Chapter Twenty-Seven

Red could not claim to be a saint. He'd seen many women naked and in many different states. However, nothing had ever had such an impact on him.

Hannah lay, her legs spread, her sex glistening and visible to him. Her eyes were heavy lidded and her lips puffy. He had left a few red marks on her breast where he had nipped her. It was not possible for his cock to get any harder, but if it had been, it would have lengthened at the sight of the starlight shimmering across her bare skin.

He moved slowly. He had never fallen prey to the thought that taking a woman's virginity made him special or tainted her in anyway, however, there was an element of pride in the idea that he was her first.

And her last, if he had his way.

Boneless and at his command, she let him move her to lie properly on the chaise. He knelt between her legs and hooked both thighs over his hips. The painful desire surging through him urged him to thrust deep into her, but he gritted his teeth and fought it.

"Hannah?"

She gave him a slow, satisfied smile. "Take me, Red," she urged again.

He smiled. She was relaxed and ready, exactly as he wanted her. He'd been told by too many women how painful their first time was, how that was the way it had to be. Not with him, damn it. He would not be one of those fools who thought of only his own pleasure.

He bent to kiss her and pressed a hand beneath her head. "Look," he urged.

She peered down between her legs and gasped. His erection was not even an inch from her.

"Keep looking."

He shifted forward, his blood pounding fast through him when the head of his cock touched her damp folds. He pressed in slowly, watching her face for any sign of pain. Her mouth opened at the sight of their joining, but she did not stiffen or wince.

She closed about him like a warm, velvet glove. He closed his eyes for a brief moment urged her to relax back. Her fingers curled around his shoulders. He kissed her before rocking out and back in. She released a tiny mewling sound that wrapped about his heart.

The rhythm took him eventually, sapping him of his control. Hannah panted in his ear and rocked with him. He felt her body pulse about him, so near the edge already. He thrust hard into her while the pleasure burned through to his very soul.

When she came, it was more dramatic than he could have imagined. She gasped his name and spasmed about him. Jaw tight, he moved in and out of her while scattering unsteady kisses across her face. Her nails dug into his back. The bliss peaked. He withdrew quickly and spilled across her stomach. He pumped his cock with his hands a few more times and gave one final groan.

Sweaty and out of breath, he sat back against the chaise and stroked a lazy hand against her thigh. Who would have thought lovemaking with a bluestocking could be so life changing? He met her gaze and took in her satisfied expression.

"You really are a rogue," she murmured. "A gentleman too," she added.

"And you are a beautiful, sensual woman." He wiped her off with the sleeve of his shirt and kissed her forehead. "And a bluestocking. My bluestocking."

***

Red recalled why he loathed London as soon as the carriage entered the outskirts of the town. Horses, carts and coaches clogged the roads and smog lingered over the buildings, coating them with a fine blanket of dust. It took them a good hour to make their way to Bloomsbury where the British Museum was situated. Hannah twined her fingers through his and he eyed her pale gloves against his dark kid leather ones. She offered him a smile that made him want to kiss her firmly.

The previous days had become a blur—but the most pleasant blur possible. He made love to her whenever he had the chance. And Hannah...damn, what a woman she was. When he had first met, he could not have possibly predicted such a passionate woman resided under that uptight bluestocking exterior.

They neared the museum. He peered out of the window at the grand facade. Consisting of one long stretch of a building, lined by two wings and covered in tall windows, it occupied a huge amount of space in Bloomsbury. They entered through wrought iron gates onto an entirely cobbled front.

"Have you ever been here?"

He shook his head. "Never had the occasion I'm afraid."

"They have quite the collection these days. They opened up the Department of Antiquities not long ago."

Red nodded vaguely. He could not claim to be overly interested in the exhibitions. Mostly he was looking forward to getting the stone off his hands. Then he could concentrate on what he really wanted his hands on.

She narrowed her gaze at him. "Red," she warned, likely well aware of what he was thinking.

"Yes?"

"Stop it."

"I am not doing anything," he protested, adopting an expression of utter innocence.

"Yes, you are."

"And what, pray tell, was I doing?"

"Thinking," she hissed.

"And a man is not allowed to think?"

"He is. But not of things like that."

"So I am to never think of you ever again?" He leaned in. "I am to never think of your beautiful body? Or how you flush the most wonderful pink color when you orgasm?"

That same color appeared on her cheeks, and she batted his hand away. "Fine. Just do not do it so obviously."

"I shall try my best."

The coach came to a stop outside the front door. It was ajar, inviting visitors in. Red did not know much about the museum, but he had been aware that since its opening it had been free to visit for those of an inquisitive nature and that the collection had grown into one to be admired by many.

He'd rather admire Hannah.

Climbing out of the carriage, he aided Hannah down, and she adjusted her bonnet and smoothed her skirts. A little nervousness was clear in the slight shake of her hands. He gave them a little squeeze and spoke with the driver.

"I'm not sure how long we will be. You may wish to find a nearby coaching inn and return once the horses are cared for."

The driver nodded. He had already made the man aware they were to return to Taunton at the first opportunity and would be paid handsomely for the return journey. After that he would request his private coach to meet him in Plymouth. Hopefully he would have Hannah accompanying him, but they had yet to discuss it.

In truth, they had yet to discuss much. Each time he got her truly alone, he found it hard to do anything other than kiss her. They had remained wrapped in each other's arms most nights, and they talked of history and smuggling and fathers and brothers and aunts. But never about their future.

He wanted a future with Miss Hannah St. John. He just needed to ask her for it.

Once that blasted stone was gone, then he would ask her. He did not much wish to risk such a question whilst still in possession of that bad luck charm.

The carriage made a turn around the courtyard. Hannah made a frantic motion. He scowled and approached her.

"The stone," she said. "Red, where's the stone?"

"Blast."

The carriage was already making its way out of the gates. He sprinted after it, running directly into a woman wearing a hat that appeared to be made entirely out of feathers. She held said hat and blustered about rude men. He muttered an apology and hastened up the street after the coach.

"Stop," he shouted, drawing the attention of everyone but the driver. "Damn it."

He barged through the crowded streets. There were plenty of other horses and coaches spilling into the street from side roads which slowed the coach, but he was unable to be heard over the din of conversation and rattling wheels and the clop of horse hooves.

He came alongside the carriage and shouted to the driver again, but he ignored him, likely not even realizing the bellow was directed at him.

Red forced his way farther forward, ahead of the coach and pushed out into the street. Breath held, he waved his hands frantically at the driver, hoping he would actually see him. Distantly he heard a woman scream. It sounded like Hannah.

The driver spied him and brought the coach to a frantic halt. Red took a few steps back and gulped down a breath. He waved at the interior of the vehicle. "Forgot...something..." He opened the door and retrieved the stone before motioning on the coach that was aggravating many a driver and rider.

He twisted only to nearly slam into Hannah.

"What were you thinking?" she demanded.

"That we needed the stone?" He hugged the artifact close to his chest.

"You could have been killed!"

He shook his head. "I knew the driver could stop in time. After all, I am paying his wages."

"Honestly, Red, you need to spend less time thinking with your gut and more time using your head."

He flashed her a grin. "My gut works perfectly, thank you. It led me to your bed," he whispered.

"You are incorrigible."

"And you love me for it."

She shook her head and laughed. "That I do."

They headed back to the museum and entered through the open front door. It was no different to any other stately home, which surprised Red though there were some impressive and likely old statues occupying the hallway. Black and white tiles covered the floor, and his and Hannah's footsteps echoed across it. Elegant marbled columns rose to the high ceiling, and a staircase of marble covered in red carpet led upstairs.

Hannah guided him through the state rooms, each housing collections of parchments and vases and other antiquities that he hardly had time to admire as she paced ahead. He smirked to himself. Perhaps she was rubbing off on him. He could never claim to have had any interest in a few dusty old vases before.

They came a stop outside a closed door that had offices painted on in gold lettering. Hannah knocked and waited, practically hopping from foot to foot. The door opened, and a young man with a smooth jaw and carefully swept aside black hair peered at them.

"Miss St. John!" He beamed at them. The man was likely a couple of years younger than Hannah, but that did not prevent appreciation flickering in his gaze.

"Good afternoon, Richard. Is Sir Melbourne here?"

"He is indeed." The whelp of a man grinned. "We have been expecting you. Your father sent on word that you were to be expected with the find." He uttered the find as if it were some magical object. "I believe he was in the Department of Antiquities. I shall go and find him for you." A slight hint of color sat on the man's youthful cheeks as his gaze ran up and down Hannah. "He will be pleased indeed you are here. As am I, of course."

"Thank you," Hannah said, apparently oblivious to Richard's admiration.

"Am I to fend off every intellectual within a five-mile radius?" he muttered to her.

"Pardon?"

"Richard, if I am not much mistaken, is quite enraptured by you."

"You are mistaken. He is three years younger than me, for one."

"Men love older women."

"Do you?"

He liked the little spark of jealousy he saw there. It made a nice change. He had never considered himself the jealous or possessive type, but he had encountered two men who were clearly half in love with her within the space of a week and that was two men too many as far as he was concerned.

When Richard returned, he was out of breath but still took the time to ask after Hannah's health and completely ignore Red. An older gentleman followed shortly after, his smile warm. His skin was the dark hue of a sailor that suggested he spent much time in hotter countries. The curling white moustache decorating his lips stood out in stark contrast to his skin and was stained with tobacco around his top lip. His full head of matching white hair was in disarray, fulfilling perfectly the image of a preoccupied intellectual who had little time to worry about his appearance. The only thing that did not match that was the moustache that had been waxed to perfection.

"You have it then?" the man asked, ignoring Red once more.

He was beginning to get used to the bloody stone being more important than him.

Melbourne opened the office door and motioned to a desk covered in papers. Red paused, unsure where to place the artifact amongst all the chaos.

"For goodness sakes, Richard," Melbourne spluttered. "Clear some space."

The young man hastened forward and swept the papers aside, spilling some onto the floor. No one seemed to care. All eyes were on the artifact as he laid it down and pulled open the fabric covering it.

Utter silence. Hannah, Richard, and Melbourne stared at the object. Red could hear his own heartbeat. He glanced at Hannah who was spellbound. Lord knows why because she had spent enough time studying it.

Melbourne moved forward suddenly, and Richard jumped a little at the sudden movement. Melbourne ran a finger along the text and let out a heavy breath.

"This is…"

Hannah nodded excitedly.

"It will change so much," Melbourne continued.

They all nodded apart from Red who merely watched the exchange with a raised eyebrow.

"What we will learn…" the old man breathed. "This." He waved his finger at the stone. "This will be the greatest find of the century, mark my words." He clasped her hand. "You, my dear, have done your country—no, the world—a great service."

"Well, it was really down to Lord Redmere here. I could not have done it without his aid."

The man seemed to finally see him. "Of course, of course." He shook his hand vigorously and with surprising strength for an old man. "We shall have to dedicate something to you both. A room perhaps or a bench."

Red shook his head. "I need no thanks." And he certainly did not relish the thought of people placing their arses on a bench named after him. "It was Miss St. John's passion that ensured the safe delivery of the stone. She deserves any accolades."

"Your father will be thrilled." Melbourne turned his attention back to the stone, drew out a quizzing glass and peered at it.

"Will you send word to him for me, Sir Melbourne? I will not be remaining in London for long." Hannah gave him a soft, slightly hesitant smile.

"Yes," Red agreed. "We have much to attend to." He smiled back at her.

"Oh there is no need. We received a letter from him some five days ago. He is due to return to London in two days' time," Melbourne said, still bent over the stone.

"Oh." Hannah chewed on her bottom lip.

Oh indeed. Red's stomach sank. So much for his plan to take her back to Cornwall and marry her forthwith.

The old man smiled. "You shall be wanting to wait for him, I have no doubt."

"Yes, I suppose I will."

Melbourne tucked away his quizzing glass and straightened. He frowned and patted his pockets. "I cannot for the life of me recall what I did with the letter, but he mentioned something of a new expedition. It sounds as though he could do with your assistance."

Red's stomach dropped entirely out of his toes and vanished. How could he compete with that? Christ, he would not even ask her to choose.

She stilled and glanced at Red. "I see. Did he say he would stay at the George Inn?"

"Yes, I believe so."

Hannah nodded. "Well, I shall leave you to your studies. I look forward to hearing what conclusions you come to."

Melbourne chuckled, his moustache twitching with the movement. "It shall take many years of study, I suspect, but we will get there. Thank you again for your assistance, my dear. And of course you, my lord."

They bid the men farewell and stepped outside. The carriage had not yet returned, and Red doubted it would be back for another hour yet at least.

"You will want to stay in London then," he said, his voice sounding hollow.

"Yes, I must speak with Father."

"I see."

"Red, why do you look like that?"

"Like what?"

"As though I have just stolen your favorite toy?"

He shook his head. "I cannot wait in London. I must return. I have been away too long, and it's unfair to leave the men any longer."

Her throat bobbed. "I see."

The rattling of wheels on cobbles drew his attention from her. The stable hands at wherever the coach had stopped must have been efficient indeed.

The carriage came to a stop, and Red climbed up to grab Hannah's bag. He handed it over, and she stared at it for several moments.

"Do you need me to take you to the inn?"

She shook her head, a crease appearing between her brows. "No. But Red—"

"I am glad I could be of service. It was an interesting journey to be sure." He was blathering like an idiot, but if he was not careful he would beg her to come with him and how could he? How could he ask her to give up what she loved doing most for a life as a smuggler's wife?

She drew up her chin. "I owe you some money, I believe. For the dresses."

"Consider them a gift." And perhaps she would think of him every time she wore them.

"Red," her voice cracked.

He took her in his arms and held her close, feeling his heart slowly splinter apart. He had known it as soon as Melbourne had uttered the words. She likely knew it too. They could not be together, not when the world was out there for her to explore with her father.

For many moments, he savored the feel of her warm and soft in his arms before pushing her back and kissing her forehead. "I wish you every happiness, Hannah."

"But, Red, you can—"

"Must make haste," he muttered. "Much to do. I have certainly spent far too much time away from home."

Her expression grew pained. "But I thought…" She shook her head. "Red, why can you not—"

"Farewell, Hannah." He cut her off for the second or third time, unable to bear the pain of her telling him she would choose her father over him.

He climbed into the carriage before she could utter a response. He shut the door and did not peer out until he had tapped on the roof and they began to move off. Her face was a picture of confusion, and he saw her mouth something. Red looked away and focused on the empty seat opposite. A little niggling voice told him she had said stay.