The Historical Collection. Stephanie Laurens
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at the door of his soul, and it would not be denied.
She kissed him first, bless her, moaning softly against his mouth, granting him permission to take control. He slid his hands to her backside and lifted, pushing her up against the brick wall.
“Here,” he rasped. “Now.”
“Yes.”
They raced for the same goal, her tugging at the buttons of his trousers, him hiking her skirts. By the time her touch skimmed the shaft of his cock, he was already primed and aching. When he slid two fingers into her wet heat, triumph surged through him.
Yes, she wanted this. She wanted him.
He withdrew his touch and brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean. God, she was sweet. And he was depraved, base.
She arched against him in a silent plea. He couldn’t wait another moment. Reaching between them, he took his cock in hand and guided it home.
She gasped as his first thrust sank deep. Her fingernails bit into the nape of his neck, making him wince with joy.
She came quickly, her inner muscles clenching into a slick fist. He thrust through every sharp, keening wave of her pleasure, shredding her frock to tatters against the brick wall. Sheathing himself to the crude, thick hilt. Faster, harder. Her soft, rhythmic sobs of passion mingled with his harsh, guttural sounds.
He was surely hurting her, and yet he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t even bring himself to slow down. If he paused for a single instant, the truth would catch up with him. He’d be forced to reckon with the fact that he was taking her in an alleyway like a whoring brute. And he’d be reminded, once again, that he didn’t deserve her—could never hope to deserve her.
So he galloped onward, desperate. Racing through that dark, lonely tunnel of yearning until he emerged into blinding light. The place where eternity was measured in heartbeats, and nothing mattered that wasn’t joy.
In the aftermath, he slumped against her, shuddering with the pleasure of release.
And then, as the pleasure ebbed, the inevitable shame and disgust crept in. He looked around them, wrinkling his nose at the reeking alleyway and the puddled God-knew-what at his feet. Bile rose in his throat. He forced himself to meet her eyes—those lovely blue eyes. Eyes shining with an emotion he called foolishness and she called love. Perhaps they were one and the same.
Whatever name it went by, that emotion had found its way inside him, stretching his ribs and carving out space in his chest. Settling in.
How had she done it? Of all people, he knew how to lock up his heart, shutter the windows, bar the doors. She’d wormed through a keyhole somehow, made herself at home.
Damn it, Gabe couldn’t let her stay. He knew how to force an eviction with a ruthless, cold-blooded strength. He’d allowed his willpower to slacken over recent weeks.
Now it was time to flex.
The danger was too great. Not to her reputation—her life was hers to do as she wished—but to her heart. Her lovely, shining soul. If he destroyed her trusting, generous nature, he wouldn’t know how to live with himself.
Gabe lifted her in his arms and carried her out of the labyrinth of the rookery. He wasn’t going to allow any further damage to her frocks. Not on his account.
When they reached the main thoroughfare, he waved for a hackney cab. “Mayfair,” he told the driver. “Bloom Square.”
He tucked Penny inside the cab, carefully settling her on the seat. She moved over to make room for him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
“For this.” He slammed the door of the hackney shut and motioned to the driver.
“Gabriel, wai—”
The cab carried her and her objection into the London streets. When they’d gone, Gabe turned on his heel and walked the other way.
There. It was over. Forever.
If Gabriel thought this was over, he was fooling himself. Penny was not so easily deterred. However, she decided to allow him a day to recover his senses. When the hackney deposited her at home in Bloom Square, she wanted nothing more than to have a bath and perhaps a healthy cry.
However, when she entered the house, it became evident that both bath and tears would have to wait.
Aunt Caroline looked over her muddied, bedraggled frock. “Oh, Penelope.”
“What a delight to see you, Aunt Caroline.” With a dejected sigh, Penny dropped into a chair, unable to think of anything else to do. “Have you been waiting long?”
“Too long, I daresay. I’ve been having a disturbing conversation with your parrot.”
“I don’t suppose ‘I love you’ was part of the dialogue?”
Her aunt’s eyes were steely. “No.”
Drat. Penny couldn’t convince anyone to believe those words, it seemed—man or bird.
“I’ve also been reading.” Her aunt lifted a copy of the Prattler. “When I said I wanted to see you in the society column, this is not what I meant.”
“I’m not in it.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Her aunt held up the page and shook it at her. “It’s right here in black and white. ‘Unidentified woman’? That can only be you. Who else would attend a fete and leave before speaking to a soul in attendance?”
Penny covered her eyes with one hand and moaned. “I’m trying, Aunt Caroline. I truly am. The otter swam away, and the farm animals are headed to the country in a few days’ time. Just this morning, we delivered the kittens to …” She couldn’t bring herself to complete the sentence. “I’m trying.”
And yet, somehow, all her effort wasn’t enough. Not for her aunt; not for Gabriel. Not even for the parrot.
“Now about this ball your detestable neighbor is giving.”
“You needn’t worry. I don’t plan to attend.”
“Oh, yes, you will.” Her aunt harrumphed. “You are running out of time. If you wish to remain in London, there is only one way certain to succeed. An engagement. Or at least the prospect of one. If you have a suitor or two waiting in the wings, Bradford won’t drag you from Town.”
“If it was so easy to line up a suitor or two in the wings, I wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“We both know very well that you haven’t been trying. And this ball is your ideal opportunity. The Duke of Ruin has a great many lords and well-placed gentlemen dangling on the loose threads of his tailcoat. They won’t fail to answer his invitation.” She rose to her feet. “In short, you—and your handsome dowry—will be surrounded by financially desperate men. You’ll never have a better chance at snaring one.”
“As always, Aunt Caroline, you do wonders for my confidence.” Penny accompanied her aunt to the door.
“It’s given me no pleasure to watch you hide away all these years.” Aunt Caroline patted her shoulder fondly. “Believe it or not, I’m pulling for you. You deserve to be an identified woman.”
Penny was momentarily speechless. “Thank you.”
Of all the places to find reassurance, she never would have expected it to come from her demanding Aunt Caroline. Her aunt’s gesture wasn’t precisely effusive, but Penny wasn’t in a position to be choosy. She would take what she could get.
This rare display of affection concluded, her aunt opened the door to leave. “I’ll see you at the ball, then. Do try to look …”
“Presentable,” Penny finished. “I know.”
Her