Chapter Four
Trapped. Adrian was trapped.
His hands throbbed from beating the door. No one had come to secure his release, no matter how loudly he’d called.
He closed his eyes and curled his fingers into fists. His nails bit into his palms. The sensation is not real. There aren’t bugs or mites or things that slither in the dark covering my thighs.
He growled and shifted, pacing the room and focusing on the click of his heels against the floor. Repetitive sound sometimes helped. This time, the unpleasant, maddening need to scratch only muted.
Unfair, to have been given a few, brief moments of transport—transport so intoxicating his body still begged for the succor of the Blackbird’s touch—only to have the promise of relief snatched away.
Not just relief, either. His body had recognized hers.
He’d been drawn to her, drawn to the promise of something more. Something deeper.
Then, she’d recognized him. Called him by his title.
Anonymity was a comfort, a shield she’d stripped away. In the past, he’d always been able to trust Bessie to choose women who would preserve his privacy.
He didn’t know who—or what—he should trust at present.
He felt the click of the lock in the door like a tap against his back. He shuddered. The widow paused in the doorway and perused him up, then down, and then back up again.
“Quite the fuss you’ve been making.” She set a tray with a cup down onto the bed. “You’re disturbing the other guests.”
“I don’t give a damn about your other guests. Who did you send up here to meet me? And, this time, I’ll have none of your half-truths!”
The Black Widow absorbed his verbal blows with unruffled calm. “Sit down. I’ve brought you a tisane I told you about earlier. Eases pain. Soothes the spirit. Have some, and we’ll discuss the matter like the civilized people we choose to be.”
“I’d suffer a great deal from you, Bessie, but should I discover you have purposely placed me in peril, I will not hesitate to—”
“Stop right there,” she interrupted. “You know I don’t take kindly to threats.”
He leaned forward. “She recognized me.”
“I daresay you’d be recognized by half of London. With the privilege of your position comes public scrutiny.”
“Don’t you think I know as much? She not only recognized me, but she also knew me.
” Had that been the reason that being in her arms had felt so right, so natural?
“She had a lady’s accent. I should have been on my guard.
” He threaded his fingers through his hair.
“At first, I allowed myself to assume she’d been educated to speak that way. ”
Foolish.
He scratched hard at his thigh, even though he knew the action would bring him no relief.
“Redver—”
“You mentioned marriage. Then a young lady, one quite perfect for me, appears in my room. Swear to me that you aren’t trying to ensnare me.”
“If I wanted to set a parson’s trap for you, my extraordinarily private upper rooms would hardly be ideal.” She turned aside, forcing him to take a step back. She lifted a cup from the tray. “The young lady was brought to this room by mistake.”
“Mistake?” he queried.
“Drink.” She plucked his hand from his neck and then wrapped his fingers around the mug. “You’re suffering.”
“Thoughtful of you to notice,” he replied wryly and then glanced down. “What’s in here?”
“Willow bark. Chamomile.” She shrugged. “A few other herbs.”
What did he have to lose at this point? Maybe the brew would ease his skin’s irritation. He took a drink—bitter, but warm. “Bessie, can we please come to the point?”
“The point?”
“The woman,” he replied. “Who is she?”
“I’m not certain yet, but I have a strong suspicion.”
“Better and better! You’d have me believe an unknown young lady entered the Den, slipped into one of your private rooms without anyone noticing, and you had nothing to do with any of it?”
“I have something to do with everything that goes on under this roof. But no, I did not arrange for that lady to be in your room. The woman you were supposed to meet never arrived. The other somehow slipped past Snug, thus the confusion.”
She gestured for him to finish. He set down the cup and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“And as to her recognizing you, she can hardly use that against you without revealing her own indiscretion—sneaking into a gaming club—can she?”
He studied the widow before conceding her point with a nod. Then, he strode toward the hearth, gripped the mantle, and gazed down into the leaping flames. He was furious…furious and frustrated. But, as the tisane eased his compulsion, yet another emotion loomed large.
Interest. Fascination. He wanted to know this lady better, wanted to know all of her. In fact, meeting with her again felt essential.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she continued, “now that I’ve assured myself that you aren’t tearing down my wallpaper, I must see to the needs of the child.”
“That,” he said emphatically, “was no child.”
“No?” She asked with exaggerated innocence. “You just said she was young. And Hermia said you’d given her so bad a fright, she was shaking.”
“Not from fright,” he said derisively.
Oh, at first, he’d thought she might be afraid. But then she’d grabbed him and seared him with a kiss that would keep him sleepless for days. Emphatically, he shook his head.
“No frightened woman could kiss with that kind of passion.” A kind of passion that had awoken a longing far deeper than simple lust.
The Black Widow’s amble toward the door abruptly halted.
“Kiss?” She glanced over her shoulder. “Are you telling me she kissed you…passionately?”
Despite himself, he smiled. “With one hand in my hair and the other ripping at my shirt.”
He’d liked that part, truth be told—her raw, fierce display. Up until that moment, he’d believed he preferred his women to be gentle and accommodating.
His women.
He snorted. Perhaps he had become overly self-indulgent of late. But if this woman wanted to be his…
Bessie continued to stare at him with her head cocked. Then, she slowly paced the length of the room and back. “Would you consider her a satisfactory distraction, should I be able to come to terms with her?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
He glanced over to the set of chairs—one scattered with his discarded tailcoat and waistcoat, the other, empty. He recalled taking her hand and then kissing a perfect little valley between her first two knuckles. Her tremor had gone directly to his groin. Even the memory made him ache.
She’d been beyond satisfactory. She’d been desirable.
Blisteringly so.
She’d been brought to the room by mistake. Possibly, she’d used his name merely because she’d been startled. Or she deliberately planned to trick him into revealing himself.
Either way, she’d begun a dance he intended to finish.
“I’d meet with the Blackbird again.” Adrian lifted a brow. “If she dares.”