His prick strained against his trousers at her throaty offer.
Tossing aside his neckcloth, she looked him in the eyes. “I want you, Hawker. Do you want me?”
Her honesty decimated his remaining defenses.
“Aye. But I ain’t going to take advantage—”
She pushed him backward onto the mat with enough force to expel the breath from his lungs. She perched upon him, a butterfly pinning down a bear. He was helplessly ensnared by her passionate determination.
“Then let me take advantage of you,” she murmured.
She leaned down, her lips hovering above his. Every muscle, every cell of his being quivered with anticipation. Her mouth brushed his, softly, tenderly, and the taste of her unleashed his hunger. Christ, she tasted good.Right.The fit of their lips was perfection.
He deepened the kiss, tangling one hand in her luxuriant tresses, clamping the other on her sweetly rounded arse. She moaned, sliding her sex against the turgid length of his cock. With only thin layers between them, he could feel her damp heat. Her sensual rubbing lured a growl from his throat. Seed leaked from his cock as he urged her on, pressing her to him, thrusting his hardness against her softness.
“I need you, Hawker,” she gasped. “Will you make me forget everything but right here, right now?”
Her sweet plea stirred his primal fantasies. He rolled her beneath him, taking his weight on his forearms, careful not to crush her.
He gazed into her eyes. “You’re certain this is what you want?”
Her hair a silken fan against the mats, she nodded.
“Then it would be my pleasure,” he said huskily.
Her gaze blazed as brightly as a star leading the way to salvation. A feeling swept over him, as if he were coming home at last. Captivated by her and the season’s promise, he claimed her mouth and let passion take over.
Two
Almost a Year Later
“Ihave a favor to ask of you, Mrs. Peabody,” Lady Charlotte Fayne said.
Sitting across the desk from her employer, Pearl felt a tug of amusement. The bastard daughter of a dockside whore, she had been earning her keep since the age of ten, and in all the myriad jobs she’d held, Lady Fayne was the only mistress who framed a task as a “favor.” Given the generous wages the lady paid, she had every right to make demands. Yet she respected those in her employ, and this had earned her Pearl’s unwavering loyalty.
Lady Fayne was an unusual employer in other respects as well. In her early thirties, she was a widow of considerable wealth. She also had honey-blonde hair, a willowy figure, and a face so beautiful that portraitists had begged her to sit for them. With such attributes, she had her choice of husbands, yet she preferred her independence. She devoted her energies to helping women through her secret investigative society.
“How may I assist, my lady?” Pearl asked promptly.
“An assignment has come up. As the Angels are off for the holidays, I must ask you to step in. This mission will take you out of London, and you shall miss Christmas festivities.” Lady Fayne studied Pearl with astute grey eyes, drumming her fingers on the blotter. “It is a lot to ask.”
“I am happy to help.”
Truth be told, Pearl would like nothing better than to skip Christmas. It was the time of year she dreaded most. The season of misery and mistakes.
Taking on a mission held far more appeal than trying to fake the holiday spirit. Below stairs, it was impossible to escape the atmosphere of cheer and merriment. The “three Janes”—three women all named “Jane” who did needlework, wrote pamphlets, and performed other tasks to support the Society of Angel’s front as a legitimate charity—had taken it upon themselves to decorate the servants’ hall. They’d slyly hung mistletoe in unexpected places, resulting in more than a few kisses between unsuspecting victims.
To steer clear of the poisonous sprigs, Pearl had to go outside and around the kitchen, re-entering through a side door. She would rather face a gang of cutthroats than be caught beneath mistletoe. With her luck, she knew who she’d encounter under those dangerous bowers. Her mistake from last Christmas. Desire and regret played tug-o’-war in her chest, but at nearly thirty, she was too old for games.
Do not think about Hawker,she lectured herself.That night was a mistake. You’re not the woman for a man like him.
Before Hawker, Pearl had had two lovers; both experiences had been regrettable…which shouldn’t have come as a surprise. After all, she’d met the coves while working at a seedy underground club in the East End. The wealthy blue-blooded patrons had paid a great deal of coin for the novelty of watching skimpily dressed females engage in prizefights. Twice, she’d allowed herself to be swept off her feet with flattery and glittering promises, and she’d vowed never to open herself up to pain and rejection again.
One positive thing had come from working at the club: it was where she’d met Lady Fayne. The lady had been looking for answers but found trouble instead. Seeing the lady surrounded by bastards in the back alley behind the establishment, Pearl had come to the other’s aid. Lady Fayne had hired Pearl on the spot despite Pearl’s origins and lack of education.
“Skills can be learned,”Lady Fayne had declared.“Courage and honor, which you possess in spades, cannot.”
Pearl had made the most of the education provided by her new employer, which had included elocution lessons. The skills of household management came naturally to her. She liked order, the predictability of it. Even as a girl, she’d kept her few possessions tidy and clean. Within months, she’d transformed herself into Mrs. Peabody, respectable housekeeper and covert agent for the Society of Angels. She ran Lady Fayne’s household, conducted missions, and trained the lady’s protegees in combat techniques.
