The Veiled Heart (The Velvet Basement Book 1) (6 page)

Despite the laughter, the comments were more of the same.

They had attended because Lily had paid them to. But there would be very little use of the sheaths.

Eventually, Lily came out.

Worthington hung back while she made her way out of the building, his presence hidden by the girls still in the passageway.

Worthington pulled his coat closer as he stalked out of the brothel. It had taken a good few minutes to extricate himself from the corridors filled with women. Outside, the weather had deteriorated. Mist was sinking into the small, grimy passageways that passed as streets, and there was a light rain with the promise of a downpour.

Coming here, even escorted, was not to be considered again. Moreover, not even one of those women was out here to see her on her way safely.

As he rounded the corner of the building and headed toward the street they’d come in on, his breath caught in his chest.

Three men surrounded Lily.

Tension curled through him and he moved fast.

“I will do no such thing.” Her voice was high pitched and indignant.

Fire coursed through him.

He would kill them.

The three men maneuvered around her. His hands curled into iron fists. His heart pounded but his head was clear.

“Hey! You! Step back!”

He was still not close enough.

One reached out to grab Lily’s reticule. She swung at him and he laughed. Another got behind her and lifted her skirt.

This was happening too fast.

Blinding heat flashed through him. Something in his head switched.

He launched himself between her and them. She yelped.

“You!” But her hand shot out and clutched his arm.

A flash of protective need slammed through him.

“Get behind me.”

He guided her to move with him as he rocked from one foot to the other. Anger, burned through him. He would tear them to pieces. He would pound them until they were unrecognizable.

“I was dealing with this.” Her voice was ridiculously indignant, but her fingers on his back told him all he needed to know, she was scared.

“It will be alright, Lily.”

Standing in front of her, her stubborn spirit showing, eased some of the fierce red haze coursing through him. She was all right. And, she wasn’t panicking. That was good.

The men eyed them up.

Both he and Lily were well dressed and her purse was wafting about as she gestured.

His breathing sped up. The stance he took may not have helped him in a boxing match at Oxford but would serve him very well right now. Real fighting. He knew how to do that.

All that banked-up fire and energy bunched in his torso. His arms held tensed and ready.

The men held his gaze then flicked behind him to Lily and hardened. They were not planning on walking away.

“Put your purse away.” It may as well have been a blood red cape waved in front of three bulls.

“I don’t think….”

Irritation flashed through him.

“Now!”

The men pushed forward.

This was it.

He stepped between two. Took a swing and landed it on one man’s chin, knocking him off his feet. Thank God for all those drunken brawls as he wallowed in misery, trying to forget her. Trying to forget that Freddy had her and he didn’t.

The other man swung. Worthington ducked and it grazed his shoulder. As he moved, he saw her; the third man had Lily. Fear spiked through him. He couldn’t help her. Not yet.

She screamed.

Panic raced through his blood.

“Bastard! You bloody bastard! You will not get my purse!”

His muscles clenched. He would get to her. These men were opportunists he just needed to stay focused. Any fight she gave would slow the man down. Give him time to get to her. Men like these were cowards.

He landed the next two punches with full force felling the second man with a jab to the neck. A red haze pushed him on. The first rose and with a series of blows to his kidney and face, and then to the neck, the man went back down and was out.

Worthington turned. He needed to see her.

She was all right.

The attacker did a quick move and caught her by the upper arms. Lily stumbled backwards. The man pulled one arm back and was about to slam his fist into her.

Rage surged through him, propelling him forward. No one would hurt her, ever. Legs burning with heat and strain, he covered the space between them in seconds.

Wothington clasped the attacker’s arm and yanked him back. His jaw tightened, he pulled back his other arm and slammed it into the attacker’s ear. One, two, three, four times in fast succession. The pain flashed through his fist, a righteous explosion of fury.

Never in his life had he experienced this overwhelming instinct to harm another; so blind with rage, so filled with the need to protect her.

His voice bellowed as he hit the attacker repeatedly. A primal roar.

“Run!” His voice guttural.

Lily looked at him, eyes wide.

“Run.”

Then she had the good sense to do just that. They were almost there.

The rain came down in earnest. He stood, looked at the man he had knocked unconscious, and then at her. She was running like the wind but not fast enough.

Fire exploded through his jaw into his skull as a fist sent him reeling. His feet wavered and blinding pain radiated behind his eyes. It took a second before he could look up. His arms raised ready to punch back.

It was the second man. The burly one.

The attacker turned and started after Lily.

“Lily! Run!”

Worthington righted and started to run after them.

“Faster, Lily, run faster. Into the alley to the right.”

Blast her; she kept going straight down the narrow but main street her hands fumbling in her coat as she slowed. The man was catching up to her. What was she thinking?

Worthington pushed his legs to move faster, to work harder. The breath burned in his lungs. The cobblestones hammered his feet through the cheap leather.

One step after another, one stride after another, and he was closer. He reached out. The tips of his fingers were close. His whole body was on fire. He saw Lily over the man’s shoulder. She was too close.

The tips of his fingers grabbed the attacker’s collar from behind, curled into the coat, and yanked.

The man stumbled.

They fell.

Punches landed on his back and arm. The man knew how to fight meanly, but worse than that, he could take a beating and keep going.

Worthington rolled into an upright stance. He would outrun him to a place he could find a weapon. A broken crate, a slab of wood, something to leverage against him.

Lily stopped a short distance away.

Turned.

The rain drenched her face, her clothes.

She had a pistol in her hand.

Aimed at him.

The guilt, the guilt that had always sat with him flew to the surface. Did she know? Did she blame him? But she had been happy.

Bile flew to his throat. Acrid heat scorched at the back of his mouth.

“Lily!”

His heart slammed against his chest.

He came to a stop.

The pistol fired, the bullet whizzed by, a man yelled, and a body thudded behind him.

And a knife scuttled to the floor.

His breathing came fast. Relief surged through him. A spinning euphoria.

She had just shot a man to save him.

He kneeled on one knee and checked the man’s pulse, all the while watching her as she lowered the pistol. The bullet hit the attacker in the arm, the man was going into shock, but he’d live.

They needed to leave.

Worthington looked back at Lily; she was starting to shake.

Oh God, of course she would.

“He’s not dead, just very successfully wounded.”

“I was a good shot as a girl.” Her hand shook as she put the pistol back in the folds of her coat.

He pushed up on his feet. Her eyes never left him. That tough little chin and those soft tremors as she shook sent a blazing possessive heat through him.

All he wanted was to take her home and lock the door on the rest of the word. In two steps, he covered the distance between them. He knew exactly what she needed. He’d shot a man in Canada, self-defense. But the circumstances didn’t matter; it rattled you. And unless she was a hardened veteran, this close call would be doing all kinds of things to her.

“Come here.”

She stepped forward.

“Why?”

He moved the last few feet between them, the heat of the fight still pumping through him, he willed himself to be gentle. His arms slipped around her.

“I need to feel you.”

God, how he needed to touch her, needed to hold her. Needed to wrap her up in his arms and whisk her away.

His arms surrounded her and she sank into him, pushing into the circle his body created.

“He’s not dead?”

“No, sweetheart, just wounded.”

She gave a shaky nod. “Just wounded.”

His chest had a hot glow in the center as he looked at her. Seeing her struggle and not buckle under, he was aware of the immense strength in this woman, an ocean of it.

He curled his hand around her neck and kissed her hard.

She clutched at him. Drank from him like an elixir across the remains of her veil. Her need pushed his own higher with each desperate clutch of her hands.

How had he gone on without her? How had he known all along that being with her would be like this, like every part of him had a home, had a purpose?

He ran his palm over her shoulder. She was fragile, so small, and yet, so amazingly strong.

“Good shot,” he whispered into her lips.

Her laugh made his heart beat faster, made him breathless.

He was as hard as a steel rod and hungry for her. Hungry to know she was whole in the most primitive way.

Her hand was soft in his as he held it.

“Come on. We need to get further away from here.”

 Worthington clasped her hand, her grip firm.

The rain that had started would get worse before they found the cab.

“Do you know where we are?” Her voice was tight, strained as she walked beside him toward the small alley to their right. He gave her fingers a small squeeze.

“Yes, in a general sense.” He had occasion to be in this part of town in the past, given its close proximity to the docks. His trading ventures and his preference to be hands-on meant that he had come down through Whitechapel a few times. The trouble was he didn’t know it well enough to be confident but he could navigate them in the general direction to less dangerous ground.

They moved in and out of the small alleys. Barely any light shone in some of them, so he started to choose the bigger ones with a gas lamp.

“I think we should head deeper into the side streets here on the right, keep out of sight, and make our way back north. That should get us to either Commercial Road or Whitechapel Road. With any luck I can find my cab once I get bearings on a main street.”

Although it wasn’t ideal to walk off the main thoroughfare, they needed to get away and not be easy to track.

“The cab?” Was that a bit of hope in her voice? He smiled.

“Yes. One of us, it seems, had the good sense to arrange for our cab to wait.” He squeezed her hand and he heard a little huff next to him.

“I’m still new at this. I’ll know better for next time.” She pulled her hand out of his and started to march forward ahead of him. He moved quickly, passed her, and started a half jog.

“Come on, Lily, we need to move a bit faster. We are the trespassers here. That man back there will have friends.”

She didn’t say anything, just picked up her skirts, and started to jog next to him.

The other assailants would be recovered and there was no telling their response at finding their colleague shot.

Worthington kept a solid pace through the narrow passageways.

“Wait, wait, I can’t.”

He turned around to see she had fallen behind. The cab waiting at the main road couldn’t be that much further.

“We’re nearly there.”

“Stop.” She faltered, moved under an eave, and stretched one arm out against the wall as she held her side. “Stop, I can’t go on.”

He stopped and walked back to her. The rain was long forgotten as it soaked into his hat and coat and ran down his face.

Her bonnet had fallen off somewhere in that last sprint and her hair was half out of its pins. The veil he’d sent that morning, caught on the pins, had largely stayed in place.

It was ripped across her face, showing the fullness of her lips. There was a good chance they’d ripped it in the last kiss.

Her overly big mouth made his stomach flip. She was enchanting, a drenched water siren.

Worthington moved over to stand out of the rain next to her. His hand itched to touch her, to trace every part of her.

“We can rest. Take your time.” Every second was ticking by like an eternity. If he could get her to the carriage, he could hold her, kiss her, and make sure she was fine. He pushed his hands into his pockets.

Lily, breathing hard, looked up at him. The rain fell around then. His breath was uneven but not too much; he kept fit at the club. The rain beat down in large stealthy drops and they were wet to the bone.

“Typical weather, wouldn’t you say?”

She barked an unrestrained laugh that sent a shot of heat through him. An unrestrained Lily could be a sane man’s undoing.

Then she smiled, lips and beautiful straight teeth through the jagged rip. The want pushed higher; he was dizzy with his need for her. They were close to exiting the maze of alleyways, close to a main road and hopefully his cab. His fingers closed as he held himself back.

Then her smile moved all the way into her eyes and more, a soft invitation.

Hot, hungry need slammed into him.

Worthington reached out and pulled her hard up against him. He threaded his fingers through that tangle of hair and arched her head back.

The tension tightened between his legs. A long, hard ache. Oh, he wanted this.

“Say stop, Lily.” It was the right thing to ask.

“No.” Her voice was a wonderful, indignant tone.

Relief flooded through him. He would hold back; of course, he would, but restraining himself was the last thing he wanted to do. He needed her more than his next breath.

“Lily?”

“Show me, show me again.”

Her mouth was the warmest place on earth as it opened under his; sweet and slick with those lips full like ripe fruit. A gentle stroke of her tongue and his knees wanted to buckle.

Her hands clutched at him, his mouth bit at her chin and want flared through his body in hot, hard waves. With three or four awkward steps, her back was against the wall.

They were in a small, somewhat secluded alcove.

It was private enough.

Her breasts in his hands were full, soft, and warm. He ducked his head and put his mouth where her nipple would be and bit through the worsted wool. Then he blew in the warm breath from his mouth and her hips bucked helplessly against his thigh. The warmth would seep through the layers of damp and across her skin. She leaned into his face. Her hand slipped behind his head and pulled him closer. Her pleasure fueled him. He wanted her to combust on his mouth, wanted her to scream as he pushed into her, and took her over the edge again.

Worthington tugged up her skirt.

“Hold your skirts up, Lily.”

Her hands went down and scooped up the mass of fabric.

“Higher, hitch them higher. Don’t be a prude on me now, sweetheart.”

She pulled them up higher.

Need pulsed through his body, but he wanted her to feel pleasure, to relax into a pliable mass of languid heat. He wanted her to give everything over to him.

Worthington slid down on his knees, ran his hands up her legs, her calves, her thighs. Every curve, every shape of her was perfect. He found the hole in her pantaloons and ripped, ripped them wide open.

She gasped.

Her fingers on his shoulder tightened.

His want roiled in his belly like a coiled spring, tight and waiting. However, this was about her.

The cotton was soft and expensive in his palms. Her pantaloons still smelled like soap. And she smelled like clean, soft woman. He pushed his face at the apex of her legs. The beat of his heart thudded in his ears.

Her breath came hard and fast above him.

A time would come when he would be able to sit and watch her bathe. Watch her as the soap slid over her skin, the floral scent filling the room as he imagined his mouth following its path.

Around them the rain pelted down, the wind blew mists of water over them. She radiated a pulsing heat. Her thighs were on his cheeks. The bunched fabric pressed down on his head. All he wanted was to lose himself in her smell, her taste, and feel the soft folds of her over his tongue, lips, his face.

Her breathing came fast. He had to pull back, slow down, and stay focused.

“What are you doing?”

The question took him aback. What had Freddy been doing? Yesterday in the carriage, he was sure he’d given her the first taste of pleasure and now this. Freddy may have held his twisted tastes back, but it seems he hadn’t been a model lover. That pleased him. He knew how to fill that role. Show her he was a man where Freddy was not.

The determination to make this about her tightened his muscles. Tightened his back, his legs, and gut to hold back his own need.

“Put your leg over my shoulder.” God help him, he wanted them wrapped around his head. Wanted them squeezed tight over his ears on his bed.

She didn’t move. The muscles in her thighs tightened slightly. Fear, uncertainty, shame, it was hard to say. This was the second time she consciously had to relax to let him close, to be open to him. Freddy must have been a selfish, bumbling bastard. But better that than his other needs. At least she had been spared those.

“Hold your skirt, Lily. Trust me.” He would show her passion. Show her how it was between them.

A couple of seconds passed and the muscles under his hand relaxed. He lifted her leg over his shoulder and her other hand grabbed on to him for balance.

But he wasn’t focused on that, oh no. His attention was on the scent caught between her legs, a damp musk. He breathed it in as he pushed his face against her. Nuzzled into that soft moist heat. He slipped his tongue out. How could he not? The fabric of her skirts lay heavy on top of him. The ragged pieces of her underwear were against his cheeks, but all he could feel were the soft folds against the flat of his tongue. The slide, as he pushed it up into her. Over the flesh. Between the folds, over the nub of flesh that held all that sensitivity, the tickles of dark, soft hair.

That was all he could focus on.

It was the full landscape of his world.

A blind man led by his mouth, his tongue, his teeth to the holy grail of mind-buckling pleasure.

She whimpered.

“That’s it. I’ve got you.”

He nuzzled back into that soft, damp heat. Slipped his tongue over the delicate folds of flesh, between the soft damp creases of her sex.

Lily bucked, pushed closer to his face.

Satisfaction washed over him and he grinned into her, nipped her gently with his teeth. Her fingers tightened in his hair and twisted as he worked between her legs.

Had there ever been a time he wanted a woman as he wanted her?

Every time he saw her, for those first few seconds, all the tension of the day and all the uncertainty melted away. Only they were left and his unquenchable need to be with her. To stand beside her. To touch and taste her.

His breath made noises against her flesh. Devouring sounds of a man whose hunger was so great he’d left table manners long behind and was eating with fervor and gusto. The carnal sounds were mixed with the sound of the hard rain and her moans.

She tightened against him.

He wanted nothing more than to haul her out of there and back to his house. Back to his big bed and back to a life where he could claim her as she tightened against him.

The dampness of her was over his mouth, his face. Covering his fingers as he moved them in her.

She was almost over the edge. Almost there. The tension rolled down his back. His knees wanted nothing more than to stretch out. His hips wanted to push into her. Pound with a hard need his fingers and tongue couldn’t convey.

But between them, his tongue and his fingers lulled her. Opened her for an onslaught; a dialogue of everything he couldn’t say but needed her to know, to feel.

Worthington hitched her leg up higher. Wider. Raw, uncontrolled need pulsed through him as he tasted, touched, and imagined. He’d lock the door and throw away the key just to make sure she didn’t run.

His tongue flicked and thrust all those silent words against her flesh. She bucked into his face, convulsed on his tongue, around his fingers as she called out into the rain.

Gently, he lowered her leg, pushed the fabric of her skirt away, and leaned back to look up at her.

The ache between his legs was unbearable.

Looking up, her head limp, her hair everywhere, the broken lace veil, she was one of the most beautiful things he had seen in his life. She looked ripped open. Flushed with pleasure. The usual tight and proper hold over her person, abandoned.

His fingers curled around her tighter. Then he pushed up to his feet holding onto her leg. He unbuttoned his trousers, with one hand and tugged his trousers down just enough to free himself.

It was his turn. He could take what he needed. Take the whimpers and the scalding heat his tongue had created.

“What are you doing?” Her head rolled to look at him, the ripped veil a raw primitive frame to her full mouth. The things he wanted to put in there.

“We’re not done yet, Lily. We’re going to see if you can remember how to put on a sheath.”

That glorious mouth of hers pulled into a grin showing the tip of white teeth. Pleasure pulsed through him, shooting down his torso, between his legs.

He moved closer. Kissed those luscious curves.

“Do you think you can manage that, Lily?”

She scoffed and those white teeth gave him a challenging nip. Oh, he knew how to make it hard for her.

“Reach into my pocket.”

Her skirts were between them pushing against his belly. The bunched fabric and holding her leg made it hard to move.

“Top right pocket inside my coat, pull out my sheath.”

Her fingers fumbled and the tips of her teeth pushed onto her lower lip as she concentrated. Looking at her, tonight didn’t feel like their second time together. She wasn’t showing the reserve he would have expected despite the ardor between them. She could have retreated more, been more reserved, but she wasn’t. Small signs showed him that he had passed a barrier few ever would.

“I think I am making this too easy for you.”

“I’m a paragon of concentration and an excellent student. Nothing will distract me.”

“I see.” This was going to be so much more enjoyable since her chin had taken that stubborn tilt.

He ran his fingers up her legs as she worked. He slipped his fingers over her sensitive folds, damp and soft, full and flushed after her pleasure, making it a little harder for her to focus. Her eyes looked heavy again,

“You’re not playing fair.” She dragged in a breath.

The scent of her still sat on his face, an echo of what his fingers were feeling.

A wonderful pooling of heat soaked into him.

“You’re a model student. I think you’ll manage.”

Her hand squeezed his shoulder tighter. Her breath hitched as her attention followed his soft strokes. “Where… where did you say it was?”

Her body arched into him as he moved his fingers through the heat of her.

“Top right pocket, Lily; concentrate.”

She found it. Of course she would, even as she pushed against him, rocked, and let her eyelids get heavier.

“Here.” She held it under his face as her head dropped back.

He laughed as the warmth of her rippled through him. “I’m busy. Reach down and slip it on. Just like I showed you yesterday.”