Temptations of Anna Jacobs (17 page)

She shifted her body, snuggling closer to him, and felt his erection pressing against her leg. Meanwhile, his hand grew bolder, his palm flattening against her stomach. His other hand dipped lower to rest on her thigh. Her thigh, which now lay bare of the coverlet. When had that happened? Certainly she would have felt him inching the fabric away from her skin.

His moved from her thigh down her leg, coiling desire through her veins. She longed to open herself to him. To fall onto her back and part her legs and urge him to come to her. But she held her ground. If he wanted her, he would ask for what he desired. She would not deny him.

He leaned over her and kissed her then. This was not a kiss that they’d shared before. Tonight he devoured her. His lips were hot and hard against her own, and when his tongue invaded her mouth, she met him stroke for stroke. She clung to his firm shoulders, loving the play of the muscles beneath her fingers.

He took with his kiss, demanded, and her body seemed to react on its own. Something was definitely happening inside of her.

And that was the last coherent thought Anna had as Drew advanced the seduction. She vaguely noticed when he removed the remaining covers between them. But then he continued to kiss her, his hard body melding against hers, and she forgot everything else. She was no longer cold, the gooseflesh had long since disappeared and, in its place, heat and fire skimmed across her skin.

His warm palm against her waist made her skin feel alive, as if her very flesh shimmered with sensation. His other hand slid up her stomach to cup her breast. Already her nipples were hard, tight with need. Moisture pooled between her legs, but she lay still. She wanted to hear that he wanted her.

His hand at her breast cupped and kneaded the tender flesh. He tweaked her nipple, rolling it between his fingers. She arched into him. He nibbled at her shoulder, and pressed his erection against her sex, but he made no move to enter her. She knew precisely how it worked, the coupling between a man and a woman. And she knew that no matter how delicious the current sensations he elicited, there was more to come.

His hand slid from her waist down the front of her body. His fingers threaded through the curls at the juncture of her thighs, one fingertip brushing across the tender bud hidden within her folds. She parted her legs.

Drew pulled her to him and kissed her again, this time slower and with more tenderness. The hairs along his legs and torso tickled her own flesh every time he moved over her.

His kisses continued. And desire continued to soar through her body. So new were the experiences that Anna reveled in each one, every touch, every breath, every kiss.

He continued to move his hand over her sex. As if he’d shot electricity through her body, jolts of pleasure tingled over her. She jerked beneath this touch. But he continued his exploration until he’d plunged a finger inside her. She cried out again.

He loomed over her—large, handsome and passionate. She could not see the features of his face, but knew his amber eyes would have darkened a shade. His lips brushed across hers. His tongue plunged between her teeth in a greedy and hot kiss. She held nothing back as she kissed him in return, cupping his face in her hands. They continued kissing, giving and taking from one another. His hands roamed all over her body, caressing and tantalizing wherever they touched.

His mouth left hers, then covered the tip of her breast. Hot and wet, he suckled until she thought she would go mad with desire. But he gave her no relief. Instead he moved to the other breast to continue his sweet torture.

Anna grabbed handfuls of the coverlets and clenched them at her sides. He kissed his way down her torso, barely stopping over the center of her so that she could feel the hint of his warm breath. She shivered. Then his hot mouth was on her thigh, nibbling and kissing the tender flesh. One, then the other, he kissed and teased. She bucked against the bed, knowing she needed relief and knowing only he could give it to her.

Her body was ready for him, she knew that. Thrills shimmied through her stomach when she felt him, hard and warm, settled between her thighs. Instinctively she moved her legs, pulling them up and then wrapping them around his body.

“Make love to me,” she whispered.

“I can’t.” He braced himself up on his arms so that he looked down at her. The spiraling climax that she knew had been building inside of her dissolved. “I want to—”

“Then do it. I want you to.” She tightened her legs, tried to pull him to her.

“There are things you don’t know about me, Anna,” Drew said.

“I’m certain there are things you don’t know about me, too.”

“No, I mean important things. Information about me that will likely change the way you see me.”

“That is doubtful. Unless you truly did kill those girls,” she said in jest.

“I’m being quite serious, Anna.” Drew’s features had darkened and his jaw ticked with tiny pulses as he clenched and relaxed his muscles.

“Are you married?” she asked.

“What? No, of course not.” He moved off of her, sat on the edge of the bed. “You know me as the third-born son to the Duke of Carrington, and that is mostly true, but my mother is not the Dowager Duchess.” He leveled his gaze on her. “Anna, I’m a bastard.”

She was quiet for a moment, waiting for him to reveal whatever else he wanted to tell her. But he said nothing more.

“Is that all?” she asked.

He turned to face her. “Is that not enough?”

“It doesn’t change anything, Drew. I care not a whit who your parents were.” She swallowed hard. “I want you, not your lineage.”

“Anna, it changes everything. I can never marry you. With this”—he motioned to the bed—“I would destroy your reputation.”

She shook her head. “We’ve already established that my reputation means very little. I had not expected to find anyone to marry me. No one has ever shown any interest. I have been perfectly content to finish medical school, become a doctor and live alone. And for the record, I can’t marry the son of a duke. It would take up far too much time away from my medical practice.”

“Anna, I am being quite serious.”

“I know you are. I also want you to know that this doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

He was silent for a moment. “What you feel for me is fleeting. Nothing more than camaraderie and physical desire. It will fade. You shall forget about me when this investigation is over. Then you can find a nice man to marry.”

“What if I don’t want anyone else?”

H
er question went unanswered.

A bastard? What the devil was he talking about? He was the son of the late Duke of Carrington, brother to the current. She’d heard plenty about Drew, rumors and such, but never anything about him being a bastard. As far as she knew his birthright had never been questioned. It was a peculiar thing to say and, if he was being dishonest, it was the very worst excuse to get out of touching her. He could have simply said that he didn’t want her. It would have stung, but perhaps not as much as him making up an excuse to get away from her. But it was not like Drew to be dishonest, and she’d seen, firsthand, how his
mother
treated him.

The very worst part about all of this, though, was the fact that she’d had the unfortunate realization that she had already fallen in love with Drew Foster. He was not the sort of man her mother would have wished for her, but certainly her matriarch would be pleased that Anna was finally showing an interest in a man.

He’d lain back down on the bed, but far enough away that no part of his body touched hers. His arms were bracketed under his head, providing him with a makeshift pillow, and as best she could tell, he’d closed his eyes. He was done talking, and by all indications, he was done with her for the night.

But she wanted him. Her body still hummed with desire and pleasure from the way he’d touched her. His hands and mouth had done devilish things to her. Once the investigation was over, they would go their separate ways. She knew that now and she tried desperately to not allow the sadness at that thought to swallow her whole.

She could manage missing Drew when this was over, but tonight, she wanted him. All of him. And she wanted to give him all of her. Certainly he could allow her to bestow her virtue upon the man of her choice. It was hers to give. So without another thought she rolled onto him. She kissed his chest, his neck, his jawline.

“This is what I want, dammit,” she said. “You are who I want. I’m not asking for marriage or anything more than this night, in this bed.”

He groaned, ran his hands over her back. She kissed him, held nothing back, to show him precisely how much she wanted him. She hadn’t covered herself again, so she let her body rub against him.

“Christ, Anna, there’s only so much temptation a man can take.”

With one swift movement he rolled them over. He groaned, then thrust into her body. There was a pinch of pain as her body took him in, but as he began to move, the delicious sensations started to build. He nibbled at her neck and her collarbone as he moved within her, and she kept her legs where they were, tightened around his waist. Over and over, he pushed in and out, and the pleasure built and built until she thought she would go mad from it. He slipped his finger in between them, but this time he found the nub hidden between her folds.

She sucked in a breath as he ran his finger against her, all the while thrusting.
Oh. Oh. Yes.
Her breathing was labored, and perspiration slid between her breasts and down her neck.

And then she was lost. His finger flicked one more time, and pleasure exploded within her, creating wave after wave of sensations she’d never felt before. Pleasure fractured inside of her, exploding from her center and rocketing down all of her limbs. She threaded her fingers through his hair and held on as he took her from one height to another.

Oh yes!

Then she felt Drew’s release as he fell onto her. Their labored breathing was the only sound. He rolled off of her and pulled her tight against his body, his chest against her back. He placed a gentle kiss on her shoulder.

She smiled. No matter what happened once they returned to London, she’d always have this night.

It
was time to return to London. That fool, his student, was nothing more than an idiot. The Ripper had returned because it was time for the real lessons to begin. Damned fool had carved a message in the whore’s chest. The police would think the message for them, but the Ripper knew the truth. That bastard was trying to take credit for Jack’s work. That simply would not do. He was far too sloppy, too uncontrolled to take the fall for Jack the Ripper.

The carriage rolled down the familiar streets and he knew that he was home. His injury had healed, for the most part, though the arm still ached him when the weather became too damp, which was all the bloody time in Scotland.

The dark streets outside his carriage window passed by with familiar scenes. Vendor carts with people selling their wares: baked breads, roasted meats, hand-carved trinkets. Men with hats and canes walking down the sidewalk. Carriages and horses clip-clopping down the street. This was his London. And it was time to reclaim it.

It wasn’t time to find a whore yet. It was far too early in the evening; too many potential witnesses were on the street. But it would be time soon. He’d wait things out in one of the pubs. Listen to the talk, hear what people were saying about his student.

When the Ripper stepped into the pub he’d chosen, he took a table against the wall. The room was dark, so it was easy to blend in. The barmaid came over to him and took his order, but the bitch knew better than to flirt with him. He’d been here before and he’d told her not to waste such pathetic efforts on him. He sipped the foul ale for the better part of an hour, listening to the people around him talk. A few mentioned the recent murders and were foolish enough to believe they were by his hand.

Imagine Jack the Ripper being that slipshod, that crude. It was ridiculous.

When he’d waited long enough, he dropped some coins on the table, then left the pub. It was time to find the whore. He’d need to be patient, pick the right one. If he were to teach his student a lesson, then the Ripper needed to be able to take his time. Spend some time cutting her just right.

In order to find the right one, he walked the darkened streets for the better part of an hour. And then he found her, standing in the doorway of her flat at the end of Barker Street. He held out a handful of coin and she opened the door behind her and gave him entrance. It was a tiny room, with only a wardrobe and a bed in the corner. One lantern burned on a makeshift bedside table. She was tidy, he’d give her that. But a whore was a whore—isn’t that what his father had always said?

She came up to him and rubbed her hands up his chest, tried to remove his greatcoat, but he would have none of it. He shoved her down on the bed and her eyes widened, then she gave him a naughty smile.

“You like it rough, then?” she asked. She tilted her neck back, closed her eyes. “Do your worst.”

They were the last words she said to him. His blade sliced into her throat as he cut into her. Her eyes never reopened. Her blood spattered up to the ceiling, on the walls around her, on the paper she had covering the tiny window, across his face. But there would be time to clean himself up.

He rarely knew his girls’ names until their stories made it into the newspapers. So until then she would merely be known as the girl from Barker Street. He cut off her dress, ripped off her worn wool stockings until she lay on the bed bloody and naked. Then he cut her. Everywhere.

When he was done with her no one would recognize her. But they’d know who’d done this. They’d know that the Ripper was finally back.

Dre
w and Anna returned to London the following day. Neither had discussed their lovemaking, and he hadn’t touched her again. Being with her had been more than he’d imagined. She was as passionate and determined in her lovemaking as she was outside of the bedroom. He’d never had a chance at resisting her.

He knew what he had to do and he hated it for her, but marriage was the only option. He refused to bed her and then desert her. Not only that, but certainly she knew that she could already be carrying his child. He might be a bastard by birth, but he wouldn’t behave as such. He did have a sense of honor. And no child of his would ever be born outside of the confines of marriage.

But as it turned out, his relationship with Anna would have to wait.

While Drew was out of London, Sergeant Richter had stopped coming into work. He’d claimed he was sick with an infection from his injury. Jeffries thought nothing of it, but Drew knew it was time to go and pay the man a visit, check on his health and then see about the witness that had gone to the police the night Richter was wounded.

That night the man, a Benjamin Cummins, had given the constable his statement and then he’d fled as soon as the crowd had grown. Since then other officers had tried to locate Mr. Cummins, but to no avail. Drew was hoping Richter would be able to assist with that.

The landlord opened the door to Drew’s knock. “May I help you?” she asked. She was an older woman who wore a soft cotton cap and a matching apron. She frowned at him.

“Inspector Drew Foster,” he said with a nod of his head. “I’d like to speak with Mr. James Richter. I’m told he resides in one of the rooms here.”

“Strange bird, that one,” she said. “This way.” She motioned, then turned and started up the stairs. “He’s up on the third floor.”

They climbed the first two flights in silence, though the woman’s keys jingled with every step.

“He works for you, does he?” she asked.

“Not precisely, but he does work for the Metropolitan Police.”

“Always said he worked for the police, but I can’t say I ever believed him. Guess he wasn’t lying after all.”

“He’s assisting me in an investigation.” At least the man thought he was. But Drew knew something was not completely correct with him.

The housekeeper rapped her knuckles on the door. “Mr. Richter, you have a visitor.”

There was no answer. No sound. Again she knocked and called and again came no answer.

“Would you mind it I went in to see if I could find his notes?” Drew asked. “We were supposed to meet earlier and I couldn’t make the arranged time. It would truly be a big help to me and to your city.” She had no obligation to give him entrance, but he’d found that if he put on the charm women often had difficulty telling him no. The landlady smiled at him and nodded.

“I don’t want to interfere in any official investigation.” She fumbled through her keys until she found the right now, then unlocked the door. “Do you need anything else?”

Drew smiled at her. “No, but I’ll certainly let you know if I do. Thank you.” After she walked off, Drew entered the room.

It was modest-sized room with a mattress on the floor in the corner, a leather chair by the window and a small desk.

The small writing table held several notebooks, and next to those sat a sizable pile of what appeared to be articles cut from the newspapers. One after the other featured grizzly headlines about sliced-up prostitutes and women slain. Every Jack the Ripper victim had more than one article covering their gruesome demise with photographs. The accompanying notebooks held notes about the killings and his theories with some ridiculous suspects, including the prime minister. Then several diatribes about him being rejected by the detective division again and again.

Drew continued to read through the notebooks. It would seem that Sergeant Richter had been disgruntled with the Metropolitan Police for quite some time and blamed them for all kinds of wrongs in his life.

Pain slammed through the back of Drew’s skull and he fell forward, hit the edge of the table, then crumbled to the floor. He tried to roll over to see his assailant, but the darkness pulled at him and his eyes fluttered shut.

***

Dre
w opened his eyes and pain seared his scalp. He had no idea how long he’d been out, but he suspected Richter was long gone. Drew shifted, reached up and felt his forehead. His fingers came away covered in blood. He squinted against the pain and pulled himself to his feet. The room swayed and he gripped the back of the chair to steady himself. When his eyes focused on the table he could clearly see that all of the notebooks and newspaper clippings were gone.

Evidently it had been Richter that had whacked him over the head. Drew hadn’t thought it would be anyone else, but this certainly confirmed it. The man had returned and taken the evidence with him. Blood dripped down Drew’s eye and onto his cheek. And damnation but it hurt, the pain coming in waves that made him nauseated.

He ripped a strip from his sleeve and blotted at his forehead. It was unlikely Richter would return anytime soon so Drew should make the most of his time here. But he’d have to do it quickly, as it was becoming increasingly obvious that he was going to need stitches.

***

Ann
a sat in the study reading. She’d returned from her overnight trip to Warwickshire a different woman. Her mother had been so relieved to see her she’d wept. And then she’d told her that she had agreed to marry Doctor Harrison. Anna was happy for her mother, quite happy, but it hurt that it seemed that everyone else was fit for marriage. Everyone but Anna.

She’d told Drew she wasn’t looking for promises of a future. And she meant that. Still she longed for one, with him. She couldn’t deny that.

A commotion came from the corridor, with voices rising. She set her book aside and stepped into the hall. The housekeeper, Mrs. Brooks, stood blocking Drew’s entrance into the house, her fists on her formidable hips.

“What is going on?” Anna demanded.

“This man is insistent on seeing you, Lady Annabelle, but he has no calling card and he’s bleeding all over the front stoop,” Mrs. Brooks said.

“Bleeding?” Her heart pounded. She rushed forward, stepped around the housekeeper and pulled Drew inside. “He is a friend, Mrs. Brooks.” Blood was caked on Drew’s head and had dripped down into his eyes and all down his neck, not to mention having dried beneath his fingernails. She faced the housekeeper. “I shall need a basin with water and some cleaning cloths, as well as my sewing kit.” She led Drew into the parlor. “What happened?”

“Pub brawl,” he said with a quirk of his lips.

“I am quite serious, Drew Foster. This is no time for jests. Who did this to you?”

Mrs. Brooks bustled in with a rolling tea cart filled with the requested supplies. Anna immediately went to cleaning his wound to check the extent of the damage. “You’re definitely going to need to be stitched up.”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “That’s why I came here. Sorry I’m getting blood all over your mother’s rug.”

Her heart flipped. He’d come here because he’d trusted her to tend to his injury.

Compose yourself.

The water in the basin turned a muddy red as she rinsed the cloth and again wiped at his wound. “You have one here on the front of your head and one on the back. The one on the back has quite the lump growing, but the skin is barely ruptured. Who attacked you?”

“I went to Sergeant Richter’s house. I wanted to question him again about the witness that saved him the night of the last Ripper attack,” Drew said. “He wasn’t there, and the landlady let me in. I was searching his desk, and I found clippings from the newspapers about all of the Ripper victims. There were also journals he’d written in, mostly complaints about being overlooked for promotion to the detective division.”

He flinched when she began cleaning the wound in the back. “Sorry.” She gentled her touch.

“I found something else. After I came to. He was gone, as were the clippings and journals. But—” he winced.

“Shh, let’s get you stitched up and then we can talk.” Once the wounds were cleaned, she could clearly see that the one on his forehead would indeed require stitches, but the one on the back of his head would need merely a poultice to reduce the swelling.

She stood and went over to the cabinet and opened the door to retrieve the lady’s decanter she knew her mother kept in there for special occasions. She took several deep breaths. This would be the second time she’d had to suture him, but now she knew him. She eyed the decanter, then retrieved it. She knew this would make the whole ordeal even more painful for him.

“I have to disinfect your injuries.” She met his gaze. “I apologize.” Any other patient and she’d likely offer them a sip of the drink to lesson the pain, but she knew better than to ask Drew. First she poured an amount over the wound at the back of his head.

He swore, then clenched his jaw.

“Can you lean your head back over the chair?” she asked. Once he had his head tilted back, she poured the brandy over his wound. He squeezed his eyes shut. Regardless of the angle of his head, the liquor slid down his face. “Drew, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. When it was done she quickly wiped his face, making sure to wipe off his mouth first.

He said nothing, but kept his jaw set. She wanted to ask more about what he’d found, but she’d told him to wait until she was done with his sutures. Of course that had been before she’d poured brandy all over his head. It was a battle for him and she’d . . . no, she’d done precisely what she’d had to do. It would ward off infection, and at the moment, that was more important than his struggle.

He cracked one eye and she steadied the needle. “You think you can get those stitches straight?”

“I’d kick you if you weren’t already in pain.”

He grinned and closed his eyes. “Have at it, love.”

At the sound of the endearment, Anna’s heart squeezed. Oh that it were true, that he called her love because he meant it, because he loved her.

She quickly stitched him up, being as gentle as she could, then smeared a salve over both injuries. “Ice would really help this one,” she said, barely touching the knot on the back of his head. “I don’t think we can get any of that, though.” She finally took a seat across from him, pulling her chair close so she could be near him. “How are you feeling?”

“Like hell. Like I want a bloody drink.” He swore. “I suppose I’ll always crave it.”

“The thorn in your side,” she offered.

He inclined his head. “And what is your thorn, dear Annabelle?”

Him.

Wanting him. Loving him and knowing he’d not love her in return. Instead she gave him a playful smile. “I’m not certain.”

He reached up to touch his forehead, but stopped. “Thank you. I knew I’d be in good hands.”

“My pleasure. And I did the sutures in an interesting pattern so you’d have a fascinating scar. Men enjoy swapping such stories, I hear.”

He grinned. “So thoughtful of you.”

“You were going to tell me what it was you found in Richter’s apartments.”

“Yes. I found the copy of Dante’s
Inferno
he’s been using in his correspondence with the Ripper.”

“That’s proof, then, that he’s the second killer?”

“Indeed. I need to get to the yard and tell Jeffries and this time they’ll have to believe me. But I knew I needed medical assistance first.”

“Of course.” She wiped her hands on her skirts. She wasn’t ready for him to go. Not when he’d been injured. Richter could have killed Drew.

She hadn’t realized she’d started to cry until he wiped the tears off her cheeks.

“Why so sad?” He looked so handsome, even with the swelling and the stitches.

“He could have killed you,” she whispered.

He pulled her to him. Shushed her fears. “I’m here, Anna, I’m all right.”

How had people ever believed him a killer? He was so gentle, so kind and clever. Granted, she’d never seen him inebriated, but she had a hard time believing he could ever be anything but the Drew she had come to love.

He leaned in, touching his forehead to hers, and they stood that way for several breaths. “This isn’t over.” Then he tilted her chin up, gave her a quick, but heated, kiss and turned to go.

***

Drew left Anna’s and headed directly to the Victorian Embankment. He had much information to share with Jeffries, and he wasn’t even certain the man would believe him. This time, though, he’d brought with him a letter that Simon had sent detailing his theory of the two killers based on the correspondence he’d discovered. If Simon couldn’t convince them, no one could.

But despite all of these new leads in the Ripper case, all Drew could think of was Anna.

He wanted her; there was no denying that. But more than the physical desire, he wanted to be with her, spend time with her. That kind of desire he was unfamiliar with. He’d experienced lust before, but this went beyond that. He cared about her and it scared the hell out of him, especially since she was to be his wife.

The fact of the matter was he didn’t deserve Anna. She was everything he was not. Yes, he’d been born on the wrong side of the blanket, but no one knew that. He hadn’t been raised in such a way. He’d been granted the same privileges that his brothers had received. Though his mother had made her dislike for him known his entire life, he hadn’t received any other poor treatment. No one had to know, and it wouldn’t tarnish Anna and her family to have her be his wife. He couldn’t bear the thought of anyone mistreating her. He made a mental note to make certain she never crossed paths with his mother again.

He’d been weak, wallowing in his self-pity and loathing, and he’d lost himself in drink and women for the better part of three years. All the while Anna, simply because of her sex, was seen as less than desirable, seen as
incapable in many ways. Yet despite all of that, she’d ignored convention as well as her own mother’s wishes and gone to medical school. And she excelled. Doctor Harrison had told him that the day Drew had sought her out in class. Her professor had said he’d never taught anyone better.