Then to her surprise, he did release one wrist. Before she could pull back, though, he reached for her waist, his hot hand all but searing her through the thin fabric of her shift. With a gentle pressure, he pulled her closer, so close she could smell the scent of tea on his breath.
“Belle,” he murmured. His use of her name shocked her enough, but then his hand slid from her waist up her ribs to cup her small breast through the thin linen of the shift. She gasped, and he took that opportunity to catch her lower lip between his teeth.
The bite was gentle, not even a bite at all, just a tug to keep her mouth near his. It worked. Belle froze, and then she did something she never thought she would do. When Arundel released her lip and opened the hand on her breast, clearly giving her the option to refuse him, Belle leaned closer and pressed her lips to his. She didn’t know why she did it. Perhaps because her unsated desire finally got the best of her. Perhaps because though Arundel was fevered and clearly not in his right mind, he was a handsome man who made her head spin. Perhaps because she was a spinster and didn’t want to cross into becoming a thornback—the term society liked to use to refer to women approaching thirty—without kissing at least one man who truly desired her.
She hadn’t considered he would kiss her back. She pressed her lips to his, unsure what to do next, and then shocked when his mouth moved beneath hers. He returned her slight pressure and gave it back to her, moving his lips to brush them along hers. At the same time, his hand returned to her breast, his thumb finding her nipple, hard now and straining, and caressed it with that same lazy stroke.
Belle felt as though she might combust from the heat engulfing her now. Every part of her was too hot. No wonder people disrobed when they went to bed together. She was unbearably warm and undeniably aware of the tingling between her legs. She wanted to press her hand there, to ease that tension.
A crack of thunder some miles away finally broke through the stupor that had come over her. Lightning flashed, again distant, but close enough that she could see Arundel’s face. His eyes were bright with fever, and not at all focused. He probably wouldn’t even remember this in the morning. Whereas she—she would remember it the rest of her life. But it was probably best if this kiss was all there was to remember.
Belle pulled back, forcing her body away from his touch and his heat. Everything in her resisted. She wanted to move closer, to crawl into the bed beside him and press bare flesh against him. But she was supposed to be nursing him. She was supposed to be caring for him, and instead she was taking advantage—or at least allowing him to take liberties.
“Wait,” he said, but this time she was firm and managed to extricate her wrist from his grasp.
“Rest now, Mr. Arundel,” she said as she straightened and pulled her shift higher to preserve her modesty. “Close your eyes.”
He obeyed, and a moment later was breathing deeply. Asleep, she thought as she dipped the cloth in cold water and laid it on his fever brow again. In the morning, he’d think all that happened a dream—if he remembered at all. It seemed somehow fitting that her first kiss should be from a man at death’s door who wouldn’t even remember it. Or if he did, he’d think he’d been dreaming about another woman. Clara—whoever she was—had meant something to Arundel.
Except...
Had she imagined it or had Arundel said her name at one point? Hadn’t he said Belle before he cupped her breast and nipped her lip? So had he known he was touching her or had he just been muttering and she thought he’d said her name? Maybe she’d wanted to hear her name.
No, she had certainly heard it. But she wanted his use of her name to mean something, and that was where she must be careful. It meant nothing. Their kiss meant nothing. He was injured and delirious and she shouldn’t have allowed it to happen.
Except she wasn’t sorry at all. She’d never forget their encounter.
And wasn’t that pathetic?
Still, a pockmarked shopgirl must have something to keep her warm at night.
Thinking of warmth, she stoked the fire in the hearth in an attempt to keep it from going out then returned to the parlor, which had a similarly banked fire. She wished she or her father had thought to bring in more wood this morning. It might be dry enough by now to burn. As it was, she must shiver on the couch in only her shift and threadbare wrap.
She heard her father’s quiet snores coming from his dark room and was glad someone was resting. She should be sleeping herself. She was exhausted but had pushed herself so long and so hard that her mind wouldn’t quiet. Who was this Lady Keating she had sent a missive to? Was she a Royal Saboteur? How would she lend Arundel assistance? Clearly, from what Arundel had had her write in the letter, he wasn’t actually acquainted with the lady and only knew her by reputation.
It fascinated Belle that women could be agents for the Crown. She didn’t know why she hadn’t ever thought such a thing possible before. The idea was ingenious. No one would ever suspect a woman, most especially not a man. Belle had learned long ago when dealing with her men customers to allow them to think her suggestions or recommendations came from her father. It was easier if her male patrons believed her father sought out exotic teas and bought them from the exporters at St. Katharine Docks.
Belle allowed her eyelids to flutter shut, grateful that sleep finally closed its grasp on her. She felt the slow slide into oblivion just as a clink registered in the back of her mind. Her mind, overly tired and desperate for respite, tried to push that clink aside. But Belle opened her eyes and stared at the dark room, listening.
She didn’t hear the clink again, but she heard something else—the telltale sound of someone moving in the shop below. It was dark and whoever it was did not know their way about. They were quiet, and yet she heard the shuffle of feet and a small thud as the thieves bumped into a shelf.
Her father’s snores continued uninterrupted, and Belle hoped for a moment that she was dreaming or imagining she heard bumps in the night. But she knew that clink. It was the sound the bell above the door made when someone grasped it to keep it from tinkling. She’d caught that bell herself a thousand times when she’d wanted to enter the shop quietly.
Fear made her heart thud harder and made her limbs cold. Her skin prickled with awareness, and she had the urge to find somewhere to hide. Instead, she drew herself up and took a breath. There would be no hiding, no allowing some thief to take her tea or her coin. She didn’t think it likely any thief would be able to breach the safe with their meager profits or her special Pan Long Yin Hao. Truth be told, she was more concerned about losing the Pan Long Yin Hao.
Belle rose, tiptoed to the hearth, and grasped the fire poker. She would brandish it at the thieves and scare them away. Most thieves fled at the first sign of trouble.
She started for the door to the flat then stopped dead. What if these were not thieves but the men who had tried to kill Arundel? What if they had come to finish what they’d started? Belle, poker in hand, hesitated long enough that she heard the footfall behind her.
The intruder was not downstairs, but inside the flat.
Chapter Ten
“My head is already pounding,” Hew said, swerving back to avoid having his brains bashed in by the poker Miss Howard swung at him. “Don’t make it worse.”
“I thought you were—”
“Shh,” he said, putting a finger to his lips. He could hear the men’s low murmurs downstairs, which meant they could hear their voices above—if they listened. The room swayed and Hew moved with it, causing Miss Howard to rush to his side. She put a hand on his bare back, and her touch felt cold against his hot flesh.
