Against the Wind (Agents of the Crown #2)

Chapter 3

Abigail Darkin took a last look out the tall window at the green lawn, pleased with the recent additions to her property. The new pond surrounded by rosebushes gave a feeling of serenity to the sheltered environment of Willow House. Named for the weeping willow trees that wrapped around two sides of the elegant white manor like the arms of a welcoming lover, this had become more than her home. It was a refuge.

She remembered fondly the distant uncle who bequeathed her the house upon his death. It had been a great boon—and a surprise. She hadn’t known the uncle very well, and she’d just left her position as nanny to two young ladies now grown. Of course, she’d had only a little money and no idea how she would keep up such a wondrous residence; still, she had been happy to have it. Who could have foreseen that her soft heart and reputation for kindness would draw girls of the night to her, young beauties who wanted a safe place away from the bawdy houses of Covent Garden or worse? Willow House soon became known as the most elegant brothel in London, members of the ton and their wealthy friends its only clientele. Abby had standards after all.

“Miss Abby! There be a young woman to see ye. The lass seems very upset.”

Abby raised her head from the ledgers on her desk to find the young maid at the door, cheeks flushed and a distraught look upon her round face. It was only late afternoon, so the house was quiet. Clients did not arrive until evening, and those few who stayed the night were gone after breakfast .

Tucking a dark brown curl into the coil of hair at her nape, she set aside her business. “Relax, Emma. The house is not burning. Did she give her name?” Sometimes the young maid failed to remember her manners and was quick to overreact, though Abby had been schooling her to become a proper servant.

The maid shook her head, causing errant blonde curls to fall around her face. “No, ma’am. I did not think to ask her.” Sucking air through her teeth and wrinkling her forehead she added, “I suppose I should’ve, shouldn’t I? But she looked so pathetic, even frightened, and she seemed ta know ye.”

Used to seeing desperate girls on her doorstep who’d heard of her kindness, Abby was unsurprised. She tried to help all find legitimate work. Of course, the most beautiful, well-spoken and gracious were allowed to join those who lived and worked at Willow House, if such was their desire and there was an opening.

Casting a last glance at her unfinished ledgers, she sighed. “All right, Emma. Show her in.”

The girl arrived quite disheveled, with strands of dark flame-colored hair falling about her shoulders and cloak. Abby recognized her immediately. It had been years since she’d seen the young women whom she’d served as nanny, the girls she had raised as her own, but she would know Kit, Lady Katherine Endicott—no, now she was Lady Egerton—anywhere.

“My God, Katherine, what has happened to you?”

Katherine fell into her arms, sobbing. “Oh, Abby! Anne has died, and her husband, Lord Rutledge, he…he tried to rape me! It happened so suddenly I didn’t have time to plan where I’d go and then I thought of you.” Pleading blue eyes stared up at her. “May I stay the night, Abby? I’ve nowhere else to go given the…the circumstances.”

Abby stroked her hair and held the overwrought girl close, sad to find that she had lost one of the dear Endicott children and now the other was in dire need of help. “You were right to come to me, child. Of course you may stay the night, and longer if it will help. Did the man know you were coming here?” She was prepared should any unwanted guest seek entrance to her establishment, but she preferred to be warned.

Katherine’s face turned ashen, and her head jerked toward the door.

“What is wrong, child? Do you fear he followed you? My doorman will protect you. He’s a big fellow and can be quite fierce if need be.”

The young woman took a deep breath and let it out as if trying to calm herself, then turned and looked into Abby’s eyes. “No, Abby. I fear the man is dead. Rutledge lies bleeding and still. I…I think I’ve killed him.”

“Oh my,” Abby said, helping her frightened ward into a chair. “Come sit. There is nothing for it now. If you killed the man in defense of your honor, surely you will not be held responsible. But do not think of that.” She had her doubts about how the House of Lords would respond to the slaying of one of its own, but she would not share them. “I have a special room never used by our clients that you may have.”

Yes, she would help this child who sat sobbing before her, whose scrapes she had once tended, whose nightmares she had soothed. Anne and Kit had been the children of her heart, the children she never had.

She began to pace in front of the fireplace, followed by the eyes of the young woman as Katherine surveyed her surroundings for the first time. Abby wondered if the girl was noting the richness of the room, the polished cherry wood furniture and shelves full of classic books. Behind Abby, a fire crackled in the stone fireplace.

Abby’s gaze fell on the decanter of French brandy gracing a small table next to the brocade-covered chair where Kit sat in front of the desk. “Perhaps a drink might be appropriate just now, my child. Something to warm you?” She walked to the table and poured a generous helping.

“Is it true what I have heard, Abby?” Kit asked with faltering speech as her eyes drifted around the room. “Is Willow House a…a brothel?”

“Well, yes,” Abby conceded. The label, while accurate, still offended her. She handed the glass to Kit and admitted, “I didn’t start out to make it one. It just happened as the girls came to me. Though I helped some leave that life, others wanted to stay and pursue their former occupation. They are all quite lovely, and they will all be kind to you, Kit. Many have had hard beginnings and would well understand your tale of a man trying to force himself upon you. That is one reason they feel at home at Willow House. We entertain only gentlemen .”

Kit sat looking at her hands, cradling the glass of brandy in her lap, tears falling from her eyes. “I love you, you know that, Abby. If you have found peace in this place, I’ll not judge you or the girls.”

“You always did have a kind heart, Katherine. I see that has not changed.”

Kit looked up with reddened eyes. “Once I had such wonderful dreams, Abby. You remember. Dreams of a life with a husband to love me—and children. I’ve no dreams now.”

“Do not despair, child.” She patted the young woman’s back in sincere comfort as Kit sipped her drink. “Things will seem better in the morning. Emma will show you to your room, and while you are having a nice hot bath I will find something for you to wear. The girls here are all most elegantly attired and willing to share. Some hot food and a good night’s rest will put you to rights.”

“Oh, Abby, I don’t think I shall ever be right again. What can I do? Where am I to go? ”

Abby thought for a moment. “I have a friend who places young women in the homes of the gentry…to act as servants, mostly, but in special cases, such as yours, as governesses and the like. She may be able to help you. As an earl’s daughter and a baron’s widow you should have a better future, but perhaps for now this will give you something to do. A place to find solace while we sort this out. I’ll give you her information when I bring you the gown.”

Martin raised the brass knocker, but before he let it drop the black door opened and a well-attired butler with gray hair inclined his head and accepted Martin’s hat.

“Good evening, sir. Please follow me. Miss Abby will see you in the parlor.”

Martin followed the servant through a black and white marble-floored entry hall, passing a wide staircase leading to the next floor, at the base of which stood a large man with blond hair. He stared straight ahead, ignoring them.

Down another corridor they went, to the right, and Martin noted the impressive furnishings of the rooms he passed. They would compete well with those he’d seen in Mayfair. Finally, the butler stopped and bade him enter a small, well-appointed room. The first thing Martin noticed was the crystal chandelier hanging above two brocade sofas flanking a marble fireplace. A gilded mirror set over the mantel made the room appear much larger than it was.

The butler departed, closing the double doors. A well-attired woman in her late forties, dark brown hair pulled back into a knot, faced Martin with appraising hazel eyes.

“You are Sir Martin Powell?”

“Yes, ma’am. And you would be…Miss Abby? ”

A genuine smile spread across the woman’s face, and Martin relaxed. She might have been a treasured aunt, this woman with the twinkling eyes, someone in which you would confide all your secrets. A comforting presence. Not at all what he’d expected.

“I am Miss Abby, and this is Willow House. Lord Eustace commends you to me as one who has the trust of the Prince himself. That is a high honor. Welcome. How may I serve you, Sir Martin?”

“Well…I was hoping to meet one of your girls this evening. Willow House comes highly recommended by Eustace. I have been away from London for many years, and have no…attachments.”

“You speak with a slight accent, Sir Martin.”

“Ah, yes. My mother is French and I’ve been living in Paris.”

“Of course,” the woman said as she poured him a brandy. He accepted the drink and took a healthy swallow, appreciating the gesture and the fact she asked no further questions. The war had been over for more than a year, but he was reticent to speak of his time in France. Even to a favorite aunt with twinkling eyes.

“You may stay the night if you like,” Miss Abby continued, “and even stay for breakfast. Or, you can leave earlier, as you desire. We are very flexible and very discreet. No questions will be asked.”

“Right, then.” Martin was suddenly anxious to move forward. He set down his half-empty glass.

“Do you have any preferences, sir?”

“Ah…no.” He felt himself smiling. “Just ‘beautiful,’ but then I’ve heard that is never an issue at Willow House.”

The madam returned his smile. “If that is your only requirement, I believe we can meet your needs rather well.”

Martin was done with polite conversation. “If you will just tell me where to go? ”

“Upstairs, the next to the last door on the right. If you need assistance, the rather large Scot in the entry can assist you.”

Martin thanked her and left the room, thinking he heard a soft chuckle behind him. Had it been so long since he’d been with a woman that he appeared anxious? The thought was disconcerting. After many years of serving the Crown, he was no randy youth. Paris, too, had beautiful women.

He headed quickly in the direction he’d come. In the entry he passed the large blond man standing guard. The Scot, Martin guessed. Up the carpeted stairs he went, but at the top he struggled to remember what exactly Miss Abby said. The end of the corridor was dark. Which door on the right? The last door? Yes, that was it.

Martin slowly opened the door and moved into the shadows. Inside, a young woman stood before the room’s only window, the light of the fire behind her dancing in waves of long auburn hair that fell nearly to her waist. Moonlight from the window cast pale rays of light across her profile, revealing delicate features, a slim neck and ivory skin. He was surprised to find such a treasure in a brothel, even a high-class brothel. The girl appeared otherworldly, ethereal, like something out of a dream.

He was drawn to her as if summoned.

Kit stood at the window, lost in thought and staring out into the night. What had happened to her life, to her dream of a husband and family? How had it come to this? She and Anne had been raised as daughters of an earl!

Anger rose within her, an anger that caused her teeth to clench. It was the fault of her father, who, lost in grief upon her mother’s death, gave himself to gambling and drink. Caring little for life, he had not survived to provide for his daughters, abandoning them to husbands he would never have chosen. Kit had determined she would never lose herself in a love like that, nor would she cling so desperately to a memory that she would welcome her own demise. She had been strong for both herself and Anne. But she wasn’t feeling very strong tonight. Just weary and alone.

Oh, God. What’s to become of me? If only someone would hold me and tell me it will be all right .

As if in answer, a deep voice came out of the darkness. “Come to me,” it said.

Kit spun, her blood running cold. A tall figure stood in the shadows. Deep in her thoughts, she’d failed to hear the door open or close.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice quavering.

The figure took a step forward. Firelight cast a warm glow onto the sculpted features of the tall man, and sooty dark brown hair framed a handsome face with high cheekbones, a strong nose, and curving, sensuous lips. To Kit’s artist’s mind, the man was very nearly beautiful. Like a painting by Thomas Lawrence. Like the knight she’d dreamt would one day come for her.

His mouth twitched up on one side, almost a smile. “Miss Abby sent me.”

What was Abby thinking, sending such a man to her door? But before Kit could think of what to say, he took another step forward.

“Come to me,” he repeated.

Perhaps it was the two glasses of brandy she’d had, or perhaps it was the man himself who drew her. He was a stranger, but his voice, so warm and soothing, was hypnotic. Her doubts slipped away and she went to stand before him. His hands caressed her arms as he slowly drew her to his warm chest. Eyes like blue flames held her gaze, so intense she could feel them reaching into her soul.

“What’s your name, beauty?”

Still in a daze, she responded. “Kit. ”

“Well… mon chaton , my kitten, we will take this slow. It has been a long time for me. You need do nothing. Just let me love you.”

He inclined his head, and his lips touched hers ever so softly. His arms wrapped around her. The embrace promised every comfort Kit desired. For a brief moment she allowed herself to melt like wax before a flame.

The man pulled away and looked at her, his eyes falling to her curves barely disguised in the thin silk wrapper she wore. “So beautiful…are you real?” His indigo eyes glowed in the soft light of the fire as he ran his fingers through her hair sending shivers down her spine. His throaty whisper came to her as if across a great gulf. All she could do was stare.

His warm lips soon nuzzled her neck, brushing over the rapid pulse at the base of her throat. Kit closed her eyes, and a long sigh escaped as she lifted her hands to his shoulders then entwined her fingers in the waves of his mahogany hair. She had never been with a man like this. The old baron never excited her and Rutledge terrified her. The proper thing would be to send him away. Obviously he thought her to be someone else. But perhaps for once she could follow her own desires; she could let this man continue to kiss her. Like a drug, he was taking away all of her pain.

The touch of his warm lips on her throat sent another shiver up her spine. His hands roamed her wrapper, gently cupping her breasts, and it was as if he touched her bare skin, leaving tingling heat in the tracks of his fingers. He offered warmth and comforting words, everything she wanted. Perhaps that was why she did not turn away. Why not let him love her as he intended?

His lips returned to her mouth. She responded, opening to him. His tongue slipped inside to stroke hers, slowly, erotically. She had never been kissed like this. Once again he was gentle, handling her as if she were precious. Kit responded with a passion she did not understand. She had dreamt of being touched like this: by a gentle man, by a knight with eyes of blue flame. Was it wrong to let it happen?

As if reading her mind, he picked her up and carried her across the room. Another vague thought to protest quickly faded. She would not deny herself what she desperately wanted. Not tonight. Perhaps just once she could pretend she lived a fairy tale.

Dark blue velvet curtains were drawn back at the four posters of the large bed where he laid her down. The soft velvet cover rose up to cradle her body, embracing her like a welcoming cloud. She sat with half open eyes as the man undid her robe, sliding it from her shoulders, and the garment fell away to reveal her naked form. Quickly he shed his clothing, returning and covering her with his body as if he knew instinctively that she craved his warmth.

His rigid manhood, ready for her, pressed into her thigh. She was surprised she felt no alarm. No, she wanted this man, needed him like her next breath. The overwhelming passion rising within her was new but not unwelcome.

He kissed her again, this time deeply, and then shifted to one side, bracing himself on an elbow as his warm hand traveled from her neck to her breasts. His leg slipped between hers, and the warm skin of his leg pressed against her inner thigh. She reached for his nape, pulled his mouth back to hers and turned in toward his body. When his palm caressed her nipple, she pressed her breast into his hand, wanting more.

He bent his head to her breast, gently licking, and then he took the sensitive tip into his mouth. Heart beating faster, Kit entwined her fingers in his hair and held him close. A moan escaped her when he brought his lips back to hers, wooing her with kisses and roaming hands.

His manner proclaimed she was his. She reveled in that possession, for she wanted to be his if only for this one night. He could take away the terrible memories, the loss, the pain .

As if he heard her thoughts he whispered, “Kitten, you are mine tonight. I intend to love you well.”

His warm hand moved across her belly and down to the nest of dark red curls at the apex of her thighs. Gently he touched her there, parting the folds of her most sensitive flesh with his fingers, and she shivered but welcomed the caress of that responsive bud. She was already wet for him, the honey liquid having flowed unbidden in response to his first touches. It might have been a long time for him, but he must have once loved well.

“You are sweet innocence in your responses, Kitten, as if I’m your first man. I cannot wait much longer to be inside you.”

Kit knew little of lovemaking. The old baron she married had been kindly enough, though he was more like a grandfather, which made their wedding night a perfunctory affair. Then, a mere two weeks after they wed, the old lord died of heart failure. Never before had she experienced the feelings, the sensations or the response that this man drew so easily from her.

He rose above her, letting his erection settle into the cleft guarding her most intimate center. Her flesh was slick, sensitive and hungry for him, and when he rubbed himself over the opening it caused her breathing to speed. She lifted her hips in invitation.

He entered her slowly, as if savoring the feel. Though he was large, she was so wet that he slid forward unimpeded. Deep within her he stilled, and she responded to the fullness by gripping him with her inner muscles, imprisoning his warm hard flesh. Then, with a single thrust, he drove deeper still.

“Ah, God, Kitten,” he rasped as he started to move—slowly at first, rhythmically, then faster. The slight pain that had come with his first hard thrust quickly disappeared. She wasn’t a virgin, but she had only been taken twice by the old baron, and he had been small she now realized .

Who was this man who claimed her? What magic had he woven to take one who in her heart had never been taken before? She moved now in a dance so instinctive that she needed no instruction as she wrapped her legs around his. Her body responded to him as if he’d always been her lover, and Kit raised her hips to take him deeper, wanting all of him. He kissed her passionately—even, it seemed, desperately.

Her breathing came in pants as she raised her hips again, digging her fingers into his warm muscled shoulders. A tension had begun to build, one she’d never before experienced, pulling her to the crest of an unfamiliar mountaintop she yearned to reach. Wrapped in the throes of passion, they moved as one. Closing her eyes tightly, Kit willed the pleasure to continue as it swiftly built. Then, with a burst of stars, spasms welled up deep within her. They rolled over her as her muscles gripped his hardened flesh. Kit was infused by a pleasure she had never known.

A soft cry escaped her lips just as the stranger’s body stiffened and released a flood of warmth within her. Small echoes of pleasure radiated from where he was lodged deep inside. Sinking into a trancelike state of bliss, she clung to him, and he held her in return, whispering French words she recognized as words of love.

Martin had never before experienced any woman like the one he held now. Elise had died so young. Their lovemaking had been sweet and joyful, enthusiastic…but nothing like this. He told himself it was just because it had been a long while since he’d known a woman’s body. But he knew it was more. It was this woman. It was everything about her.

It was as if his body recognized hers. They had moved in tandem like two who had long been lovers, though in other ways she seemed so innocent. Because of that innocence, he had been most tender with her.

Moving to one side, he pulled her close, stroking her long hair that to his fingers felt like silk. He kissed her forehead as she rested her head on his shoulder, her full breasts pressed against him, warm pillows of pleasure. Through barely opened eyes, he glimpsed her pale skin and long limbs glowing in the dim moonlight. A goddess in repose. Drawn to that beauty, he began to stroke her, reveling in the warmth of her body and the softness of her rounded breasts with their soft, dusky nipples. And with each touch of her silken skin, his body responded.

He whispered in her ear, “ Tu m’ensorceler .”

She had, indeed, bewitched him. She was an enigma: while seemingly innocent, still so passionate, so responsive. There was nothing practiced about her. Was she new to this life? As they lay together, he wondered. A fallen dove perhaps. Whatever she was, whoever she was, somewhere during this night she had become precious to him. She had become his kitten.

Finally, he could fight sleep no longer. Holding her close, his last thought before slumber was to make her his mistress.

Yes, he would see Miss Abby about it in the morning.