Chapter 10

Elise licked her fingers clean of the last bit of crumbs. Meat pies had never tasted so good before. She and Prospero had stopped at one of the pie stalls that were open late into the night and early into the morning to supply the working class with the means to get them through their long shifts.

As they ate and walked down the road, Prospero spoke more of his life in Paris and how glad he was to be back in England.

"It's strange, isn't it?" she observed. "That sometimes you must leave your home to realize how much you miss it."

"Strange, but quite true. If only the past weren't still so present here..." He paused, and she sensed he was thinking of what Swinton had said to him.

"You wish that people would let go of the past?" she guessed.

He nodded. "A man's club should be his sanctuary, but mine isn't. Not anymore. Swinton won't be the last."

Prospero was more like her than she'd realized, and if she'd been facing his situation, she'd have run straight to the society headquarters for refuge.

Before she could even think of why she did it, she reached out and caught his hand in hers. A flash of warmth blossomed at the connection between them, and he met her gaze, those deep, mercurial eyes so fascinating to her. He had a wealth of knowledge about things in the world that she didn't, and she wanted to question him endlessly to learn all that he knew about people and life. But right now, she could give him something...

"Perhaps you need to create your own sanctuary," Elise suggested. "Make someplace all your own. Like my society. We have our own private world."

He smiled a little, and that heated her right down to her toes. "What an intriguing idea."

By the time they returned to her townhouse, Elise had to admit that her eye was beginning to swell, and it ached fiercely.

Prospero noticed her gingerly touching the spot where she'd been hit. "Show me to the kitchens."

She led him to the servants' stairs, and they soon located the icebox in a wooden box insulated with tin in the kitchen. Prospero retrieved a small chisel and chipped away corners of ice from the block until he made a small handful of chunks. He retrieved a dishcloth and wrapped the broken bits in it before tying the ends together to make it a pouch.

"Now, hold this against your eye for a few minutes. It will bring the swelling down."

She placed the ice against her closed eye and winced, but the ache soon began to fade.

"You had quite the night," Prospero mused. "You gambled, fleeced a cheater at poker, had a good whiskey, and ate a meat pie. All in all, that's quite a good day for some men."

"Is it?"

"Well, some for sure."

She held the ice to her eye for a few minutes while she and Prospero lingered in the kitchen. It was unusually quiet as most of the servants had already gone to bed.

"So, what's it to be tomorrow?" Prospero gently took the melting ice and put it in the sink before he cupped her chin and studied her face. His warm breath fanned over her cheeks.

"Umm... I can't think..."

"Shall I take your mind off the pain?" he offered quietly. His eyes burned with a desire that scorched her very soul. She had but a moment to wonder that he still held such a fire in his veins after all the heartache he'd been through, before the beautiful devil was kissing her to make her feel better.

She moaned as his lips slanted over hers, soft at first, but growing rougher as she responded with her own eagerness. She wanted to slow down so she could catalog all the subtle ways he moved his lips and, oh Lord, how he moved his tongue! But soon he was overwhelming her enough that her scientific mind was silenced into submission.

"That's it, darling. Don't think. Feel. Feel me, feel this." He feathered his lips over hers in a teasing whisper before he dove back in with a sensual flick of his tongue in a raw, open-mouthed kiss that sent her axis spinning. She felt like that large painted globe at the society's headquarters. She was whirling, trapped in the beam of sunlight that was this man's kiss, and her entire world was spinning before her eyes.

Her foolish heart saw flashes of a future with Prospero, a life she couldn't have, not in a world that tried so hard to close every door to her." But here in the dark and quiet world of the kitchen, she could pretend to be someone else.

She imagined what a life with Prospero might be like. Lazy mornings in bed, slow kisses and teasing whispers. Shared whiskeys by the fire and card games. Visits to the British Museum and rides in the park... She even saw herself in a wedding gown, a bouquet in her hands, and then rocking a cradle in a sunny nursery. She saw it all. The life that she'd forsaken to be free of the control of men.

A stab of pain pierced her heart so swiftly, so fierce, that she cried out and pulled away from him. He let her push at him but didn't release her. He kept a gentle, comforting hold on her upper waist.

"Elise?" He breathed her name in a worried whisper.

"It's nothing," she lied. "It's the mustache. It caught on something." She frantically pulled the fake mustache off, glad to have a reason for tears to spring to her eyes.

"You should go to bed and rest." Prospero watched her closely, and she had a sense that he saw through her in a way no one, not even her father, ever had.

"We can tackle something new and grand tomorrow," he said, and gestured for her to exit the kitchen ahead of him.

She yearned to beg him to kiss her again, but she dared not, not when she felt so out of control. When had she ever felt so unmoored? It was as though she was a small ship left to beat against the rocks of this unknown land of desires and dreams for things she could never have. She could only watch them from a distance.

* * *

Prospero knew a fair bit more about women and their mercurial moods than most men. In his experience, women often had a flood of thoughts in their heads and a million worries. Women were creatures of vastness and depths to both their thoughts and feelings. Any man who said otherwise was a fool.

Right now, he could see quite clearly that Elise was shaken, but by what he wasn't sure. He also knew that whatever it was, she didn't want to talk about it. Not yet. He would let her keep her secrets, but not forever. He would just give her time for now.

Christ, he felt like he needed time as well. That kiss had changed something in him. It was as though his body and soul had been ripped apart and put back together. A kiss had never felt like that before, and he was damned if he knew why this one had. The women in his past had loved his planned seductions in gardens, alcoves, and ballroom corners, but those had been games. This was nothing like those perfectly planned moments. Neither of them had been looking or feeling particularly romantic, given her emerging black eye, and she was still wearing her masculine disguise.

Yet there had been something delightfully, wonderfully absurd about the moment. He wanted to laugh, to pull her close and kiss her again until she was laughing and smiling and they could simply discover what made this intangible thing between them cause such a deep glow in his soul.

Prospero caught Elise's arm as they left the kitchen and moved up the servants' stairs. He wanted to talk to her about that kiss, but he knew she didn't want to, and he was too much of a gentleman to press her on the matter to satisfy his own curiosity.

All he could think, all that made sense, was that this kiss had been real. More real to him than anything else in his life. It had grounded him like the ancient sequoia they'd seen at the museum earlier that day. He felt like he'd been planted deep into the well of Elise's soul and could grow for a thousand years beneath the light of her kiss. With a kiss like that, nothing could knock him flat or break him ever again. It was a kiss all good men could only dream of finding in a woman. It came from a woman who needed no man, who had her own mind and her own dreams. She had no place in her world for him.

It was then Prospero knew that falling in love with this woman would cost him not only his heart but his soul. To love her would be a game he was sure to lose. The question was, would he still find the will to put his cards upon the table and tell her everything, even knowing it would destroy him?

They walked up the main staircase now in silence. He paused as they reached his room.

"Do you need help undressing?" he asked. "I'm sure your maid must be asleep."

"No, I'm fine. She will be in bed, but I don't need her. It's more a matter of finding all the pins." She gestured to the wig she was wearing.

"I can help with that. I've had some practice."

She lifted her gaze to his, eyes wide, and bit her lip. "You don't talk much about the women in Paris," she said quietly, and he knew he couldn't avoid the subject any longer.

"Every woman I spent time with was a woman I liked, but nothing more. They were kind to me, but I never forgot when I was with them that I was being paid for my companionship. I was a kept dog. Not exactly leashed, but I was expected to come when called and to obey any command given."

"Then you know something of what it's like to be a woman," Elise said, her face hardening, but then she softened a little. "I suppose you must think me the same as those women who paid for your companionship?"

"No. Somehow this is different," he admitted. "I know you are paying me for your study, but during moments like these, where we are sharing ourselves like this, you aren't paying for that. It's not..." He struggled to find the words. "I feel more like myself when I'm with you than I have in many long years."

Her brows lifted. "You do?"

He smiled then, feeling the expression spread across his face. "Yes, I do, assuming I know what being myself even means anymore." He cleared his throat. "Now, shall we wrestle these pins free?"

She nodded, seeming to accept his avoidance of any further talk about a sensitive subject. For that, he was grateful.

"Very well. Between the two of us, I'm sure we can remove all these quickly," she agreed.

He led her into his room, where she removed the wig carefully and set it on the bed. Prospero was impressed with how tightly she'd coiled up her long blonde hair and managed to pin it so close to her scalp.

He motioned to the bed. "Please sit."

He realized too late how his request might be misconstrued. Before he could amend his words to asking her to sit on the armchair instead, she did as he bade, sitting down on the covers, her back straight, her chin tilted enough to see right through him with her warm brown eyes.

"I will just... er... sit behind you... to help remove the pins." He climbed up behind her on the bed, the scent of her teasing his nose. A flaw in her masquerade. She'd forgotten that men did not smell like roses. He'd have to teach her about cologne.

He straightening his legs out on either side of her hips as he shifted closer. She likely didn't realize why he'd suggested this position. Apparently, he had some secret desire to torture himself because he wanted to remain close to her, even without having the chance to take her to bed.

He breathed out slowly and began removing the pins. Her long straight hair, having been so tightly pinned in place for so long, had formed enchanting ringlets as each lock unspooled. He wound one around his finger, playing with the golden hair a moment. She didn't seem to notice as she made quick work of some of the pins within her reach. Soon nearly all the little coils were free, and she dug her hands into the ringlets, ruffling her hair, searching for more pins, totally unaware of the effect she was having on him.

"Allow me." Prospero heard how rough his voice sounded as he slid his fingers into her hair, but damned if he could control his reaction to her now. She let out a sigh, and he swore he heard a note of true relief beneath the pleasure.

"Who cares for you?" he found himself asking in a husky murmur.

"What?" she replied just as softly.

"You carry the weight of a vast world upon your shoulders. Who cares for you when the lamps burn low and the night grows dark?" He continued to massage the strands of her hair, finding two more pins and pulling them free.

"I take care of myself. Always have," she said with pride. "My father taught me to be self-sufficient so as to never need anyone."

This woman was breaking his heart, and damned if that wasn't the most surprising thing of all. He'd thought his heart had turned to stone years ago.

He had worked to harden himself against the world, yet she'd made fractures in the stone...

"It makes you weak to want or need someone... even just sometimes?" Prospero rubbed the tips of his fingers into her scalp, trying to ease the tension he felt there.

"I cannot afford to need anyone." She ducked her head a little, her eyes downcast, and Prospero moved one hand to her hip, holding her, letting her feel his support through his touch.

"Why not?" he asked as he moved one hand to the back of her neck, and he pressed his fingers into the knots of muscle there. She shuddered, as if between his touch and his words she was close to letting go, to unleashing the emotions knotted so deep inside her that they were weighing her down.

"I just can't. The moment I give up control, someone will have power over me." Her voice hardened a little. "Trust a man, love a man, and he takes everything away, everything you have, even your freedom. I've seen it so many times. I can't be a victim. I won't."

Her bitter tone stunned him. She wasn't alone, was she?

"What about your friends? Cinna and Edwina? You cannot trust them?"

The tears escaped her eyes, and she hastily dashed them away. "I can, but I feel it's wretched to ask that of them. Cinna carries so many burdens already, and Edwina's family has its own struggles. I cannot add my worries to them. Not when I should be fine."

Prospero continued to soothe this beautiful woman. "And why should you be fine?"

"Because I have money and some privilege afforded by my position." She said this in such a matter-of-fact tone it took him by surprise. "But it's all because of my father. Take him and his money away and I am no different than any woman paying for her own survival by living upon her back. Being born as my father's daughter was merely luck. You realize how horrible that is? A woman's fate is entirely up to birth, but a man... has a chance to better himself, to work, to find a way to make his life better through struggle. And he does it without the cost of his body or soul to the desires of others."

Prospero wanted to tell her that the idea of men bettering their station in life had far more to do with luck than she suspected. He had seen it both in London and Paris. But he held his tongue. She was right, after all. Women had the deck stacked against them far more than any man. There was no denying that unfortunate truth.

"There are men in the world who would give you a chance, who would hold you up rather than pin you down." Men like me.

"And how is a woman meant to determine which man is which without harm to herself or her reputation?" she countered.

"A fair point," he conceded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps one could devise a scientific study on the habits and nature of men to determine which types would be satisfactorily supportive?"

He'd meant it in jest, mostly, but her small gasp and the way her skin turned pink alerted him to something deeper she'd heard in his words. She curled her shoulders in, just a little. She was retreating from him. She was on shaky ground, and she was running from him to protect herself. He needed to distract her.

"Kiss me," he said abruptly.

Startled, she looked up at him over her shoulder. He took advantage of the position and cupped her cheek, holding her face as he captured her mouth with his. He had so few answers to give her about life's inequalities and unfairness, but he could give her this—he could give her himself, whatever that might mean.

She opened her lips beneath his, and he drank in her taste. He fisted his hand in her hair, holding her captive for a deeper kiss, and then moved back, taking her with him until she lay atop his body, their mouths fused in a burning embrace.

Sometime later he broke the kiss. "Let me show you a secret, one that will give you the peace you need, at least for tonight." He rubbed his hand on her back over her bottom, lightly squeezing as he enjoyed the weight of her on top of him.

She arched a golden brow. "Are you trying to seduce me, Lord March?" she asked.

"I am instructing you, Miss Hamblin, my little naturalist. And this secret is only for you, not for me, although I will enjoy giving it to you."

"I am intrigued now," she admitted. "You may show me."

With years of practice, he swiftly rolled her beneath him on the bed. She gasped, eyes widening at the sudden change of their positions. He took some delight in shocking her, wedging himself between her thighs before she realized what he'd done. It was a far easier move to accomplish when she wore trousers instead of skirts.

"Put your hands above your head and do not move them," he commanded.

His little scientist seemed ready to protest.

"Trust me," he said as he kissed her. He took her wrists in one hand and lifted them up above her head to pin them down. "Leave them here." He pressed them down into the bedding before he let go, then slid down her body, unfastening the buttons of her waistcoat and tugging her shirt up from her trousers. He cursed to himself when he realized her breasts were still bound. He would have to come back to that inconvenience. He unfastened her trousers and began to tug them down, along with her smallclothes. She raised her hips to allow him to strip her lower half. Then she was bare to him from the waist down.

He grinned as he saw her startled, flushed face. She licked her lips, more excited, more curious than trepidatious. What a lesson he was going to teach his little naturalist.

* * *

Elise was naked—well, half-naked—and a man's shoulders were between her thighs. Was this really happening? Prospero stroked his palms down the outsides of her thighs, and then he moved his hands to her inner thighs, his thumbs brushing over the delicate, sensitive skin of her folds. She sucked in a breath as fear and anticipation warred within her.

"Easy, love, easy." Prospero's voice was rough and dark. It reminded her of the whiskey they'd drunk at the club, and it made her feel a little dizzy.

"What are you going to do?" she asked. Her voice betrayed her nerves by holding a slight tremor.

"You have nothing to be worried about."

"Still..." Her breath was coming faster now. "If you wish to instruct me, p-perhaps it would be wise to walk me through what you're about to do?"

He looked at her, his wicked gaze softening a little.

"All right," he chuckled, but the rich sound didn't reassure her in the least. He licked his lips before he moved one hand down to the most sensitive part of her between her thighs.

"This little honeypot calls to me," he murmured.

"Honeypot? Why would you call it something so silly? It's—" Elise caught on the odd choice of words.

"Hush, little naturalist. Let me call it what I wish. And I call it that because I know you will taste as sweet as honey." Prospero drew his thumb along the groove between her thigh and her mound, sending a shudder through her.

"Any good lover will want to lick and suck and tease until you come apart with cries of pleasure."

He meant to put his mouth down there? "Is... is that normal?"

Prospero stroked his fingertips on the inner skin, just inches from her sex. Her lower belly heated with a languid feeling that excited and calmed her all at once.

"For any decent man, this is an important part of the mating ritual. A man who is too selfish and too foolish to enjoy this part of sex is not worth taking as your lover."

"Oh..." She was curious now that he'd told her it was part of a mating ritual. "Do women have a similar ritual with men?"

"Yes, but we need not discuss that tonight. Tonight is about you." He moved his teasing fingers over her until they touched the folds of her labia. She tensed instinctively. She had touched herself there before, of course, but someone else's hand felt like a clear invasion.

Yet she trusted Prospero. He would not hurt her, nor would he force anything upon her. No matter what Holmes or the newspapers said about him, Prospero had honor.

"Tell me how it feels—tell me what you like." He moved a fingertip along one side of her labia and downward, then up the other side until he reached the hooded sanctuary of her clitoris. He lightly pressed his finger down on the sensitive bud, then swirled around the sides of it.

A sudden burst of intense sensation made her hips jerk. She started to pull her hands down from above her head.

He tsked, leaning over her and pinning her wrists back in place, holding them with one hand while his other continued the delicious torture between her legs.

"Use your words, Elise. Tell me how it feels to let me stroke you here..."

"It feels strange... um... a little frightening." She hated admitting any kind of fear.

"You should always be honest in moments of intimacy. A good lover will want that and respect it," Prospero said. He lowered his head, kissing her neck in a way that sent slow waves of heat through her body. "What do you feel now?" His voice was husky and low.

"It... it feels like you drugged me. Like chloroform moving through my limbs... I feel hot and unable to move, and there is a throbbing within me."

His hot breath fanned her skin before he resumed kissing her neck, and then he slid something inside her. A finger, perhaps? She was thinking too hard on that because he suddenly bit her, his teeth lightly pricking her skin at just the right spot, and suddenly she couldn't think at all.

A startled cry escaped her lips as he pumped that finger deep into her and curled it, striking some spot that she'd never known existed. No books on anatomy had ever covered this...

"There?" he growled in her ear. "Is that your sweet spot, love?" He rubbed it over and over as he continued to penetrate her. An embarrassing flood of wet heat rushed to meet his hand between her legs.

"Prospero... it's too much. It's..." She lost the ability to speak as he pinned her wrists tighter when she tried to raise them again.

"If I am your mate, Elise, then this is how I claim you. I prove my strength and my dedication to your pleasure, but I control you here, like this. And you, my fierce lioness, must submit to me so that I might give you what you need."

She would have slapped him if she had been thinking clearly, but with his mouth at her ear, her hands trapped, and his fingers striking at that singularly glorious spot, she simply went up in flames.

Pure, overwhelming pleasure rippled through her, and she wavered like a tiny ship on a vast rolling sea, only able to go in the direction of each wave and drift where they might take her. This was something no book, no professorial lecturer, no scientist could explain. It was something that had to be felt to truly be understood.

This made so much sense for so many things that she'd never understood before. She had known the mechanics of mating, of course, but nothing about the pleasure one could feel, other than the fact it existed. No wonder people made fools of themselves for love and lust. If this was the goal they strove toward, she could now understand things that had previously eluded her comprehension.

A moment after these realizations came and went, she was overcome with a new flood of emotions. There was a man between her thighs, his hand between her legs, his fingers gently drawing out the little aftershocks of her climax, and he watched her face with unreadable eyes.

"How does it feel?" he asked in that dark, sinful voice. "You surrendered to me for just a few moments and the world did not end, did it?"

But she hadn't surrendered to just anyone. She had surrendered to him. For her, that seemed to make all the difference.

She chose her response carefully. "It was... unsettling. I feel like I've drunk too much wine. Everything is glowing and I feel warm."

He smiled in approval. "Good. That was your first lesson. To trust me and receive pleasure."

She suddenly had a thousand questions. "Does it always feel like that? With any man? When you mate fully does it?—?"

Prospero silenced her with a deep kiss, his tongue slipping between her parted lips to thrust in a slow, seductive tempo against her own.

"Save your burning curiosity for tomorrow. For tonight, just feel." He resumed kissing her, and his hand slid up to grasp her hip and hold her, his fingers digging into her skin in a possessive way that she liked far too much. She shouldn't want to feel possessed by a man, to feel claimed, yet... she did.

Just feel... She did feel. She felt so much of a great many things, and she knew it was only the beginning.