A Matter of Grave Concern (16 page)

Evidently that wasn’t his intent, because he didn’t go that direction. He pulled her up against the side of the church, under the portico.

“What now?” she whispered, her heart thudding in her ears.

“We stay still and quiet, and we wait. Hopefully, they will assume we fled.”

She could feel his warmth, his closeness, but she could also sense the tension gripping his body. “They’ll find us here.” How could they not? The church was the only structure that provided cover. Surely, their pursuers would search all around it. Already, she could hear them getting closer.

“Max!” she whispered in panic as a lantern cut through the fog only about ten feet away.

When she heard Max’s quick intake of breath, she knew he saw the same thing. But he didn’t drag her off again, didn’t try to outrun them. He couldn’t move fast enough, not with her stumbling behind him—and she couldn’t improve on her speed. She wasn’t familiar enough with the cemetery.

“Go.” She tried to shove him away. “Leave me. You might be able to escape on your own. There’s no reason for us
both
to be caught.”

Although he released her, he didn’t abandon her as she suggested. She could hear him rustling around, moving with a sense of urgency, but she wasn’t sure what he was doing until she felt him lift her skirts and shove her up against the stone building.

“What
are you doing?” she whispered.

His hands palmed her bottom through the thin fabric of her drawers as his mouth moved down her neck. “What I wanted to do last night.”

She had expected this then, hoped for it—and he hadn’t even touched her.
Now
he wanted to kiss?

Abigail could feel the muscular contours of his bare chest, knew he had opened his coat and unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt. She thought his pants might be undone as well but couldn’t tell through all the layers of her skirt.

“Max!” She tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t allow it.

“Just play your part,” he whispered as his mouth reached her ear.

There was no time to say more, but she finally understood. He wanted her to act like a strumpet he had brought into the cemetery for a quick thrill.

There were enough desperate prostitutes walking the streets of Wapping and nearby villages that it wouldn’t be unusual to come upon such a scene in the middle of the night in some dark cove or alley—even up against a church in a cemetery. But the timing—that they would be so engaged while resurrectionists were snatching a body not far away—would be suspect.

Abby wasn’t sure they would be able to convince anyone, but it was their only chance. Dropping her head back to give him better access to the skin he was baring by pulling her dress down over one shoulder, she moaned. “That’s it, guv’na. Ye know ’ow to make a girl beg for more, that ye do.”

It was a risk to speak in a normal volume, but they couldn’t act as if they were hiding.

In spite of that logic, she felt her stomach muscles tense when the person carrying the lamp called out, “I found somethin’! I think it’s a man and a woman!”

When the lamp carrier came to investigate, Max lifted his head and scowled as if he didn’t appreciate the interruption. “Bugger off!” he snapped, but the interloper didn’t go. He hesitated, obviously suspicious.

“What’d you find?” Someone else stepped out of the fog to join him, someone who was surprisingly familiar to Abby . . .

Angling her head to see the newcomer more clearly, she recognized him as one of the three individuals who had been talking in the street when she got out of the hackney the night she first came to Wapping. It was the man who had taken her for a beggar.

The lamp owner shrugged. “Not sure. Just some bloke tupping a threepenny upright, I think. But she’s the prettiest whore I ever saw.”

The man who had tossed her a coin that first night took the light, lifted it to peer at her and nodded. “Aye, I’ve seen that woman before. She’s no resurrectionist—just another pinchcock.”

His endorsement gave Abigail hope. Still, that might not have been the end of it. From his expression, the first man was not entirely persuaded—but at that precise moment, another voice rang out from across the cemetery.

“Over here! Hurry!”

Other cries arose too: “There he is!” . . . “Is he alone? . . . “Looks like it.” . . . “Grab him!” . . . “He’s got Joseph’s body!” . . . “Cut him off.”

That seemed to be the deciding factor. The two who had come upon them rushed off to see what all the excitement was about.

Sagging in relief, Abigail buried her face in Max’s warm neck. “Thank God.”

He dropped her skirts, which was a separate relief, given the cold. “Are you all right?”

“I’ve never been called a . . . a pinchcock or a threepenny upright.”

“Granted those aren’t flattering terms, but at least they could tell you were pretty.”

His wry humor was somehow bolstering.

“Where have you met that man before?” he asked, leaning back to look at her face.

“We’ve never met—never been introduced, I mean. He saw me on the street when I was first trying to find Jack’s house and took me for a beggar.”

“I’m glad he remembered you. That helped.” He let go of her far too soon. Even in this situation, she enjoyed his touch, felt strangely bereft without it. Was all that ardor truly an act? It had flared up so quickly and felt real despite the deception behind it . . .

“Let’s go,” he said as he fastened his clothes. “Maybe we can slip out while they’re chasing Emmett.”

Abigail let him lead her from the church. She couldn’t wait to be safe and warm in their room at Farmer’s Landing, couldn’t wait to put this nasty business behind them. Maybe Max would kiss her again. Maybe he would do more. Her mind constantly returned to those few moments when he had used his mouth in such an expert fashion . . .

The commotion seemed to have drawn even the sentry from his post, if anyone had followed through and stood guard to begin with. But as they approached the arch that signified the entrance—and their escape—they discovered the cart bearing the corpse they had dug from its grave.

“They’ll be back,” Max promised when she hesitated. “Come on.”

“But we could take it, and they would never be the wiser,” she said.

“We don’t want it. Emmett will vouch for what happened here. Jack will think we did all we could.”

Abigail wanted Max to find Madeline. But maintaining his cover wasn’t
all
that mattered. Max didn’t understand how dire things were getting at Aldersgate. If the college went much longer without a specimen, they would have to close their doors. Abby saw no way of avoiding such an end. Her father’s sterling reputation had attracted a number of students, but anyone planning to apply for a license had to complete two full courses of anatomy
including dissection
. That meant those students would
have
to go elsewhere if they were serious about the future.

Although it had been only minutes earlier when she felt she couldn’t go through with the disinterment, the worst was over and she was back on the other side of the argument. She wished there was a better way to meet the needs of the college, but there simply wasn’t, not as the system was currently set up.

“Hurry!” Max gave her arm an insistent tug—but she resisted. Those who had discovered them were at the back of the cemetery. From what Abby could tell, they had Emmett trapped on the fence or in a tree.

“I can’t just . . . leave it here,” she told Max. “I owe it to Aldersgate.”

“I’ll give you the amount you had to short them. I told you I would, as soon as I can meet with my clerk. I can’t carry a lot of extra coin without giving myself away.”

“They need a specimen more than they need that last eight guineas—and as I told you before, it’s not your debt. You repaid what you took.” She tried to get behind the cart and push it herself, but it was heavy and slow-going on the turf. Not only that but she still couldn’t see anything except the arch, which appeared and disappeared in the patchy fog.

“You’ll get us caught,” Max hissed.

They had only a matter of minutes before the men who had flowed into the cemetery would be heading out of it again—likely dragging Emmett with them. She understood that. But she saw in this brief interlude a way to make amends for the loss she had caused the college.

“Please?” she said.

“Abby, there are
two
shovels in there. One man would not need two shovels. Once they have Emmett, they will remember the couple they saw up against the church and start looking for us.”

“They may not have noticed that there were two shovels—and they won’t see them if we take them as well as the body!”

“For the love of God,” Max snapped and nudged her aside so that he could push the cart himself.

Chapter 17

It was nearly three o’clock in the morning by the time they returned to Jack’s. Abby wondered if they would find Emmett there. She hoped so; she wanted him to be safe and knew Max did, too.

On the way back from Aldersgate, they had gone by the cemetery looking for him, in case he was lying hurt on the ground. But St. George’s had been dark and quiet; they couldn’t find any trace of him or anyone else.

Despite the late hour, no one was at Farmer’s Landing, either.

“Maybe he’ll show up by morning,” Max said, letting her know that he had been thinking the same thing.

Worried for Emmett but relieved that she didn’t have to face Jack, Abby went back to imagining Bransby or someone else discovering the cadaver she and Max had put in the cellar at the college. Bran would know she had brought it. After her letter, even her father would likely guess. Max had argued that it would only bring him back to get her. But, because she cared so much about the college’s survival, she had managed to convince him to let her do it.

Max wasn’t nearly as resistant to giving her what she wanted as he preferred her to believe, she decided. That was another reason she liked him. Maybe he didn’t realize it, but he liked her, too. She was convinced of that—and she was determined to make him acknowledge it.

“Are you hungry?” he said.

They had already eaten the sandwiches they had wrapped in paraffin paper and taken with them in the deep pockets of Max’s greatcoat, so she wasn’t hungry. She was tired—but as soon as he removed his waistcoat and cravat, she announced that she simply
had
to have a bath.

“
Now?
” he said.

Farmer’s Landing lacked many of the luxuries she had taken for granted at the college. She and Max sponge-bathed every day, but after participating in the disinterment of a corpse—what the washbowl offered wasn’t enough. And maybe if she took off all her clothes, it would stop Max from falling into bed and turning away from her again. He had made a comment at the church that led her to believe he wasn’t as indifferent as he pretended.

“I can’t wait another day,” she said.

“Fine. I’ll manage it.” He left and returned with a large barrel-shaped tin tub.

She frowned at the sight. “This is it?”

“It’s all we’ve got. Jack and the others don’t bother to bathe very often.”

“Which is why they smell the way they do,” she grumbled.

They made quick work of building a fire, but the water took time to heat.

“Tonight was pretty harrowing.” Max watched her in the flickering firelight as they waited. “Do you regret staying here instead of going with that constable?”

What had happened at the cemetery was frightening. But she had never felt more alive than she had the past several days. “No.”

“I hope you don’t regret it later.”

“Someone has to stop Jack,” she said.

“That someone doesn’t have to be you.”

She met his gaze. “You would rather be here alone?”

“Would you go home if I said yes?”

She braced herself. “If you truly meant it.”

He shoved a hand through his hair. “Abby, as much as I want you, you would be far better off with your father. It’s unconscionable for me to be so selfish—”

“It’s selfish if I want the same thing?”

An intense, hungry expression crossed his face as he stepped toward her. But then he closed his eyes, and his chest lifted as if he had just drawn a deep, bolstering breath. “The water must be ready,” he said and pivoted instead of closing the distance between them. “I’ll get it.”

“That’s it? You’re walking away right
now
? Can I be so alone in this . . . this terrible craving I have to feel you inside me?”

His eyes lowered to her breasts, and she felt a corresponding tingle. “For the sake of decency, I can’t.”

He seemed to be trying to convince himself as much as her. But it definitely wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “Make love to me while you can, Max.”

“Be careful what you ask for, Abby.”

Slowly, she unbuttoned her blouse. “Or . . .”

He stared as if mesmerized by the movement of her fingers. “You might just get it,” he said. “When all is said and done, I am not made of stone.”

“I don’t understand what’s stopping you.”

“And I can’t explain.” He tore himself away after that, and carried up bucket after bucket of hot water. Then he insisted Abby take her bath first and left the room.

Abby made a face at the closed door. “Coward!” she called after him.

When she didn’t receive a response, she assumed that would be the end of it and finished stripping off her clothes. But he startled her by throwing the door open so hard it banged against the inside wall.

“
What
did you call me?” he demanded.

She swallowed hard. “A c-coward.”

He certainly didn’t seem ready to run from anything now. Had she finally snapped his restraint? The naked lust in his eyes made her wonder. It was almost as frightening as it was exhilarating. She had never seen him like this.

“For trying to
protect
you?” He stalked closer, causing her to back up, against the wall. “For going to bed every night aching to touch you and yet resisting, all because I know you will be better off if I leave you alone?”

“For denying what you feel, what we
both
feel.”

“If you truly understood what I’m feeling, how desperate I am to feel you beneath me, you would be terrified.”

“Because . . .”

“My thoughts do not revolve around touching you gently or taking it slow, my little virgin.”

“Then take me as you want me. I would rather that, rather you approach me with honest emotion than constant denial.”

He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed, where he kissed her with such wild abandon, with such single-minded determination, she thought he would finally take her maidenhead. But he didn’t. He used his hands in the same way he had used his tongue—touched her until she was wracked, again and again, with the most exquisite pleasure. And she touched him, freely and openly, reveling in the beauty of his form and the smoothness of his skin as it slid against hers. Then they bathed each other and curled up in bed. Abby was satiated but as she fell asleep in his arms, she was also curious.

Why did he continue to deny them both?

Max woke with Abby’s soft bosom pressed up against his arm and the smell of her sex on his fingers. He breathed deeply, taking in that heady scent and remembering. She satisfied something inside him no other woman ever had. And yet, no matter how many times he brought her to orgasm, or achieved orgasm himself, it wasn’t enough. Apparently, there was no substitute for fully possessing her. Even now, he longed to roll her onto her back and press himself inside her, to feel her close around him, warm and tight, while she stared up at him with those beautiful eyes.

But he could not justify taking her virginity—not when she didn’t even know who he was. He had already gone much further than his conscience dictated. It would be different if he had any hope of continuing the relationship. But that was out of the question.

“Am I still a virgin?” she mumbled.

She was certainly unafraid to say whatever was on her mind. Not many women were so bold. But he liked her honesty. She bravely wore her heart on her sleeve. That was another reason he had to do all he could to protect her. He didn’t want to destroy her emotional courage. It was one of the things he loved about her.

“Through no small feat of my own, yes.”

“And that is supposed to be some sort of favor on your part?”

He smiled that she would sound so disappointed. “Someday you might thank me.”

“That day isn’t today.”

“You are not satisfied
yet
?”

“Are you offering me another substitute? Maybe I will be lucky enough to meet a man who will not be so stingy with me.”

Max could tell she was teasing, but he didn’t like the sound of another man taking what he so desperately craved. “Are you such a lusty wench?”

Her lips curved into a lazy smile. “Only when it comes to you.”

“I wish things could be different, Abby,” he admitted but a noise from downstairs broke into the conversation.

“Jack’s home,” he said.

Hearing the same noises, Abby propped herself up on her elbows. “Do you think Emmett is with him?”

“I hope so.”

“Max! Max, get down here,” Jack called. “And bring that bitch of yours. Emmett didn’t make it home last night.”

With a curse, Max rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. “I guess that answers our question.”

“He won’t be happy to hear what happened,” Abby said.

“He’s never happy regardless,” Max grumbled as he got out of bed.

Abby admired his body as he dressed, and grinned when he caught her looking.

“If you are trying to make me want to come back to bed, it’s working.”

She arched her eyebrows. “You are all talk.”

“If only I could do as I wished.”

“Someday I will have you so desperate for the feel of me that you will give in.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he said and headed down.

Abby couldn’t go quite yet. She hadn’t braided her hair before falling asleep with Max and needed to do so. After the night they had spent, it was tangled about her face.

When she did go below, she found Max leaning against one wall, Jack slouched at the table with a beer and Bill drinking with him.

“So you have no idea where he is,” Jack said.

Obviously, Max had already indicated that they had encountered some difficulties at St. George’s. “No.”

The glower on Jack’s face made Abigail uneasy. She purposely kept her mouth shut as he turned his tankard in a circle.

“
What
happened again?”

“I told you. We were spotted in the cemetery.”

“And?”

“Set upon,” Max replied.

Bill’s eyebrows shot up. “Hasn’t this been a week!”

Jack ignored his brother. “The police came after you?”

Max shook his head. “Not the police—friends and family of the deceased.”

“I’m not sure I understand how that happened.” Jack thrummed his fingers on the table. “Wasn’t Abby supposed to make sure the coast was clear?”

A fissure of alarm snaked through Abby. Jack hadn’t yet made it to bed. He was drunk, and looking for someone to blame. And she had a feeling
she
would be the scapegoat. She was certainly easier to blame than Max. Jack always picked on the weakest member of the group, and he perceived her as the weakest now that Tom was gone.

“Abby did her part,” Max said. “She was supposed to find out if there were any booby traps. She told us there weren’t, and she was right. Last night’s should have been an easy take. It was just bad luck that things went as they did.”

“We seem to be having a lot of bad luck since Abby came here,” Jack said.

“You’re the one who didn’t want to let her go,” Max pointed out and shoved off the wall to pour two beers.

Abby didn’t like the sound of that. But she could see why he would say it. She hoped it was only for Jack’s benefit. Max was such a contradiction. He wanted her—but something stood in the way.

Accepting the mug he handed to her, she sat next to Bill. Max acted as if he expected her to behave as any other member of the gang—and she instinctively understood she had to let Jack know she wasn’t that easily intimidated, or his abuse would continue.

“You seem happy enough about that decision, Max,” Jack said. “And it’s no wonder, since you’re the one who gets to sleep with her.”

Abby didn’t dare look at Max for fear he would act as if that held no value to him.

“This isn’t about who I sleep with,” he responded. “You’re upset about how it went at St. George’s, and you have every right to be. We’re all upset. Someone must have been looking out—”

Jack came to his feet. “So there
was
someone guarding the body.”

At the accusation in his tone, Max grew impatient. “Calm down.”

Hoping to distract Jack, to keep him from getting angry at Max’s tone, Abby came to her own defense. “Not specifically. Not that anyone talked about at the burial.”