Now he was in danger of much more.
He returned to his study but instead of going back to his desk, he walked over to the window that looked out over the street. He could see the neat row of white-washed houses across from him, people walking along in their fine clothes, and carriages passing by. When he had purchased this house, he hadn’t ever once stopped to look at the scene outside of his personal world. He was a man driven by survival while they were all enjoying the day, visiting friends or family while allowing laughter and happiness to shine upon the faces of men and women alike.
It had been years since Drake had ever been so carefree, if he had ever had such a moment of pure bliss. The only thing that had come close was when he’d touched Fleur and felt her pleasure radiate through him. He had gritted his teeth, desperate to fight the urge to fill her completely, to make her his in truth.
But he had been truthful when he said she would have to come to him, or not at all. Until then, he would have to content himself with knowing he had shown her something sensual and wondrous in a world full of darkness and despair. She might have sold her virtue but he wasn’t going to take advantage of that gift.
Unfortunately, while he wanted to put his past behind him, it managed to find a way to rear its ugly head at the most inconvenient of times. This morning he’d received a note beneath his front door with a simple demand.
Meet tonight at the Serpentine Bridge at eleven o’clock if you don’t want to find yourself without your latest prize.
Drake had received several threats over his lifetime. Most of them were empty, because the demands had found nothing to use against him.
Until now.
He had read the single line with a sensation of ice traveling through his veins. He didn’t want to allow them the power to draw him out into the open where he might engage in an ambush, but what other choice did he have? He had no doubt that some of his enemies wouldn’t hesitate to use Miss Davies against him.
He supposed he could flee the city, take Miss Davies somewhere out of London, but he had never been the type to run from anyone. He was known for his stern character and he didn’t plan on changing that anytime soon. It kept most of the men who wished him ill at arm’s length, but apparently, some were foolish enough to attempt to raise his ire anyway. Drake also didn’t think that she would leave her brother until she knew he could take care of himself.
That left the only option available to him. Meet this intruder into his affairs and dare to engage in another battle.
At this point, he feared that was the only constant in his life he would ever have.
But he didn’t have to do it alone.
He’d penned a quick missive to Amos to ensure that, should something happen to him, Miss Davies would be taken to safety immediately. And at least he would have someone to stand by him if things became messy.
* * *
Fleur didn’t leavethe sanctity of the chamber until her stomach started to remind her that she needed to find some sort of sustenance to sustain her in this makeshift prison where she had been confined. She could hardly call it anything else when she wasn’t allowed to leave the house properly dressed.
She prayed there was something to eat in the larder or she might find herself leaving regardless of her appearance—or Mr. Porter’s approval.
Her stomach abruptly flipped as she thought of him. The interlude they had shared continued to replay over and over in her mind. The feelings he’d created within her had been nothing short of incredible, and yet, she had never imagined her body could be capable of such wondrous sensations. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. But it was the man himself that confused her. He was dangerous, and yet, virile and seductive in a mysterious way.
Forcing her thoughts back to the present, she dared to rummage about in the dresser for something other than a shirt, Fleur was relieved to see that there were some spare clothes there as well. With a satisfied smile, she donned a pair of trousers and a new shirt. Both of which were too large, but she secured it all with a belt about her waist. It wasn’t exactly a corset and a gown, but it was more than what she had been wearing. And it wouldn’t be the first time she had worn trousers.
Pulling her hair back into a braid, she felt ready to tackle the rest of the day.
Heading down the back stairs, she found her way to the kitchen on the lowest level. She set her hands on her hips and surveyed the area around her. She spied a few pots and pans. It wasn’t much but it would be enough. Once she knew what ingredients she had to work with, she might be able to salvage this day after all.
The larder was rather slim in the way of food but she was able to find some butter, eggs and a few dry ingredients. She could survive on eggs and scones. Thank goodness she knew how to cook, otherwise she would be forced to rely on Mr. Porter’s charity. After their conversation this morning, she was glad to have found something to do, even if it was by her own will.
There was no apron to be found, so she shrugged and told herself she would have to be careful. She found a strip of linen to use to hold the warm handle of the pans as she moved them about on the iron racks in the brick oven, and as she made a place to roll out the scones on the counter, she realized it was the most convenient kitchen that she had ever worked in before and she was thankful for it.
She hummed a slight tune as she went about her task. Flour soon coated her hands as a strand of her hair fell into her line of vision. She tried to use her arm to appease the irritant but gave up and used her hand, swiping at her forehead.
As she worked to make a dough, her mind returned to Mr. Porter. She had always believed that men were the only ones who benefited from any sort of coupling, but after what had happened between them, now she knew that to be a terrible falsehood. Although she shouldn’t want a repeat of what had happened earlier, she yearned for the chance to see if her body might react the same way toward him again. Ironic, considering she hadn’t wanted to embark on this courtesan experience to begin with, having been forced into it by the debt her brother owed to Mr. Porter, but now that she had gained a taste for what it might entail, she decided it might not be as bad as she had initially imagined.
The fire in the hearth was starting to heat the interior of the kitchen. Fleur swiped at her forehead as the slight wisps of hair around her face started to wilt from perspiration. But it didn’t deter her from her task. She was grateful that she would soon have a fantastic meal to sustain her.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Fleur started as the irate voice of the master of this house came down upon her, causing her to upset a plate of fresh scones that she had just removed from the oven. They scattered across the floor, rolling in different directions. “Oh, no!” Forgetting for a moment that Mr. Porter was demanding an answer, she started to scramble about on her hands and knees trying to salvage what little she could. Her hand accidentally touched the fiery metal and she jerked back with a gasp.
A pair of black boots entered her line of vision and she glanced up to see Mr. Porter’s thunderous face. He reached down and grasped her arm, forcing her palm upward so that he could see the damage caused by the burn. Fleur found it necessary to reassure him that she was fine but she was irritated that the meal she’d carefully prepared was promptly ruined.
Without a word, but a continual frown on his face, he dragged her forward until he could plunge her hand in a bucket of cold water. She hissed at the initial contact against her angry red skin but it started to improve as the water lapped at her wound.
