Instead, her eyelids went heavy without closing completely. She kept her gaze on his as she slowly, slowly withdrew that shiny damp finger from between her lips.
There was a roaring in Nathaniel’s ears. He was on his feet with no knowledge of how he’d risen, and no pain anywhere in his body because the only thing his body could feel was desire. He was a creature of flame and longing and nothing more?—
“You may have one biscuit, if you like. The rest are for Lucy,” Bess said gently, sauntering to the hallway door and tipping her chin up in that regal way she had. A woman grown, who knew her pleasures and refused to be embarrassed by them.
God, he wanted her.
Nathaniel pulled his shoulders straight and thanked the almighty that the trailing hem of his linen shirt was long enough to maintain his dignity.
Then she said, “I will bid you good night then. Nathaniel.”
And she turned her back and walked away, and Nathaniel was alone in the kitchen with nothing but a howling emptiness inside him that left no room for dignity, shame, or honor.
If she hadn’t left, he would not have been able to resist his own urges.
Bleakly, Nathaniel knew he’d be back at The Nemesis tomorrow night. And every night, until he conquered this ungovernable hunger.
Chapter Twelve
Bess woke wishing she had someone in London to talk to about the Duke of Ashbourn other than his younger sister.
Nathaniel.
All through Lucy’s gratifying raptures over the ginger biscuits and their trip back to Dr. Perry’s surgery to share them with Charlie, Bess had worried the problem of Nathaniel over and over in her mind, like Mr. Woodhill’s Aberdeen terrier, Alfie, with a bone.
He was like no one she’d ever known.
Nathaniel wasn’t the implacable snob she’d thought him at first. Or not entirely. Of a certainty, he was haughty and proud. Cold. Arrogant. Very accustomed to having his own way in everything.
But he was also capable of great kindness. Empathy. He was even able to admit when he’d done wrong—and that was a quality Bess had found to be in short supply, among high- and lowborn alike.
There was a terrible darkness in him.
She’d caught glimpses of it before, but never so clearly as last night in that empty kitchen, with his blood on her hands and all the battered strength of his great body huddled on the floor at her feet.
It had felt wrong, in every way, to see him brought so low. She still couldn’t believe he hadn’t wanted the doctor, or to alert the authorities about the brigands who’d accosted him in the streets.
Bess remembered the time she’d seen him stumble to his rooms in darkest hour before the dawn, and wondered if she could credit the tale of cutpurses and a robbery gone wrong. But what else could explain a duke with wounds like the one in his side, and the bruised, swollen state of his poor hands?
He must have fought back viciously hard, to skin his knuckles like that. She’d have hated to see the cutpurse who’d had the misfortune to try and rob that particular duke.
Lucy interrupted her ruminations by closing her copy of The Romance of the Forest with a snap. “And there we leave Adeline, still pursued by the wretched de Montfort and threatened by ghosts, or perhaps not ghosts, we shall have to see! Next time. Charlie, are you quite well?”
“Doing much better, miss,” the young man said, picking at the coverlet. “Reckon they’ll be sending me home soon. Me mam’s been by every day, learning how to care for the bandages and such.”
“That’s wonderful, Charlie!” Lucy patted his arm. “And you must remember to call me Lucy, not miss.”
He smiled faintly, brown eyes downcast. “I don’t think Miss Jenkins would like that.”
Molly Jenkins, Lucy’s lady’s maid, had accompanied them to visit Charlie several times, and the sailor and the maid had seemed quite taken with one another.
Bess thought she’d detected a slight disappointment in the boy’s demeanor when they’d arrived today without the maid. Even the gift of ginger biscuits hadn’t seemed to lift his spirits, and he’d been shooting sidelong glances at Bess since they arrived.
Wondering if there was something he wanted to speak with her about in private, and seeing her chance to perhaps quiz him about that tavern Lucy had mentioned, Bess said, “Lucy, why don’t you go and ask Mrs. Perry if there’s anything we can bring over to make Charlie’s transition back home easier on him or his mother.”
Lucy bounced out of her chair, always happy to be moving and doing rather than sitting still. “Good idea! I’ll be back in a tick; don’t eat all the biscuits while I’m gone!”
She was out the door in a flurry of ruffles and impatient strides. Bess smiled after her. “I’ve never met anyone with more energy than that girl.”
