Page 25 of An Extraordinary Lord

“I’d rather not,” she whispered.

The bow of the wherry tapped the watermen’s stairs, and they came to a sudden stop, jolting him with barely a fraction of the force that her soft words had just punched into his gut. Merritt tore his eyes away from her haunted face to glance up—Puddle Dock. They’d arrived.

She scrambled out of the boat and onto the steps before he could stop her. But then, he was in no condition to stand up and help her without embarrassing both of them. Biting back a frustrated curse, he had to let her go.

Seven

Veronica lifted the tankard of ale to her mouth as she once more swept her gaze around the crowded tavern. And took a passing glimpse at Merritt.

Ah, the lovely Mrs. Fitzherbert, exactly as expected.

He sat on the other side of the Ship’s Bell from her, attempting to blend in with the crowd of dockworkers and porters that filled the seedy and dank tavern fronting the river. Well, as much as he could, she supposed, given how striking he was. Even wearing stained and torn workman’s clothes, he clearly stood apart. He was simply too tall, muscular, and downright dashing not to.

When he took a bored perusal around the tavern, his gaze slid right past her with no flicker of recognition.

She’d have been surprised if he’d spotted her, dressed as she was tonight as a man, right down to the shaggy facial hair she’d affixed to her upper lip and cheeks with actors’ gum. She’d bound her breasts beneath a man’s worsted waistcoat and donned men’s trousers, too, along with a workman’s shirt, braces, and plain neckcloth. She’d even rolled up a flannel and stuffed it into her trousers to resemble a cock.

But the knives she wore up both sleeves were real.

She knew Merritt would be here tonight, chasing down the man Danker had told them about. Just as she was. But after the way they’d parted last night, she wasn’t yet ready to face him again. That was why she’d disguised herself, going so far as to flirt with the bar wenches for good measure.

Cowardly, she supposed. But he’d rocked her to her core last night with his heated murmurs and kisses. She needed time and distance to clear from her head the wicked—and utterly tempting—images he’d put there and set her focus back where it belonged. On her pardon.

But sweet heavens if her lips didn’t tingle at the sight of him!

Her own fault, really. She’d started the kissing, only to startle him into forgetting about Fernsby, but then he’d repaid her in kind—no, his reprisal was worse, fogging her mind of everything except how wonderful his kisses were, how strong and solid his body against hers. For a moment, she’d nearly surrendered and floated away with him into the darkness, to let him do to her all the wanton things he’d suggested…until her sanity returned and she remembered exactly why the two of them were together.

It certainly wasn’t for bedsport.

Yet even now she wanted to spread herself beneath him and let him satisfy the insistent ache he’d put between her thighs, which had begun to throb faintly at the thought of his body covering hers.

Idiot.She scowled at herself and gulped down a healthy swallow of ale. The need arising inside her wasn’t because she’d been too long without a man. Wasn’t because she wanted a few hours of distraction from the mess her life had become. Wasn’t even just simple lust or curiosity about how it would feel to have him moving inside her. No, it was so much worse than that!

It was because she’d never met another man like him, one who was so much her match, physically and mentally.

Unfortunately, he was also the same man who possessed the power to put her back into prison.

“Gentlemen, your attention!”

A scruffy man at a table in the center of the room pushed to his feet and raised his tankard into the air to address the tavern. Hoots and jeers went up as the clientele attempted to shout him down. Half the crowd paid no attention at all, which meant they were used to him and his speeches.

On the other side of the room, Merritt leaned back in his chair in feigned boredom and stretched out his long legs, as if settling in for an evening’s entertainment.

“If you are as tired as me of seeing the corruption and vices of those connected to Westminster—and especially to the palaces—”

In other words, Prinny. The regent’s popularity had plummeted since the end of the wars; so had that of the royal dukes. With increasing reports in the papers of how much money was being spent on clothes, grand parties, and palaces, the entire monarchy had been tainted and weakened. Or simply gone mad.

“Of immoral princes committing all kinds of sins and crimes on the backs of our good soldiers and officers—”

Thatbrought in the Duke of York and his mistress, along with more shouts and calls from the crowd. This time, they agreed with him.

“What does it matter to us what princes do in their glittering palaces? Why should we care if lords and ladies dine on pheasants and the finest drink from golden plates and goblets? After all, what difference does it make to our bellies what goes into theirs?” The sarcasm dripped from the man’s voice as he began to win over the crowd. “Even if nothing is going into our bellies at all these days?”

Curses went up at the Corn Laws and the treatment of smugglers.

“We are taxed to death and forced to pay outrageous sums just for a loaf of bread to feed our families. The roofs over our heads are barely capable of keeping out the wind and rain—when we can afford a roof at all—while Prinny sleeps ’twixt satin sheets on down with his mistresses!”

He was skillfully agitating the crowd but not to the point of sedition—not yet.