Bodice Ripper

He snorted, and then got control of himself and started working his way inside her. She could feel a stretching sensation, more and more, and she winced to try to shrug off the pain—and then he was inside her, and moving.

Deep down in her, something started setting off fireworks in her mind, spreading out from her sex to the rest of her body. The want was deep and refused to be ignored, and she didn't want to ignore it.

He moved inside her, and she clutched at him, unable to deal with the sensations, until with a deep thrust she felt another warmth spreading inside her. She could feel his weight on her, but it was good. Comforting.

She wasn't sure what was going to happen next, how they were going to deal with her family troubles, or with their relationship.

But that was later. Right now, she was happy with what she had.

16

James

For a moment, James Poole couldn't explain the weight on his arm. He was back home. That much was certain, but he lived alone, and no animals to lay in his bed, either.

Then his mind came back to him and he remembered. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and saw the woman in his arms. She smiled at him and pressed her lips into his, and he knew that he had made a big mistake. That he didn't regret it only made it worse.

He'd gone and done it, now. Her life, for all intents and purposes, was now well and truly over. She wouldn't have any hope of marriage prospects with her innocence compromised. He pulled her closer and kissed her back.

"Did you sleep well," he said softly.

He could see that she was holding something back when she nodded, but he didn't press her on it. He rolled onto his back, and for a moment he thought about picking up where they'd left off. But he had work to do.

"Good." The words came out as a hoarse whisper.

He couldn't think straight with her around, and the more time that passed the more it was becoming clear that he needed to be at his best. He was beginning to realize that walking away from her wasn't an option any more.

That meant that he needed to find some way to make up for his inability to think clearly. Mary was smart as a whip, even if she tried to hide everything from him. He smiled and sat up.

"Come on. Let's get dressed." He was already pulling his trousers back on as he said it. "I'm finished with business in London, and we need to get back to the Geis estate to get back to work."

It wasn't true. He could feel the letter on his coffee table drawing his attention like a magnet. He needed to pay for his father's hospital bills, and he needed to do it now, but it would need to wait. He didn't have time now, and as much as it surprised him, he had more important things to address.

He could see doubt on Mary's face, and he pursed his lips. It didn't matter what she knew or thought, as long as she let him do what he had to do. As her face changed, he knew it was too much to hope for.

"You've got a letter," she said. She didn't go on, but she didn't have to.

His face pinched together, and for a moment he struggled with a flash of anger. Then he put it away and his face blanked back over.

"That's not important right now," he hissed.

And it was true. He'd gotten involved in something bigger than him, in a pensioner's hospital bed. Even if that pensioner was the man who'd raised him, who'd given nearly everything for him.

It hurt to admit it to himself, but right now there was nothing anyone could do. He'd been thinking about it a lot, lately—even with all the distractions that dogged him constantly, it seemed as if there was always the implication hanging over his head.

If there was anything he could do to change it, then he would move heaven and earth to do it, but there wasn't. He shut his mouth tight.

"James, he's your—"

"I know who he is!" He shouted. "I know! What do you think this has all been about? Why do you think I came to your house?"

His voice boomed loudly through the room, and he realized that he was breathing hard, hunched over in a predatory posture. Mary sat back onto the bed and started to cry.

James touched his forehead. His head ached, and he'd regretted the outburst before it had even ended, only finishing through sheer momentum. He shut his mouth and watched her.

The train ride back to Dover was tense—as tense as the first had been, but with fresher wounds. James sat, watching the scenery trundle by, and tried to think hard.

The entire situation didn't make any sense to him. Oliver was making a considerable play, here. The death of Lord Geis would bring a close eye, and if indeed he were involved then it couldn't have been a good option. James was surprised they hadn't seen more investigators, but he pushed the thought aside; it wasn't useful to think of what should have happened.