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?