“Suit yourself.” People were a queer lot. Colleen would have no qualms using a scrub brush to earn a living. But laying with men on demand … that’s what soured her stomach. Turning on her heel, she tossed over her shoulder, “Lucy, you have the helm.”
Max followed her out and down the steps, pausing to give the footman instruction to bring the carriage around. He stood next to her on the sidewalk as they waited. “Was that a jest back there? Does Mrs. Bonner, strict, no-nonsense woman of business, have a sense of humor?”
She sniffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh huh.”
“Good managers strive to keep their workers happy.” She stepped back as the carriage rolled to a stop before them. “A pleasant work environment encourages productivity.”
Max opened the door, making the footman behind them grumble. “I don’t think this is the kind of business that you can measure in increased productivity.” He stroked his beard with one hand and extended the other to her. “I suppose we could measure the length of time the—”
“Yes, I was making a jest.” Giving instructions to the driver, she took Max’s hand and climbed into the carriage. She plopped on the seat and shook her head, exasperated. She didn’t want to know what Max thought they could measure. She waited for him to close the door. “Now, I thought—”
The carriage swayed into motion at the same moment Max reached for her. Dragging her across his thighs, he sealed his mouth to hers, muffling her squeak of surprise. Her shoulder notched perfectly under his arm; her head finding its perfect perch on his biceps. She sank into his kiss, her body already accustomed to his touch, unconsciously yielding.
Until she felt sunlight warming her skirts and remembered the open carriage windows.
She pulled apart from him, breathing heavily. “Max! Stop.”
“It’s been hours.” His beard scratched her throat before his soft lips glided across her flesh. “Hours since I’ve pushed inside your tight body. Since I’ve heard you moan. Why would you want to stop?”
His hands were all over her, caressing here, squeezing there. She couldn’t find the strength to slide off her lap. Couldn’t for the life of her remember why she should. Moisture gathered between her legs, and her breasts felt heavy and achy.
His fingers brushed against her pocket watch, pressing the round disk into her side, and she stiffened. Memories of her husband made it easy to find her propriety.
“It is daytime,” she began, pushing herself off his lap, “and some things just aren’t done in the daytime.” She straightened her pelisse and touched the knot of hair at the nape of her neck. All in place.
“I see.” Max pressed his lips flat but couldn’t hide that they twitched.
“I don’t see what is amusing about it. Just because I refuse to … to …”
“Dally in the daylight? Tup during the today?”
Colleen felt her cheeks heat, though from ire or embarrassment, she didn’t know. “It is nothing to joke about. I may have relaxed some of my standards but that doesn’t mean I’ll flit about, willy-nilly, and lift my skirts where anybody can see me. It just isn’t proper.”
He didn’t even try to hide his smile this time. “We could close the window drapes.”
“No!” She tilted up her chin and sniffed. Insufferable man.
The carriage hit a hard bump, and her teeth jarred. Through the window, the masts of dozens of ships swayed with the river’s current. The hollow knocking of hulls butting up against their berths beat a rhythm, the calls of the sailors and dockworkers a coarse melody. The music of the London Docks was as familiar to Colleen as Mozart was to Max. She looked down at her borrowed gloves, contrasting the fine stitchwork with that of her worn skirts. This was where she belonged.
“We’re here.” Colleen sat back, shaking off her melancholy. Time to focus on business. “There’s an office in one of the back buildings where the dockmaster has a desk. I’ve met him before when my husband and I came to receive shipments of clocks from Amsterdam. If anyone would know what the men down here are up to, it’s him.”
They ground to a stop, and the carriage door was thrown open. Colleen blinked in the bright light before Max stood, blocking the glare with his torso. He climbed down and held a hand out for hers.
Gripping it, she stepped down, into the swirl of energy, the raucous laughter and shouts of London’s East End. A man in wide trousers and a filthy shirt waggled his eyebrows at Colleen and gave a low whistle.
Max slowly swiveled his head to look at the sailor. He did nothing else, but the look on Max’s face must have been enough. The sailor ducked his head and scuttled away.
“Speaking of proprieties, perhaps this isn’t the best place for a woman to visit.” Max turned back towards their conveyance. “If you’d like to wait in the carriage, I’ll go ask some questions.”
“The dockmaster doesn’t know you.” Tugging on his hand, she led the way to the office. “Besides, the men here are all talk. Nothing ever happened to me besides hearing some colorful language when I used to come here with my husband, and he was half your size. I don’t think anyone will bother me now.”
Max turned his hand, lacing his fingers through hers, his grip solid. Reassuring. “No, no one will bother you when I’m around.”
Her heart fluttered at his words. She didn’tneedMax acting as her protector, but it did feel awfully nice.
Pushing the thin wood door on the ramshackle building open, he guided her in. When the door swung shut, it did little to block the noise of the docks from seeping in.
