Passion Over Time (6 page)

Picking up his coat, he didn’t glance her way. “Don’t worry, he’s discreet.”

“You’re
leaving
?”

“Something pressing has come up.” At the washstand mirror, he picked up a silver-backed brush. In the reflection, the expression on his hard, angular face betrayed not one trace of the razor sharp passion of a moment ago. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

That last wasn’t a question. It was a command.

Her mouth fell open and she drew her spine straight. “I will not be spoken to in that manner.”

Smoothing his coal-black hair, he paused. Silver eyes met hers in the mirror. “What manner?”

“As if I were one of your lackeys, at your beck and call.”

“I merely expressed that I would like to see you again tomorrow.”

“I can’t come back until Saturday.”

He laid down his brush. “Why the devil not?”

“Because my brother thinks I am at Mrs. Bickle’s today, but I pled off work because my sister is ill. I work Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. I can only come on those days. Elsewise I cannot come here at all.”

His black brows drew together sharply and a deep vertical line showed between them. With jerking motions, he tied his cravat into a simple knot. “Then I suppose it must suffice.”

“Well, aren’t you too kind.”

He turned to face her. “Why the shrewish tone?”

“I don’t care for your terseness.”

“Madam, I’ve no time for this now. We’ll discuss it on Saturday.”

* * * *

As far as Beth was concerned, it was over between them. No one spoke to her as if she were some servile underling. Certainly not a temporary lover. That night, when the chores were done and the last of her nieces and nephews put to bed, she chased away her ire with a generous mug of rum and slept like the dead.

However, dusk settled uneasily on Friday, the air humid and heavy with an impending storm. Sultry and sweaty, she spent the night tossing and twisting, reliving the moment when Grey had held himself within her until the future of her sanity seemed to hinge on recapturing it in the flesh.

Morning found her tired and cross. By evening, it took all her concentration to project an outward expression of calm as her fingers twinkled over the keys at Mrs Bickle's. Inwardly, she was a mass of seething emotion. And to her shame, part of it was regret that she had not gone to meet with Sexton.

Some disappointment, too.

Well, she was just going to have to get over her dejection. She wasn’t going to meet with any man who thought he could speak to her as Sexton had done. And just leaving like that, likely on some middling matter of business—what a monumental insult!

No, Sexton had had his time with her and now that was over. In any case, she’d risked enough on his account. He was damned lucky to have had more than one assignation as it was.

Early supper guests trickled into Mrs. Bickle’s inn. The dining hall would be open until ten and her shoulders began to ache in anticipation of a long evening.

A peculiar prickling restlessness centered on her navel. Instinctively, she looked up to the entrance. Silver eyes fixed on her like a hawk spotting its prey. Lamplight threw his angular cheekbones and patrician nose into stark relief.

She sucked in her breath.

God, it was
him
.

Here.

How dare he invade her working life? How stupid of her to have told him where she played for hire. Resisting the urge to pound the piano keys, she forced her expression to be pleasant, a little distant, as though he were just another customer.

As though all her senses weren’t singing an aria.

His mouth tightened and his eyes flared, briefly. He walked toward her, his broad-shouldered, powerful body moving with animal grace.

Her heart hammered beneath her breast as he stopped in front of the piano. His stare pierced her for the space of several fierce, erratic heartbeats.

Between them, the air crackled with raw sexuality. Her whole body tensed, as if waiting for the sparks to ignite.

Then he turned and left.

She ought to have been relieved. But her stomach sank with cold disappointment.

It didn’t matter.

He
didn’t matter.

He had just been another amusement, another feather in her bonnet. A handsome, sensual, incredibly skilled feather. But she could walk away from him the moment she chose to. As she already had.

She glanced down and something caught her eye. In her tip jar, atop the coins and a few dollars were three crisp hundred-dollar bills.

Jarring notes clashed as her fingers faltered on the keys.

How dare he!

She jolted to her feet and jammed her hand into the jar, crushing the bills into her hand, then dashed after his departing back.

Once in the lobby, she caught up to him and grabbed his arm and gave it a fierce tug.

He whirled on her, then glowered down, his expression fierce.

The heat of anger made her face feel aflame. She could feel her nostrils flaring as her breaths forced themselves out and drew into her lungs, hard and ragged.

Livid!
She had never been so livid in her entire life!

His expression went cold. His gaze turned to silvery ice.

From his superbly tailored jacket of Federal blue wool and intricately tied cravat to his imperiously jutting jaw, he reeked of power and self-assurance.

And yes, he was absolutely gorgeous. Her pulse began to race all the harder as her nipples tightened. Desire twisted down deep through her belly, increasing her ire a hundred-fold. It wasn’t fair for him to have such an effect on her, whilst he stood there so cool and unaffected.

Oh, it wasn’t fair at all!

Her fist tightened on the bills. Too incensed to heed the two merchant-class gentlemen who waited about the lobby, she hurled the crushed bills to his chest. They fluttered to the floor about his fine Hessian boots.

She looked up and met his glacial gaze. Her blood went frigid. She lifted her chin and allowed her lip to curl up, ever so slightly.

Nothing special.

He was nothing special.

Just another wealthy man who thought he could buy her time and her loyalty, while giving her nothing real of himself.

She wasn’t for sale.

What she gave, she gave for her own enjoyment. She decided when, where, and for how long.

“You insult me,” she said.

His eyes flickered over her coolly. “Three hundred dollars isn’t an insult. Twenty-five would have been an insult.”

Her brows snapped together. “What does twenty-five dollars have to do with anything?”

“It’s the going rate for a high-flier.” His tone was cool, his expression unconcerned.

Heat suffused her face and rage choked her. She fisted her hands at her sides. “I. Am. Not. A. Whore.”

“It’s a gift,” he said calmly.

“A gift for what?”

“I never end a liaison without a gift.”

Oh, but ending their liaison wasn’t his decision to make.

She always ended all her
affaires
.

Always.

And she had yet to show just how skilled she was. How rare she was. Maybe one more afternoon would leave him burning all the hotter for her when he left Philadelphia. It was important. She didn’t want him to ever forget her. Never.

Forcing a throaty laugh, she touched his left lapel, stroking the expensive  cloth sensually. “Who says our liaison is over?”

His eyes flickered over her, hard as flint. “It’s simple logic. You didn’t show today and I am soon returning home.”

His words were like ballast in her stomach. He was leaving.

Leaving.

And he seemed so calm about it. But he couldn’t be indifferent. A burning lump formed in her throat. He couldn’t—

But what about—the other afternoon, they hadn’t… not completely.

Surely he wouldn’t leave with such monumental unfinished business between them!

That lump in her throat rapidly enlarged and she had to swallow several times. Hiding her sudden emotional turmoil, she offered him a slow, seductive smile. “I had planned to visit you on Sunday, but if this is what you—”

His jaw tightened, the skin pulling taut over his cheekbones. He grasped her wrist and thrust her hand off his lapel.

A wave of excitement tore through her. She felt her face flush with it. Her belly quaked.

“Don’t toy with me, Beth.” He spoke tightly. Grittily.

Relief flooded her.  Oh, thank God. He was
not
so indifferent after all. A surge of elation sent her heart’s beat hastening. Put flutters into her stomach. She veiled her eyes, trying to conceal the stab of satisfaction that made her knees weak. Triumph. “I am not toying with you. I’ll find some excuse to give my family. I’ll try to come.”

She stole a peek at him through her lashes.

He regarded her in stony silence.

The rosy glow of her triumph began to fade. She dropped her mouth open, exaggerating her dismay. “Do you not believe me?”

“Oh, I’d like to believe you. But your past pattern works against you.”

So he was still angry about her not meeting with him for those two weeks. It had mattered to him? She mattered to him? Her heart took a hopeful little leap. It made her angry with herself. So pathetic. “I couldn’t help that. I told you.”

A cynical smile quirked his lips. “I think you’re very cunning and clever. I think you do pretty much whatever you choose to do.”

“Well, it is not like that. But I do want to see you.” She was going to give him the afternoon of a lifetime and he would spend the rest of his days remembering her talented mouth.

Remembering
her
.

She reached for his other hand, met his cold, hard gaze and forced a treasure trove of sexual promises into her smile.

His eyes darkened to smoke and held her gaze as he slowly lifted her hand and pressed it to his hard, warm lips. Currents of need traveled up her arm and electrified her with desire.

“Then I’ll see you at eleven,” he said.

She suppressed a small shiver of anticipation and nodded. They stood staring at each other for several moments. She knew the naked hunger in his eyes mirrored her own.

Finally, his face eased into a grin. “You damn well better show.”

Then he released her hand and turned and left. As he departed, she watched his broad-shouldered back with a suddenly aching throat. How would she ever bear the wait until tomorrow? She swallowed tightly.

He has the power to break your heart apart. You better keep your head, Beth.

* * * *

A note greeted Beth on the sideboard in Grey’s room. His bold scrawl saying he would back around two. Apparently, he’d found something more interesting to attend to. Her spirits crashed to the floor.

How pathetic. Had she really expected him to be waiting eagerly?

Yes, apparently so.

Well, why shouldn’t she have expected that? Her own body was trembling with anticipation. It wasn’t fair that she burned for him when he seemed able to turn his desire for her on and off at will.

Heavens, she was behaving like a besotted ninny. She tossed the note aside then poured herself a generous glass of wine and quaffed it. Just one glass. That’s all she would take for she hadn’t eaten any breakfast. She’d been far too excited to eat.

She glanced at the clock. A quarter of twelve. She tapped her fingers on the sideboard. What the devil was she supposed to do until two? She looked around, picked up a book off the table and read the title page.
The New American Practical Navigator.

She flipped through the pages of numerical tables and grimaced. Trust a merchant’s only reading material to be something so dry.

The door jiggled, breaking the silence.

She dropped the book and whirled to look at the door. A folded note appeared in between it and the frame. Frantic knocking ensued. She dashed over. The knocking ceased and the sound of retreating footfalls echoed in the corridor outside. She eased the door open and the letter fell. Down the corridor, a boy scurried away. How had he got past the clerk?

She bent and picked up the folded paper then closed the door.

A strong scent of rose and musk rose from the opened note. Beth raised her brows and took in the flourishing, dramatic feminine script.

Since I haven’t seen or heard from you, I think it only fair you let me know if I have fallen out of favor.

             
Your faithful,

          
M

Beth’s hand went limp and the note fluttered to the floor.

I think it only fair you let me know if I have fallen out of favor…