A Valentine For You
Speaking of chocolate, pull yours out and sit down for a few minutes. My treat for you is the 'first kiss' in my recently completed first manuscript in the Bow Street Runners series. Cue your soft music in the background, get all warm and fuzzy, and away we go...
His
steps slowed and he squinted. Surely he wasn’t seeing this.
Down a block, Emily strolled toward
him, alone. Undefended. Unaware. Above her, one story up, a fat woman with a
large bucket leaned out a window, about to drop her slops. Behind her, a
black-bearded sailor—considering his golden-ringed ear and bowed legs—followed
close enough to reach out and reel her in. To her side, a dray passed in the
street, heaped so high with barrels, the slightest dip in the road would send
one toppling her way. She’d be crushed. And in front of her, two men swaggered out
of an alley, each carrying half-empty bottles of gin.
Nicholas shot forward, ignoring her
gasp when he grabbed her by the shoulders. In five long strides, he guided her
into the alcove of a nearby glassery, out of the pedestrian flow. His heartbeat
pounded in his ears. “You’ll be the death of me! How am I to keep you safe?”
Large brown eyes stared into his.
Her drab bonnet only served to magnify the golden shimmer of the hair beneath.
How could she be so beautiful that it tore into his soul?
Blinking,
she drew in a breath. “I didn’t think—”
“Of course you didn’t think!”
She
flinched.
He
closed his eyes and counted to ten—then reversed from ten to one before opening
them again. Sighing, he lowered his voice. “Where were you?”
“I
was with your sister, waiting until the doctor settled her with some laudanum.”
Emily frowned up into his face. “She almost died! Why did you never tell me of
her?”
“There
was no reason.”
“There
was every reason! Had I known sooner, before I got into this dreadful
situation, I could have helped.”
“You?”
He stepped up to her, forcing her back against the brick wall. A smirk begged
for release, yet he fought it. “Think on it. When I first met you, your world
consisted of pampering a pug, hat shopping, and snagging that scoundrel Henley.
Would you honestly have wanted to help my sister?”
The
longer she remained silent, the more her bottom lip quivered.
“Maybe
not at first.” Her voice was small.
But
true.
Curious,
he leaned in, inches from her face, and studied the depths of her luminous
eyes. Gilt flecks floated atop brown, shimmering like candlelight against dark
velvet, but no guile, no deception, swam in those pools. Never had he seen her
so open, so unguarded.
The
effect stole his breath, making it impossible to speak. Clearing his throat, he
demanded an answer he feared. “Tell me what changed.”
Saying
nothing, she lifted her hand and reached toward him like a lost lover who’d
finally returned home. When her fingertips grazed his brow, he turned to
granite. The contact was white-hot. One by one, she smoothed away every crease,
every line that tightened his forehead. Her gaze tracked the motion.
His heart followed her touch.
When
she pulled her hand away, he was lost.
“Everything
changed,” she said.
Simple
words, but the huskiness of her voice kicked off a complex reaction in his
body. Blood pumped. A pang shot into his belly and sank. Low. Heat poured off
him in waves. The thin space between them was a chasm too painful to bear.
Pulling her close, he wrapped her in his arms, a groan rumbling somewhere in
his chest.
She
quivered against him—but did not protest.
Her
name surfaced on his lips an instant before he pressed them against hers. She
tasted of light, cinnamon, promise...all that was right and good. Her mouth
moved against his with an intensity that surprised him, burning like the summer
sun.
Closing
his eyes, he breathed her in, and wondered if he’d ever truly breathed before.
Her hands slid up his back, her fingers curling into the hair at the nape of
his neck. He slipped his hands lower, locking them into place at the small of
her back. Bending further, he trailed kisses down her neck and pulled her
closer, drawing her hips against his.
“Emily,”
he mouthed her name against skin so soft, he wanted to weep. When she arched
into him, he knew he must have her.
And
the thought turned his blood to ice.
He
released her and backed away, horrified. Time stopped then. How long they stood
there, he could only guess. He gaped, frozen in place by the host of feelings
drifting around him like ghosts in a graveyard, each one howling from the
separation. The memory of her body fused against his seared into his bones. God…what
had he done?
She
stared at him, drawing the fingers of one hand to her mouth. Slowly, she traced
her lower lip, touching the swell. Her gaze was intense, the color in her
cheeks deepening with each of his heartbeats. Was she reliving the kiss?
Or
regretting?
“Emily—” His voice broke. What kind of guardian was he? “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Emily—” His voice broke. What kind of guardian was he? “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Behind
them, the usual sounds of London’s streets continued on as if nothing had
happened. What a lie. Something had happened, leastwise for him. He could only
guess what he’d done to her.
“Don’t
be.” Lowering her hand, she smoothed the wrinkles from her dress, then lifted
her chin, proud and defiant as ever. “I’m not.”
Her
words were as easy to grasp as feathers in the wind, but when they settled, a
slow smile curved his mouth. Shaking his head, he grunted. “As I’ve said, you
will be the death of me, woman. Come along. Let’s get you off the street.”
She
fell into step beside him, the bustle of Eastcheap filling the silence until
she spoke. “I am worried for your sister. She ought to be moved to a nicer
place. Somewhere warmer, or cozier, someplace—” she shrugged “—healthier.”
He
arched a brow down at her, amazed at her shift from passion to empathy. “Why do
you think I took your father’s offer in the first place?”
Her
eyes widened, as if she’d discovered for the first time that he wasn’t an ogre.
“But, my father, I mean…what will you do now?”
“In
your case, I have a plan. As for my sister, well…” He looked forward, and
instead of seeing the busy street in front of him, Jenny’s drawn face filled
his vision. “I had a plan, once, but it’s not so clear anymore.”
“Nicholas?”
His
Christian name on Emily’s tongue jerked his face toward hers. “Aye?”
“She
asked me to remind you that God’s the one in control, not you.”
Once again he directed his gaze
forward. The words ought be comforting, for indeed they were solid and true.
So
why did he feel as if he was just about to jump off a cliff?