she asked.

  A slow smile crept across his lips. “You know it does. I’ll show you when it’s finished—I’ve a great many books to buy.” He really was incredibly wealthy. Books were very dear.

  Selina pushed those thoughts from her mind to refocus on why she’d come. “I wanted to talk to you about Luther. Could he have started the fire in Saffron Hill?”

  Rafe went to the hearth and leaned his elbow on the mantelpiece. “It’s possible. He was there, of course. He knew I planned to kill Partridge.”

  Selina walked around the settee towards Rafe. “Maybe he started the fire to cover what you did. He loved you like a brother.”

  “Yes, but don’t for a moment believe that Luther won’t look after himself first. You don’t know him as I do,” Rafe said darkly.

  “Perhaps you should have told me that when I returned to London instead of pretending you were dead.” She didn’t bother keeping the irritation from her tone. “Instead, you let me rely on him to make my Madame Sybila scheme believable.”

  “Has he ruined things?”

  “No, but the woman he’s using as his ‘wife’ is drunk most of the time and nearly did.” She decided not to mention Luther’s behavior toward her. She didn’t need Rafe being protective as he’d been in their youth and doing something stupid like wanting to defend her.

  Would he feel protective? Their sibling relationship was probably long dead. At least, it seemed that way. A hollow ache cleaved her chest.

  Rafe exhaled. “Luther sometimes makes decisions with too much emotion. I’d wager he was trying to help the woman.”

  Too much emotion. As opposed to Rafe. And to Selina. “We aren’t weighed down with such sentiment, are we?”

  “I’m not.” His eyes bored into her for a moment. “Can you say the same when you are carrying on with Sheffield?”

  Selina’s pulse picked up. “Carrying on? What do you mean by that?”

  His stare continued. “You’re having an affair. Don’t bother denying it.” He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t particularly care. Do what makes you happy. Lord knows we’ve not had enough of that in this life, have we, Lina?”

  She hadn’t. Apparently, he hadn’t either. “Would you please stop watching me?”

  “No. I care about you. I’m sorry I lost track of you when you left the school.” His voice lowered to an almost inaudible whisper. “I regret that.” He couldn’t know what had happened to her. Could he?

  “Don’t. I managed.” She hoped he didn’t know. And she didn’t ever want him to. He’d blame himself, and it wasn’t his fault. “You did me a great favor sending me away.” She sought to lighten the mood. “Now look at you. Obviously, you’re good at making money.”

  “Good enough.” He nearly cracked a smile, but instantly sobered. “You, however, have struggled. I was going to send you a note tonight. It’s come to my attention that Bow Street is investigating a series of robberies in Mayfair. Is that our ‘sister’?”

  Damn. Of course it was. “Jewelry?” At his nod, she blew out a curse. “This is how we make our money—that and Madame Sybila. We had just one more theft planned, then we would be finished.”

  “You can’t do it.”

  “I know.” Frustration curdled inside her. She also needed to shut Madame Sybila down immediately. It was all too risky. What if Harry was the one investigating the robberies? “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Of course.”

  She expected him to offer her assistance again, but he’d indicated he wouldn’t. Evidently, he’d meant it, for he said nothing.

  “What of Luther?” she asked. “I can’t believe he would set that fire and kill innocent people. People like…us.”

  “I struggle with that too, but if there was a benefit to him, he may have done it. Or, he may have set the fire to protect me, as you suggested.”

  “I’ll speak to him. I need to close down the Home for Wayward Children anyway.”

  Rafe stretched his hand along the mantel, his fingers resting atop the marble. “That’s smart. I hope you have what you need.” There was a question buried in his tone, but Selina ignored it.

  “We’ll be fine.” Selina turned to go.

  “Perhaps you and Beatrix would like to come for dinner some night? We should ensure our stories are the same, since we are to be a family.”

  Pivoting, Selina saw that he’d moved away from the hearth. “That would be wise. Just send word when you’re ready.”

  “I will.” His bright blue eyes, vivid in their intensity, were so familiar and yet so unknown, like the rest of his face. Especially that scar. Selina was torn between staying to ask how he’d gotten it and leaving. In the end, she left.

  A short while later, Selina entered the sitting room on Queen Anne Street and found Beatrix frowning over a piece of embroidery. “You look frustrated,” Selina said, crossing to the decanter and pouring two glasses of Madeira.

  “You know how I am with needlework.”

  “Hopeless, but I do appreciate your tenacity.” Selina picked up the wine and went to where Beatrix sat.

  Blowing out a grunt, Beatrix thrust the gloves into a basket beside her chair and accepted the glass. “Thank you.”

  “You won’t be thanking me after you hear what I have to say, and I fear your frustration will only grow to anger.” Selina sipped her Madeira before sitting on the settee. She leaned back and briefly closed her eyes.

  “Well, after that prologue, I am in utter dread.”

  Cracking her eyes open, Selina sat up straighter and took another drink. “I’ve just come from Rafe’s. His house is…” She widened her eyes and let that speak for whatever adjective Beatrix deemed appropriate.

  Beatrix gave her an arch look. “You said it was on Upper Brook Street. What were you expecting?”

  Selina narrowed her eyes at Beatrix. “Have you been to a house there?”

  Beatrix laughed. “That obnoxious, eh?”

  “I felt like a slug.”

  “You don’t look like one. I am sure you appeared right at home. You are not the girl who left Mrs. Goodwin’s seminary.”

  No, she wasn’t. “Rafe told me Bow Street is investigating the theft of jewelry in Mayfair.”

  Beatrix had just taken a drink of Madeira and coughed. When she recovered her breath, she blinked at Selina. “Is Sheffield looking into it?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. All of it stops. No more stealing, no more Madame Sybila. I’m going to clean out the room at The Ardent Rose tomorrow and then shut down the Home for Wayward Children.”

  Beatrix sat forward in her chair, her eyes wide. “But we weren’t finished. We don’t have enough money.”

  “We received a good amount of donations at the tour last Friday. It will be enough.” Selina hoped it was. She’d just cut some expenses. They could walk to balls, couldn’t they?

  “I wouldn’t get caught,” Beatrix grumbled, sitting back in her chair.

  “We can’t take the risk.” Especially if Harry was on the case. He was already too close. “It’s best if Madame Sybila leaves town, and you must stop stealing. I mean it.” Selina pinned her with a severe stare. “Please don’t risk everything we’ve worked for—the future you deserve.”

  Beatrix said nothing as she lifted her glass and took a long drink of the wine.

  “Beatrix,” Selina hissed. “Tell me you understand. It all ends now.”

  “I understand.” Beatrix shot her a disgruntled glower. Then she took a breath and nodded. “I do understand. We’re done.”

  Exhaling with relief, Selina’s mind churned as she considered what she had to do tomorrow. And then what? Then she had another six or eight weeks of this interminable Season. Unless Beatrix achieved her goal of winning her father’s approval and support before then.

  She would also have six or eight weeks of Harry.

  The past week—the times she’d shared with Harry—had been a dream. But it couldn’
t continue, as much as she wanted it to. She wanted more riding lessons. She wanted to read his treatise about the trial of Sir Thomas Overbury. She wanted to spend time with his oversized, boisterous family and feel as though she were a part of something more than herself. But none of that was to be.

  As soon as the Season was over, she would leave London. She had to. She couldn’t afford to stay. Part of her screamed to end things now, that the longer their affair went on, the harder it would be to say goodbye.

  Finishing her wine, she stood and bade Beatrix good night before going up to her chamber. The moment she opened the door, she knew something was amiss.

  Harry stepped out from behind the curtain hanging around the window. “Oh good, it’s you.”

  A line of cold sweat beaded along the back of her neck. Had he overheard her and Beatrix’s discussion? “Good heavens, Harry. I see you’re better at stealing into places than you are at spying in gardens.”

  He came toward her, his lips curving into a smile. “I was particularly motivated this evening. I couldn’t wait to toss a pebble at the window.”

  Relief coursed through her. No, he couldn’t have heard anything. He kissed her, a now-familiar touch of his lips followed by the sweep of his tongue and the answering sway of her body as she melted into him. The suppressed emotions from her meeting with Rafe caught up to her. Feelings swelled inside her: sadness, anticipation, regret…lust.

  Being with Harry made her forget better than anything else in her life had so far. With him, she didn’t have to think about what to do next. There was no planning, no worrying, no concern at all. She could just…be.

  Eager to lose herself, she pushed his coat off and steered him toward the bed. He began to pluck the pins from her hair. “Did you lock the door?” he asked against her mouth.

  “Damn,” she breathed before turning and setting the lock.

  She removed her shoes with haste and strode toward him.

  “In a hurry?” Harry asked with a smile.

  “Don’t talk.” She cupped his face and kissed him with ardent need, as if he were what she needed to survive. Not whatever she had planned for tomorrow or next week. Just him. Now. This.

  He finished pulling her hair down, letting the pins fall to the floor. Stroking his hands through her locks, he kissed her again and again, their lips parting and meeting between sighs and darker sounds of need.

  She pulled his cravat away and hurriedly unbuttoned his waistcoat. Grasping the hem of his shirt, she pushed it up, exposing the hard plane of his abdomen and chest. He tossed the garment to the floor as she put her mouth on him, her lips and tongue moving over his nipples and up to the hollow of his throat.

  He clasped her head, moaning as she stroked her hand over the ridge of his cock straining against his breeches. He abruptly turned her and furiously unlaced her gown, pushing it down over her hips as soon as it was loose enough. Her petticoat followed, then he attacked the laces of her corset. That garment joined the others at her feet, leaving her clad in just her chemise and stockings.

  His hands moved over hips, pulling her back against him so that she felt his erection against the top of her backside and the small of her back. He skimmed his palms up her front and cupped her breasts through the chemise.

  “No talking?” he whispered against her ear before kissing along her neck.

  Sensation and need throttled her. “I can’t,” she managed between gasps.

  “Then let me. What do you want, Selina? My hands here?” He tugged on her nipples. It wasn’t enough. She pulled the chemise up, and he helped take it over her head before throwing it away.

  He put his hands on her again, cupping and squeezing, then pinching. “Better?”

  She cast her head back into the crook of his shoulder, closing her eyes. One of his hands moved down over her belly, then pressed over her mound. Arching into his palm, she moaned softly, her legs parting.

  He slipped a finger into her folds. “Better still? Do you want to come like this?” He speared into her, filling her so she cried out. She pumped her hips forward, desperate for more.

  But no, she didn’t want to come like this. He’d told her she could be on top of him. She wanted that.

  Turning, she kissed him, using her teeth to tug on his lower lip before she spoke. “On the bed. Show me how to be in control.”

  He smiled against her mouth. “Everything about this will be yours to manage.”

  He stripped away the rest of his clothing, then climbed onto the bed. Sprawling atop the coverlet, he looked up at her. “Straddle me.”

  She looked at the nest of dark reddish-brown curls between his legs from which his cock stood, thick and rigid. Reaching for him, she knew she’d find moisture at the tip. She leaned over the bed and touched him. Without thinking, she put her mouth over him, tasting his salt.

  His hand twined in her hair. “God, Selina.” He guided her to move. “Like that. Use your tongue.”

  She curled her tongue around him as she glided her mouth down then back up.

  “And your hand.” He sounded as if he couldn’t breathe.

  He curled his hand around hers, showing her where to clasp him at the base. “Go as fast—or slow—as you like. But I do prefer fast. At least right now.” The last word came out on a guttural groan because she’d started to move more quickly, sliding her mouth up and down, taking him deeper each time.

  He clasped her shoulders and pulled her up. “Stop. Please. Or I’m going to come straight down your gorgeous throat.”

  His words enflamed her. She looked up at him, saw the anguished need in his gaze and in the lines of his face and felt a power she’d never imagined. It wasn’t a power over him, but over herself and her choices. She wanted this. She wanted him.

  “Straddle me,” he repeated.

  This time, she followed his command, climbing onto the bed and throwing a leg over his thighs. She splayed one hand on his chest and curled the other around his cock. His hand met hers there as he moved her over him and guided himself to her sex.

  His gaze was locked on where they would join. “Lower yourself. Gently.” He swept his tip against her folds, then began to pierce her as she moved her hips down.

  “God, this is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. You are so beautiful.”

  She’d said no talking, but his words were as arousing as his body and his touch. He clasped her hips as he filled her completely. Just the position of him inside her nearly made her climax.

  “Move, Selina.”

  Putting her hands on his chest, she braced herself as she began to move over him, rising and falling, slowly at first. Then she remembered what he said about liking fast. Plus, the friction she was creating wasn’t enough. She needed more. Her body demanded more.

  He cupped her breasts, drawing on her nipples and crafting an intense pleasure. She began to pitch forward, her hips and legs pumping over him as she chased her release. He put his mouth on her breast, and she cried out, squeezing her eyes shut.

  Then she felt his touch on her clitoris, and she broke apart. Spasms racked her body as her muscles clenched around him. She was having a hard time maintaining her rhythm. “I can’t,” she repeated, but for an entirely different reason.

  Suddenly, Harry flipped her, his body barely leaving her as he pressed her back into the bed. and he drove into her once more. He picked up where she’d left off, thrusting between her quivering legs as she wrapped her body around his. Wave after wave of pleasure swept over her. She reached the peak and fell, her desperation quieting. Then he was gone from her, to spill his seed where it couldn’t take root.

  After a few moments, he came back to her, settling between her legs once more as he gathered her in his arms. “My apologies for taking over.”

  “It was fine,” she murmured. “No, it was brilliant.” It was just what she needed. He was just what she needed.

  He kissed her temple, her cheek, her lips. Selina held him close, hating that she ever had to let him go. She�
�d never wanted anything the way she wanted him.

  The day would come, however—and soon—when she would have to say goodbye. Her heart was breaking at the thought.

  Chapter 17

  Knowing Madame Sybila would not be seeing clients since it was Thursday, Harry stole into the back of The Ardent Rose. He crept along the corridor leading to the fortune-teller’s small closet, listening for anyone who might approach. He heard murmured conversation from the perfume shop just before he quickly opened the door and ducked inside, intent on investigating her tonics—and whatever else he could find.

  His breath stalled as he stared at the empty room. Not entirely empty, because the table, chairs, and dresser were still there, but everything else was gone. There was no tablecloth, no incense, no cards.

  Maybe she put those things away before she left each day. Harry went to the dresser and began opening the drawers. Most were empty, and the one that wasn’t contained just empty perfume bottles.

  Swearing under his breath, Harry looked around the room, his mind spinning. His eye caught the faint outline of a door in the back corner. How had he not noticed that before? He thought back and realized there’d been a drape hanging in that corner, likely to hide the door.

  Harry went and opened it, revealing a narrow—empty—closet. What had she kept in here? He stuck his head inside and caught a faint scent that was all too familiar: orange and honeysuckle. That bloody woman had worn Selina’s scent.

  The door behind him opened, drawing Harry to turn.

  Mrs. Kinnon gasped, her brows shooting up as she lifted her hand to her chest. “My goodness, Mr. Sheffield! I thought I heard something in here.”

  “Where is Madame Sybila?”

  “She’s gone to take care of a sick family member away from London. I don’t know when, or if, she’ll be back,” the shopkeeper said sadly.

  She’d run. Because she was a fraud.

  Pushing past Mrs. Kinnon, Harry cut through the shop and stepped out onto the pavement. He stalked along The Strand until he hailed a hack—he was in far too much of a hurry to walk to Cheapside.

  His blood thrummed as the hack carried him toward St. Paul’s, moving far too slowly. He hoped he was wrong and that Madame Sybila truly had left town to care for someone. But instinct told him he was not.