Page 43 of Undercover with the Heiress
Phineas grabbed her hand. In a room full of men who eyed one another, keen for a way to wring a pound from their flesh, it was a rash thing to do. Her bare palm against his ran soft as cotton, and she gasped in exhilaration as they clapped up the stairs. On the first floor, he dodged between the columns and the makeshift offices built out over decades of haphazard renovations until they leant over the mezzanine balustrade that ran along the edge of the room. Here, he released her, and rested both elbows against the rail. She copied him, her fine fingers clasped before his in a mimicry of his pose, and they looked down through the cavity, to the spectacle of the trading floor below.
‘In the bank, we take all of this.’ He swept a hand across the concentrated activity of the arguing and madness, the negotiations and confusion, the handshakes and blows. ‘And we make order out of chaos. We create a world of calm and understanding. But it’s more than that. It’s about security. Some people want riches but don’t want to work. Others, like Pennington, seem to enjoy breaking the rules. There is never enough for men like that. They cheat and swindle and exploit every bit of trust to amass fortunes. But those types are the exceptions. Most people in the ledger we found the other night are honest people, hoping to make their lives a little more predictable and comfortable. They are so easily taken in by smooth talkers and charlatans, not because of greed, but because they have hope. I understand this. I can help them avoid the pitfalls, or at least stomp out the fraudsters before they get too confident.’
Raw energy thrummed through the exchange. Rosanna, her eyes darting across it all, flashed him a coy smile, and his entire body set aflame with a glance. She understood what it meant. She understoodhim.
‘It’s both crazier and more magnificent than I imagined. It’s the world ticking over, isn’t it? From small wishes to grand schemes.’ She rubbed at a freckle on the back of her hand, as if trying to erase the evidence of too much time in the sun. ‘Does Lord Richard invest in stocks like this? Is this what he wanted my dowry for? To gamble on the world’s fortunes?’
Bitterness clung to her voice as she almost spat the worddowryinto the void. So much more than a tidy sum of cash to ensure her well-being after marriage.Dowrymeant her body, her freedom, her associations, her future of either poverty or comfort, even the presence of tolerance or love. A simple number attached to the life of a woman. Was it any wonder that, when her doting father had given her the momentous freedom of making her own decision, she had agonised and drawn the men of the city into columns of possible cads and possible beaux? She elucidated her thoughts by saying she wanted to be loved, and that was part of it. But more than that, like almost everyone in the columns, she wanted to be safe.
‘He didn’t deserve you.’ The ruckus from the trading floor threatened to smother his confession, so he leant in closer and took her hand, squeezing his fingers into her palm. ‘And he deserves to be hung from a lamppost for making you think so little of yourself.’
He’d stolen too many kisses from her already. As he leant close, a part of him felt the pinch of guilt even while his impulse stomped over his resolve. But another part of him reasoned that of all his crimes, one more did not matter so much. He moved mere inches, but when she turned to meet him, her lips ready and accepting, he capsized and crowded her space with his desires.
Both innocent and eager, Rosanna’s kisses splintered and cracked his barricades, and with each little sigh as she tipped her head, as the brims of their hats bumped together, he felt himselfslipping dangerously close to her sunshine. Without dresses, boning, petticoats, and whatever else she normally layered herself with, the heat of her body met his hungry touch, and he ran his palm along her torso, over each fantastic curve, over the bold, healthy undulation of her hips, her waist, her arse. Only a thin layer of fabric separated him from all her delectable places.
‘We shouldn’t,’ he whispered. Yet he still drew the edge of her earlobe into his mouth.
‘Why not?’ Her breath warmed the space behind his ear, and dear heavens, she licked him—a light kiss of her tongue in the shallow of his collarbone.
‘Because… Because…’
Rosanna silenced his stammering with her mouth, kissing him with her fervour, her abundance, her everything. ‘When I came to your room and you touched me, did you enjoy yourself?’
He couldn’t even find ayes. Only a groan.
‘You asked me if I would like your fingers or your mouth. I’ve looked in your books and not seen anything about oral intimacies. Will you show me what you meant?’
His fingers curled in on themselves and gouged the decadent curve of her hips. She had mastered how to circumnavigate his defences, how to slit her blade through the small exposures in his armour. And now, surrounded by noise and with so little between them—just a thin cotton shirt and his ever-eroding restraint—he inhaled the sweetness of surrender, of roses and sunshine. He’d carry the memory of her forever, so why not give himself a little more fodder for the impending days of empty loneliness? He slipped the button on her waistband, inched his hand across her soft stomach, then teased his finger through her coarse hair and stroked until he found the top of her slit. He crept a little lower. Just enough to feel the heat of her most intimate parts, to coat his fingertip with her wetness. Then he withdrew and sucked the pad of his fingertip.
‘Delicious. Delectable. Divine.’ He stroked her again, and she loosened, collapsing a little with a moan.
‘We can’t stay out here,’ she said, her breath racing over his ear as he kissed her nape. ‘Can we?’
‘We need to go somewhere else, so that you can be loud.’ Reluctantly, he withdrew from her trousers, catching her hand and tugging her towards the hallway. ‘I know the perfect place.’
Phineas tried handle after door handle until he found an unlocked and abandoned office at the far end of the corridor. The steady tap and whirl of hole punches and machines from the room next door hummed, pattering and discordant, through the walls. He slammed the door shut and pushed Rosanna against the wood, hungrily finding her mouth again.
‘What’s that noise?’ she asked with a pant.
‘It’s the tickertape machine. It prints out prices of stocks from all the other markets. Does it bother you?’
‘No, but… do youlikethe sound?’
He chuckled. ‘Not inthatway. But I like that it’s loud. Because when I make you scream, no one will hear you but me.’ Possessive and brutal, he gripped her chin and kissed her, hard. As with everything Rosanna, she met his firmness with her own strength before softening and yielding. And for a moment, he imagined a world where she cried out his name every night, not that of some other man—one worthier than him who would one day fill his place in her life as a proper husband. One who could give her the status and stability that she deserved.
Phineas banished the torturous image as he grappled with her shirt buttons. Now, here, she was his, and this memory would belong to no other man. She demanded his mouth, and that’s what she’d get, but he’d take his own time and make his own decisions about where and when and for how long. He plucked at her loose stays, mouthing the gorgeous swell of her breast until he nudged a nipple free. Drawing it into his mouth, hegrunted. Nothing in the world tasted as good as his wife, and he swirled his tongue until her point hardened.
Working back to her mouth, he dragged his tongue across every fortification, winding around her battlements, searching for her weakness, feeling for what she wanted but did not say aloud. Listening to her body, listening to her air like it was his only oxygen. She moved and trembled without pause, a cacophony of emotion that he had to shut his eyes to just feel. Strung tight, she trembled with fear and anxious desire.
‘So scared.’ He eased, kissed her neck, pressed his lips behind her ear. He unfastened another button, knocked her hat from her head. ‘Why?’
Bright afternoon light squeezed through the edges of the curtains, and thin strips fell in stark lines across her face. She pinched her eyes tight and shook her head. ‘I’m not scared of anything,’ she said, her voice deep and raspy. And before he could counter, she jumped and wrapped herself around him, her arms around his shoulders, her legs around his waist. The slight tug of her leap against him nearly sent them both toppling, and her acceleration and momentum were intoxicating. Staggering and giddy, he cast about the room for space. Rosanna tightened her legs around him, far too trusting that he would lead the way. At last, with a bump and a giggle, he found steadiness against a desk. He knocked away a dry inkpot and a few scraps of paper to perch her on its edge.
Phineas tugged at her trousers, not wanting to stop kissing her for a breath. Damn buttons, damn ties, even the few small barriers were too much. Rosanna fumbled, her fingers flicking his out of the way, deftly unfastening her trousers so that he could tug them down. A proper gentleman would take the time to remove her boots, but he wasn’t one, and instead the clothing gathered at her ankles. He wrestled the offending garments from her body, then dropped to his knees and pushed her thighs wide.
When donning her disguise, she’d kept her own stockings and her own boots. Phineas pinched the end of the pink ribbon above her knee, slipped it loose, then drew the silk down to expose her soft skin. He nipped the indentation of her thigh and drew a languid pattern with his tongue over her flesh. He should take his time. He should torture her with his mouth until she knew no other word but his name. He should punish her with pleasure.
With a light grunt, almost a squeak of discovery, Rosanna tucked one leg over his shoulder. ‘Do you want me like this?’ she asked. ‘Is that how it’s done?’
