Chapter 20

twenty

A NGELINE HAD NO idea how she could have experienced the best feeling ever one moment and the next, the worst.

She'd fallen asleep in Royston's arms after he'd taken good care of her. How embarrassing. She hadn't reciprocated his attention, told him how much she'd enjoyed herself, or even kissed him. Instead, she'd collapsed without as much as a ‘thank you.'

Sitting on his bed, she finished buttoning her shirt. "I'm so sorry."

"Stop apologising." He knelt in front of her to tie her boot. "You don't need to apologise. Feeling tired is normal."

"But you… I didn't do anything to you." And she had to leave now.

He gave her a radiant smile that stole her breath. "You did a lot of things to me." He kissed her other foot before sliding it into the boot. "I enjoyed every moment I was kissing you, and when you were asleep in my arms, I've never felt happier in my life."

"I'm sure I'm your first lover to fall asleep like that."

"Shush." He adjusted her skirt and stood up. "You're the first lover to make me truly happy." He sounded so sincere she couldn't argue.

She caressed his cheek, and he leant into her palm, his hazel eyes shining from within. The warm, fluttery sensation in her chest couldn't be simple lust.

He kissed her inner wrist. "I'll take you home."

"No need for that."

His expression hardened. "I'm not going to let you leave alone at this hour. There are all sorts of people out there. Trust me, I know that because I was one of them. The only problem is that we must be quiet."

She clamped a hand on her neck. "I screamed so loud my throat hurt. I'm sure your butler wondered if you were murdering someone."

He laughed. "Still, I'm coming with you."

She tiptoed out of his bedroom, holding his hand. They went down the stairs, one step at a time. He paused halfway down to lean over the bannister. A beam of light lit the corridor, and footsteps sounded.

He pulled her back, and she ended up sprawled on his chest, a giggle rising in her throat. The whole situation was exciting. The sound of footsteps faded, but Royston didn't move.

When the light died, they resumed going down the stairs.

The cold air calmed her when they exited the house. "That was exciting."

"Exciting? I don't want my butler to recognise you. I don't think he'll blabber, but I'm not going to take any risk when it comes to you." He hailed a cab and helped her in.

She shamelessly snuggled close to him and rested her cheek on his chest where she could hear his pounding heart. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders in a protective gesture she loved. Goodness, she could get easily used to being held by him and enveloped by his warmth.

"What we did tonight," she said, "is it the first step?"

"Yes." He rubbed her shoulder with his thumb.

"I can't imagine how it progresses from there."

"Only time will tell."

"By the way." She moved away from his chest to look at his face. "I want to marry you."

At first, he remained frozen, and she worried he might have changed his mind. But then a wide smile spread across his lips, and he was kissing her everywhere— her lips, cheeks, chin, eyelids, forehead.

She chuckled as his hair tickled her. "I gather you're happy."

He took her face, his eyes wild with happiness. "More than happy. You've made me ecstatic." Another round of kisses started, and who was she to complain?

"I didn't know you'd be so happy to marry me, especially after I shot you."

"I am. I am." He gave her a crushing hug, squashing her against him with desperation. He quivered. "So happy," he whispered in a trembling voice.

"What is it?" she asked. "Why are you shivering?"

He swallowed hard. "I would have never thought I'd be able to have a normal life. Who is born in the gutter dies in the gutter. That's the rule. Even when I received the title, I didn't think the sense of achievement would last. Deep down, I have always feared I would be alone and despised, always powerless, always a criminal. But marrying you…" He released her and kissed her again. "Being your husband is the best thing I could wish for. I want you to realise your dream as well, give you a family who loves you, and make you as happy as I am now."

Her eyes stung. She blinked to clear her vision. "Thank you."

He hugged her again, and she got lost in his strong arms and warmth.

"This is the beginning of a new life," he whispered.

"For both of us."

They remained in each other's arms until the cab rolled to a stop in front of Angeline's house. He escorted her to the back door and remained on the pavement, raising a hand in farewell, until she was safely inside.

After she closed the door, she leant against it.

How quickly the day had changed. She'd gone from being a thief shooter to being an engaged, happy woman in a matter of hours.

Royston would do everything by the book.

Angeline had agreed to marry him, and even though the circumstances that had led him to that happy conclusion hadn't been the best, he would give her the finest wedding ever. The preparations for a great wedding that would lead to a great marriage started with a ring.

To think that a few years ago, he'd been about to rob Garrard's Jewellery. Instead, he was there to buy a ring. The irony of life.

"Does anything catch your eye, my lord?" the clerk asked from the other side of the glass display counter.

A few magnificent rings shone against the backdrop of a black velvet cloth. He couldn't decide if the diamond ring was better than the blue one.

"Which stone is the blue one?"

"A topaz. It symbolises love, fidelity, good fortune, and confidence."

"Perfect. The topaz then."

"I'll polish it and put it in a box, my lord."

As the clerk put away the other rings, Royston paced around the glittering shop. Thank goodness he hadn't robbed the place. The situation now would be awkward.

"Wharton." Lord Redvers stopped next to him. "What brings you here?" He shook Royston's hand.

"I'm buying a ring for my engagement." Just saying that warmed his heart. "What about you, my lord?"

"I'm searching for a new pair of cufflinks, and I like to choose them myself. My wife buys me cufflinks I don't like." He glanced at the clerk polishing the ring. "So a marriage is on the horizon. Good on you. Who's the lucky lady?"

"Miss Angeline Haywood," he said with pride.

Lord Redvers's eyebrows rose. "Fine lady. I wish you all the best, Wharton."

The viscount didn't say a word about the incident at the last ball, and Royston was glad for that.

"I meant to ask you something." He lowered his voice.

"I know what you mean to ask." Lord Redvers sighed. "Alas, no luck with that bill in Parliament yet. It's not considered a priority."

He wasn't surprised. "Actually, I meant to talk to you about something else. Lord Havisham is petitioning my candidature for a seat in the House of Lords. Do you think that will make a difference with the approval of the bill?"

Lord Redvers frowned. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand."

"Lord Havisham promised me to help me get a seat."

"I don't think so, Wharton. We were discussing the possible candidates just the other day, and Lord Havisham didn't mention you." He narrowed his gaze. "There must have been a misunderstanding."

Not likely. So there it was. The earl had lied to him. So Mrs. Haywood might not be guilty of exploiting fallen women.

"I see you're disappointed," Lord Redvers said. "Well, I can tell you that, now that you're getting married, your chances to get support from the lords will increase. If only… forgive me." He waved a dismissive hand.

"Please do go on."

Lord Redvers cleared his voice. "Well, it's about the incident from the night at the ball. There are rumours about your state of mind. You know how gossip works. If you danced in public, people would stop making up stories about you."

Royston tilted his head. "What rumours?"

"Rumours about your… er, mental condition have been circulating since the ball. You haven't shown yourself anywhere since. If you want a piece of advice, show yourself around town and dance in front of everyone to quash every possible rumour. The stories about what happened at the last ball became rather exaggerated and outlandish."

"I'm not surprised." Royston shifted his weight as the usual uneasiness surged. "North must have done his level best to smear my reputation and start the rumours."

"What people say is that you don't want to dance because you become unstable when you dance, smashing things and punching people. I myself heard a couple of people claiming to have witnessed wild behaviour, that you punched a maid while dancing."

"Me punching a maid? I would never do such a thing, my lord." Outrage rang out in Royston's voice.

"I didn't believe the rumours, but rumours are snowballs rushing down a slope. All it takes is a little shove. By Jove, I'd support you in Parliament if you danced at the next ball and proved the gossip mongers wrong."

"You would?" Royston asked.

"I would." The viscount raised a closed fist in encouragement. "Show everyone those rumours are ridiculous. Dance in front of everyone, and let's put the gossip to rest, once and for all."

"Yes!" Royston copied the viscount and closed a fist, energy rushing through him.

"You're Baron Wharton, the man who challenged the fire. Dancing is nothing," Lord Redvers continued. "Show everyone what you're made of. You're going to marry a fine lady. Prove to her that she can be proud of you by facing your biggest fear."

"Yes," Royston said again.

A fire started in his veins. The viscount was right! He must dance for Angeline and for his future.

"The world is yours for the taking." Lord Redvers spread out his arm. "Dance, Wharton."

Lord Redvers was right. Royston had to act. He had to do it for Angeline as well.

Royston shook Lord Redvers's hand with energy. "I accept the challenge."

What had possessed Royston to accept that stupid challenge?

After the heated moment of bizarre energy fuelled by Lord Redvers encouragement had passed, Royston realised what he'd agreed to and he shivered, his teeth chattered, and his heart had pounded so fast he'd believed it wanted to crawl out of his body.

Lord Redvers's words had sounded so simple. But afterwards, the familiar sense of panic had descended upon him, leaving him exhausted and cold.

If he had to be honest, he knew Lord Redvers was right. He should put the rumours to rest and bloody dance in front of everyone, not simply for the seat, but for his bride-to-be as well. And for himself.

He didn't want to spend the rest of his life scared of a ghost. As much as he loved his mother, he wanted to move forward and not live with his fears of the past. He should grab his life and lead it.

The velvet box with Angeline's ring rested in his pocket. She was sitting on the edge of his bed, but he was so agitated he couldn't find the right moment to give the ring to her. The fact they were having another secret night meeting in his bedroom didn't help. He loved to be alone with her, but disliked the secrecy and the subterfuge. They were engaged… well, not yet. But they shouldn't hide.

There was another reason to be agitated. Seeing his bride-to-be on his bed triggered all sorts of beautiful visions of their future together. But since his mind had a dark side, those beautiful visions came with the company of dreadful ones, in which Angeline decided she'd had enough of rumours and gossip about him and wanted to leave him.

"That's what Lord Redvers said," he said, finishing recounting his encounter with the viscount.

"So it's as we thought," Angeline said. "The earl is lying to you."

"I should have realised Havisham had no intention of helping me, but I believed him. He used me to retrieve those damning documents. Then he tried to get rid of me by calling the police." He raked a hand through his hair. "I agreed with Lord Redvers's plan. He made a rather motivating speech about me being brave and quashing the rumours. At that moment, dancing at the next ball sounded like a jolly good idea."

Also, he didn't want to disappoint her. Just the thought of letting her down made him feel sick to his stomach.

She slid off the bed and knelt next to him. His wish to make her proud grew tenfold. "I can help you. I love dancing. I can teach you."

He laced his fingers through hers. "I know the steps. It's the dancing itself that makes me sick and nervous." A shudder went through him.

"We can try. Here, without music." She rose, holding his hand. "Come."

Cold sweat dampened his neck. "Perhaps I should call the challenge off."

She gave him a heated glance. "I'll kiss you if you dance with me."

He sprang up. "What are we waiting for?"

Laughing, she dragged him to the centre of the room. He couldn't change his mind now.

"Let's start with the dance that's all the rage at the moment, the Viennese waltz. Do you know the steps?" she asked.

"I do. I've watched others dance."

She put his hand on her waist and held his other hand. "Just perform to a count of eight."

He didn't move. Not hearing the music was maybe worse because the music of that night played in his head. A funny taste filled his mouth. His knees weakened.

"Royston." Angeline ran a hand over his arm. "It's just you and me. Look at me."

He seemed to choke on air but did as told and stared at her. Her obsidian eyes were filled with compassion and care.

"It's just us."

Her hand caressing his arm soothed some of the tension tightening his chest.

His mouth grew dry and his feet seemed to have turned into lead. "It's very difficult for me."

"I know." She kept caressing him. "But I believe you're strong enough to let the past go. It wouldn't be a lack of respect for your mother. You'll always honour her memory. But this fear is born from a dark moment. A moment you must let go of. This isn't about a seat in Parliament. It's about you as a person. A person who deserves a future of happiness."

"Oh, hell." He reclined his head and released a breath through his teeth. "You're right. Everything you said is very sensible, but I feel torn apart. My mind says to let the past go. My heart is full of fear."

"Let me guide you. Perhaps if I'm leading, you'll feel better."

She moved her feet in the first series of box steps, but even though he wanted to follow her, his legs were two tree trunks.

Since he didn't move, she tripped on her own feet and fell backwards. He snatched her before she could hurt herself. The result was a sensual pose with her leaning back in his arms, and he bending over her. His lips were an inch from hers.

She smiled. "Well, that's a tango pose

"Tango?" He straightened. "What is it?"

"A most scandalous dance from Argentina. I learnt it from a friend who went there." She wrapped her arms around him. "It's performed with outrageous closeness." She pressed her body against his. Not even air stood between them. "Wandering hands." She put a hand on his nape before dragging it down his neck and chest, causing him to shiver with desire. "Almost kisses." She rose on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his. Another shiver left a path of fire on his skin. "And sometimes, the lady hooks a leg around her partner like this." She pulled up her skirts and uncovered her thigh before coiling a leg around his waist.

At this point, his blood was boiling.

He ran a hand over her thigh and slid it under her skirts to cup her firm rear. "I think I like this tango. How's the music?"

She cleared her throat and hummed a fast-paced, accented music. He had to admit she had musicality and a good sense of rhythm.

She burst out laughing. "It sounds terrible."

He stroked her leg, toying with the garter. "No, I think I understand. It's similar to a polka. It has syncopated accents and four beats in each measure, and a quarter note receives one count."

"Are you speaking English?" she asked. "I'm not fond of maths." She snatched her leg out of his grip and stepped back. "For me, tango is all about seduction and the sensual chase." She took another step back. "It's more of a tease than an action."

He could do nothing but follow her. He took her waist again and pulled her closer. But she slid out of his grip again, holding his hand. He chased her because he wanted her leg around him again.

As he gave her hand a tug, she twirled towards him, letting his arm coil around her. She repeated the move a couple of times.

Before he knew it, he was dancing. Surely, his steps had little to do with the tango, but he twirled, following her moves and stepping around the room in a circle.

The more she fled from him, the more he chased her. The steps turned faster. He hardly knew what he was doing, but it didn't matter. She repeated the gesture of caressing his neck, dispelling his last ounce of uneasiness. When she hooked her leg around him, he grabbed it under her knee.

"I want my kiss now."

The intense possessiveness in his voice surprised even himself. He leant closer, but she arched her back.

"If you want a kiss, come and get it." She slipped through his grip faster than he could say ‘tango' and twirled across the room.

He chased her again and took her hand. Before pulling her towards him, he let her make a few turns. When she finished, he was too aroused not to kiss her.

The kiss wasn't sweet or gentle but a battle that involved their whole bodies. Her skirts went up and legs went around him, and he held her up. She became demanding, fighting for dominance. He loved every moment of it.

He moved her towards the bed until they both fell in it, still kissing each other. He controlled the fall with his hands so as not to crush her, but after that, he showed no mercy. He unbuttoned her gown in a frenzy.

She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and the falls of his trousers. Somehow, they were both half-naked in a moment. He scattered kisses on every available inch of her smooth skin, his hand pushing aside her chemise and pulling off her drawers. The promise he'd made to be slow and gentle echoed from a corner of his mind. Yes, he ought to ask before going any further.

"Why did you stop?" she asked before he could say anything.

"Are you sure you want this now?" He panted so hard his words were broken.

"Do I look like a woman who has doubts?" She slipped a hand between them and wrapped it around him.

The shock silenced him.

"I have no doubts. And to be honest, I'm tired of waiting and always wanting." She spread her legs. "I begin to think you don't want me, that you're making excuses not to bed me because you don't find me very attractive."

"What?" he roared.

The kiss he gave her held no kindness. It was sheer passion to dispel all her doubts. She matched his strength as he devoured her mouth. He broke the kiss, only to drag his lips down her neck and draw her nipple into his mouth.

He couldn't get enough of her. He caressed, kissed, and tongued every inch of her he could reach. She kept stroking him with her gentle hand.

The movement was uncertain and at times a little too tight, but he didn't care. They both stilled and drew in a breath when his blunt tip touched her.

"Angeline," he whispered. "Tell me to stop."

"Never." She put her hands on his shoulders and urged him in. "Do it. I need it."

"It's going to hurt."

"I don't care."

He kissed her again before switching places. She straddled him, which he loved because he could cup her breasts.

"And now?" she asked.

He undid her chignon, scattering hairpins anywhere. The black silk cascade of her hair fell over her breasts. Perfection.

"Go at your own pace," he said.

He fondled her breasts before holding her by the hips and helping her over him.

She shifted her hips and inched up and down until she found a comfortable position. The most difficult part for him was to remain still while she lowered herself. If he jerked his hips, he might hurt her. She paused and winced a few times, but she didn't let him go.

"If you change your mind?—"

"No." She regarded him from underneath heavy-lidded eyes. "It stings a little, but it's manageable."

He supported her when she needed it, and inch by inch, she took him in until she was sitting on his hips. It was heaven. The feeling of her tightly wrapped around him was so powerful he nearly found his release.

"Hurt?" he asked, caressing her thighs.

"No. I'm good and well now."

She moved up and down slowly before finding a faster pace. She put her hands on his chest and reclined her head, black hair falling on her back.

He couldn't resist for long. She was too beautiful, and the sensations were too strong. He lifted her off him to spend out of her. Bugger.

"Wait." He gently laid her down on the bed. "I'm sorry. Don't leave."

She smiled. "I'm not going anywhere."

He kissed her lips. "I'll be back in a moment."

He quickly wiped himself with a clean cloth and used a fresh towel to clean her with lukewarm, soapy water. A few drops of blood stained it, worrying him.

"Does it hurt?" He cupped her face.

"No, really."

"I'm sorry. I couldn't last longer. Let me take care of you." He nestled between her legs, already dizzy with her scent. He licked his lips, ready to feast on her.

"I can wait—" She gasped when he dipped his head between her legs to give her a deep kiss. "Royston."

His name, said with that breathy voice, had him hard and tense in a moment.

He smelled the soap on her skin as he deepened the kiss, hoping to soothe the sting. He added a finger and rubbed her with the pad of his thumb.

She made a few noises, rocked her hips, and writhed. The way she whispered his name would be the death of him.

Her wild scream was the best sound for him. Her inner muscles tightened as she moved against his tongue. He shifted and slipped inside her again.

She welcomed him, wrapping her legs around him. Since she had to be sore, he controlled his speed but made sure to rub the right spots.

Their gazes locked as he moved in and out of her with gentle strokes.

Time stopped to have meaning as he laced his fingers through hers and stared at her glowing obsidian eyes. The woman had put a spell on him because every time he stared at her, he would do anything for her, anything she asked. She'd made him dance because darkness couldn't touch him when he was with her. Only love was that powerful.

She breathed hard as he went deeper, taking his time. She closed her eyes and arched her back as another scream of pleasure rocked her body.

He couldn't resist and fondled her breasts, pinching her nipples. She cried out again, saying his name like a prayer. He pulled out of her to spill.

After he wiped her again, he lay next to her, holding her.

"That was…" she said among pants. "Beautiful."

He caressed her head, unable to express his feelings with words. He searched for words could convey the sheer joy and tenderness he felt now as he held her.

She curled up in his embrace and fell asleep before he could tell her he loved her.