Bodice Ripper

He hadn't shaved in a couple of days and his stubble was scratchy, and for a moment she almost pulled away. Then he melted into her and stood up to meet her. She could feel his arms tightening around her waist, and then he lifted her easily up off the ground until she stood as tall as he.

He pulled away and Mary saw that he was already looking stronger, more self-sure, but there was doubt there, as well.

"We can't."

"We can," she said. Her fingers started working at the buttons of his waistcoat without waiting for permission "And I think I'd like to."

He smiled faintly. "No, we can't."

Mary undid the last button and pulled his waistcoat open.

"James Poole, if you don't get this corset off me, I'm never letting you back into my father's house again."

He kissed her again, hard, and she could feel the electric want that was running through him.

"If you put it that way…"

He picked her up again and carried her through the door into the bedroom, then set her down on the bed. Mary could feel her breaths coming short and hard. She could breathe in her corset, though she'd been afraid of it when she was just a girl. Most of the time.

But now, it seemed as if she couldn't take a deep enough breath to cool off the heat in her chest. He started undoing buttons on her dress, from the top down, but there were so many. She wanted it off.

Then he undid the tie on her corset and pulled it loose, then undid that as well. Her vision blacked out as she breathed in, her head tingling from the heady mix of arousal and too-much oxygen. By the time her vision came back, she could feel James's fingers on her, rubbing.

Her stomach tightened. She thought she'd been mad, before, with lust. But now she saw that had been only the tip of the iceberg, a small part of a much larger feeling. She needed him.

She reached desperately for him, and found that he was still clothed.

"That's not fair," she said softly. "I wanted to—"

James put a finger to her lips to silence her, never stopping his ministrations down below. The tightness in her belly got worse, and worse, and then something exploded behind her eyes. She came to a moment later, and reached up for James's lips.

He leaned down, reaching a hand between them to unbuckle his belt. They were pressed together and she could feel his hard want for her straining against his trousers.

"Let me help," she said softly.

She knelt down and undid his trousers, letting them fall. Then she kissed him and felt his hand on her shoulders, encouraging her further.

She felt an ache deep inside her, but she continued, taking him into her mouth. She could feel him shaking with arousal and excitement, and she smiled. This was a powerful feeling.

She stood back up and let James lay her back onto the bed. Then his hands spread her thighs, and he pressed against her entrance. She had heard this part would hurt, and she grit her teeth in preparation for the pain.

James hesitated, and she could feel it.

"If you don't want to—"

Mary opened her eyes and held a hand up to his face, strained with mixed arousal and control.

"Don't stop now, Mr. Poole, when you were doing so well."

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1

Thomas

The post came, and with it, the last of Thomas Geis's hopes faded to dust. There would be too much to tell the boy, when he arrived, and no time that he could be sure that they'd be alone.

He'd tried to send off a letter, to explain at least what he could; some of it, he'd need to find time in person, but it had included enough of a warning that Mr. Poole wouldn't be coming in blind.

With some hope, he'd be able to think on his feet. Roy said that he'd been in the war, and that should have taught him well enough how to deal with difficult situations. Still, it did leave something to be desired in terms of delicateness.

Thomas folded the envelope into his journal and thought for a moment about what he'd write down before he did so. Only after he'd composed the entire thing did he start writing. Lord Geis hated wasted actions, but it seemed as if more and more of his efforts had been going to waste, of late.

He coughed, hard. The damnable cough had been with him for a week or more, now, and it never ceased in irritating at the worst possible moments.

The entire plan had seemed safe, when he'd first gotten in on it. They'd make a tidy profit at the end of it, and all he had to do was front some of the money.

Then a little more money, and then a little more, and before he knew it, Thomas was on the brink of insolvency without seeing one red cent on the bargain.

That was when things had started looking bleak. He wasn't a man who did things without thinking them through, and there would be downsides to backing out this late in the game. If there was a payoff, he wouldn't see it, either, which toasted his ass.

But that didn't mean that he could just ignore his finances and live in the street until things turned around. He'd have to hope that he could leave without any particular reprisal, but it was too much to hope for.

No, he wouldn't take that sort of risk. He'd already had Davis buy him a ticket on a steamer to America. When Mr. Poole arrived, he'd find the place deserted, and Thomas Geis would be in America already, talking to a realtor about buying new property, someplace where they wouldn't go after him.

If he went far enough, they'd leave him alone. He couldn't hurt them if he wasn't in Britain. So that would be far enough. He touched the tickets, lying out on the desk beside him.

Thomas Geis hated waste, and so when he looked at the table, covered in every little note he'd ever made on the subject of money, anger flashed in his eyes. A waste, and one that had ultimately meant the loss of everything he'd spent his life building. Everything was right there, all the mistakes.

He hadn't implicated himself with them. He was too careful for that, and besides he wouldn't have written out so much information. Wasted space, wasted words, wasted effort. Wasted time.

The whole pile, though, was wasted time, now that Mr. Poole wouldn't be arriving ready for a yeoman's job. For a moment he considered pushing it back off, into the bin. Then he decided not to. Two wrongs didn't make a right, and the damage was already done.

Instead he picked up the steamer tickets, tapped them on the table for good measure, and slipped them into his inner jacket pocket. Mary would be upset, he thought. She would rather stay, he was sure. She hadn't been told about the money troubles, and even after they sold the house, they wouldn't be as comfortable in America as they had in Britain.

She'd get over it, though. He was certain of that much. She was stubborn as a mule, but she was as resilient as anyone he'd known, he thought with no small measure of pride. He coughed again, hard.

"Sir," Davis said from the doorway, "Is this a bad time?"

He pushed himself back in his chair, still coughing hard.

"What is it?"

"Confirming your travel plans, sir. You'll be taking the train in the morning to Southampton, and then taking the Cunard line to America, is that right?"

Thomas was still coughing, harder now, his face turning an awfu

l purple. Davis was already off and running as he slumped to the floor, coughing and choking, shouting for someone to come and help.

2

James

James Poole closed his ledger and slipped it into the thin bag that he would carry with himself on the train. The rest would go into the baggage car and he wouldn't see it again until he arrived in Derby. The important thing, though, was to keep everything that was really important to him in sight.