Christine Bell - A Valentine from Harlequin: Six Degrees of Romance

Charlotte pressed her hands to her sides, quelling the urge to straighten Alistair’s tousled black hair. She was just so damned glad he was all right. His warm, hazel eyes looked tired and his clothes were a wrinkled mess, but other than that he appeared none the worse for wear. She swallowed a sigh of relief.

“Any ideas on how we might get out of this alive?” she asked.

Alistair’s frank gaze collided with hers and he shook his head grimly. “I’ve been working on it but nothing foolproof yet. You?”

Neither bothered pretending that Rotham was going to just let them go. They knew far too much, maybe even enough to see him hanged. No, he planned to string them along with the promise of freedom, but the moment they handed him the repaired purviewers, they were as good as dead.

“I’m still trying to digest this whole thing, myself. Have you tested the chains?”

He grimaced. “Probably more than I should have.”

She moved behind him and bent to look at his bound wrists that were wrapped around a wooden post. “Oh, Alistair. You’re a bloody mess.” She took his hands gently in hers and examined them closer. “I’ll see what we have here to treat them and then wrap them in cloth. Don’t move.”

He let out a crack of laughter. “Where would I go?”

Removing her evening gloves, she scanned the lab. After some poking around she found some carbolic acid and a hand towel in the mix, which she tore in half. Locating a pitcher of water, she doused a piece of the cloth. She dampened the other piece with the chemical. “This should do. Once we get you cleaned up, I’ll work on the lock. Maybe devise a corroding agent? There are some tools we might use as a pick, as well.”

“Fine idea.”

He let out a hiss as she applied the damp cloth to his torn skin.

“Sorry about that. What about the head wound?”

“No blood, just a lump, I think.”

She wiped away as much blood as she could from his wrists and made quick work of cushioning the manacles with a bit of the antiseptic cloth and stepped away, admiring her efforts.

“There. I’m going to take stock of what we have in the lab. I suggest we spend half our time working on an escape, and the other half on the goggles. John will be checking on our progress, and I don’t want to give him an excuse to shoot us both dead any sooner than he plans to. Besides, if by the time we fix them we still can’t figure a way to get out, at least we’ll have them as a bargaining chip of sorts.”

“Agreed.”

She turned to get to work, and the hem of her gown caught on a pile of debris. “Bother. This dress is going to be a hazard in such a tight space, and there is hardly enough room for my bustle. Besides, being trussed up for a few hours at a ball is one thing, being trussed up for two days is another kettle of fish. I hope you don’t mind?”

She deftly began unhooking the numerous clasps on the back of her dress but froze when she caught the expression on Alistair’s face. His jaw tightened, his warm, hazel eyes going hot and bright, to a poison green. His gaze trailed a molasses path from her face down the length of her neck and lingered on her breasts before he looked away. Charlotte’s stomach dropped, need pooling low in her belly.

But surely she must have been mistaken. Had Alistair ever desired her? He knew all he had to do was ask and she’d be his. She’d made it very clear more than a year before how she felt about him. And he had rejected her. Her cheeks burned at the memory.

“Are you certain that is a sound idea? What if Rotham takes your state of undress as an invitation?” His voice sounded as if he’d swallowed something sharp.

Charlotte considered his reaction. What had started out as a mere practicality had suddenly become ripe with possibilities. There had been many times over the past several years of their friendship when Alistair had stared at her in a way that warmed her insides, or when he’d stiffened when she’d brushed by. But after she’d offered herself to him so plainly and he’d insisted that they could never be more than friends and colleagues, she’d put it off to imagination…wishful thinking.

But if they truly had only two days to live, she wouldn’t let the time pass without making certain he wasn’t lying to her—or himself—when he’d said he only cared for her as a friend.

“There are many layers beneath this dress. Surely Rotham will not be driven to madness by the sight of me in a petticoat, Alistair.” She kept her tone light, but her fingers trembled as she began to work on the tiny hooks again.

“You don’t have a maid,” he continued, his words coming more quickly now. “And I don’t have a hand to help. Perhaps when Rotham returns you can ask for more suitable attire. For now, just leave—”

She’d gotten only a third of the way through the hooks, but it was enough to cause the front of her dress to fall forward, revealing her petticoat with its fitted bodice and even lower neckline.

Alistair sucked in a breath and his protests abruptly ceased. She dared a glance in his direction, but his eyes were locked on her breasts and the bright white thatch of cloth barely restraining them. She’d planned to don her shawl again once she’d gotten out of the dress, for modesty’s sake, but that intention evaporated under the heat of his gaze. His pupils were so dilated that his gold-flecked eyes appeared almost entirely black. The pulse in his neck throbbed and his nostrils flared. He looked positively wicked. She’d dreamed of the day he would view her like this.

Her fingers grew more sure as she stretched to reach the middle hooks. His breathing grew harsh. Her heart pounded as the truth settled deep in her soul.

Alistair wanted her. In spite of his earlier words, he wanted her badly, and she wasn’t going to leave this room until he admitted it, Rotham be damned. 

With only half a day remaining, Alistair realized he wasn’t going to survive this. He knew it with grim certainty. If Rotham didn’t kill him, then Charlotte would. Frankly, he was surprised he hadn’t succumbed already.

As he stared down at the delicate convex lens before him, all he could see was creamy white skin, full raspberry lips and a tumble of dark curls that had long ago escaped their confines. Surely if he was to finish these damned goggles he’d need an ounce of blood in his brain. Instead, it had all traveled south, and he’d been as useless as an addled boy since.

“How are they looking?” Charlotte called to him from the corner. Rotham had returned that morning to bring them food, take them to the privy and then force them to trade places. Charlotte had been manacled ever since.

Reluctantly, he faced her. Her arms were behind her back, thrusting her glorious breasts forward, and he swallowed hard to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Not yet. Close, though. I think if I shave a little more off the front, we’ll be there. Then you can finish calibrating the lever.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Good, that’s very good. We should have just enough time.”

He turned back to his work and she called to him again.

“Alistair? Would you bring me a drink of water?”

He swallowed a groan. Just when he started to get a grip on his emotions she needed him for something. And all of those things seemed to require his closeness. Adjusting the position of her wrists, moving her hair from her face, straightening her skirts. The day before when she was free, she’d even removed her corset. Now every time he looked at her, he had to will himself not to let his eyes drift to her torso, where her dusky nipples peaked against her petticoat. It was almost as if she was trying to torture him…almost as if—

His thoughts came to a screeching halt as the pieces finally fell into place. That little minx. She was trying to seduce him.

He’d wanted her for so long that the constant, grinding need had become standard. It had taken him all day to recognize that maybe it wasn’t just his natural reaction to her. She was actually instigating it. His heart thumped against his ribs as he tried to piece it all together. Surely, he’d lost his chance when she’d asked for his hand last year and he had denied her? He’d been relegated to the role of “colleague” for God’s sake. But it seemed that, despite having found a quick understudy for her affections, she hadn’t completely given up on him.

If nearly losing Charlotte twice—both times to Rotham, in one manner or another—had taught him anything, it was that he didn’t want to face another day without her.

Now to see if his suspicions were correct.

He bit back a grin and picked up the jug of water. “Coming right up.”

He strolled over to the stool and poured some water into the cup on the floor beside her. She smiled her thanks and tipped her head to drink as he put the cup to her lips. “Sorry,” he mumbled as he angled the cup, causing water to course down her chin in a river, soaking the front of her petticoat. “Well, look at you now. I’ve gotten you all wet. Let me…” He stripped off his shirt in a few quick motions.

Her eyes went wide and her mouth trembled as she stared at his chest. It took all he had to pretend he didn’t notice her gaze as he bent and began to wipe the water away with his shirt. First her chin, then down the long line of her white neck, then lower. She gasped as his fingertips brushed the swell of her bare bosom.

He locked eyes with her and all thoughts of teasing her vanished. He let the shirt fall to the floor and leaned close enough to feel the wash of her breath against his lips.

Footsteps sounded at the top of the stairs and he jerked back. Alistair let out a string of curses as he slid on his shirt and began to fasten the buttons. “He’s early. Must be getting anxious.”

Just as he finished righting his clothes and returned to the worktable, Rotham walked in carrying a tray with food and his ever-present derringer.

“How goes it?”

“Almost complete,” Charlotte said, her voice still husky. It sent a bolt of lust straight to Alistair’s groin and he shifted uncomfortably.

Rotham didn’t seem to notice. He merely grunted in satisfaction. “Good. Eat something. I’ll be back in six hours, then. I believe I may have been recognized this morning and I need to leave as soon as possible.” He set the tray of food down with a clatter. “The purviewers had better be ready upon my return. I will accept no excuses.”

He kept the pistol trained on Charlotte as he unchained her. Despite his fury, Alistair docilely took her place. He briefly considered making a move now, if only to get Rotham to take the gun out of her face, but took a steadying breath. They had a plan and six hours to implement it. Soon, they would be free and this would all be a memory.

Rotham took his leave and closed the door behind him. The silence was thick as Charlotte pinned him with her gaze.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

His eyes drifted unconsciously to the still-damp cloth covering her breasts and he nodded. “Famished.”

She carried the tray over, hips swaying as she moved. She knelt before him and he squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. How many times had he imagined her thusly? Did the witch even know what she was about? As he met her heavy-lidded gaze once again, he realized that she did.

She plucked a morsel of chicken from the plate and held it out to him. He snatched it with his teeth, but her fingers lingered, brushing his mouth in a soft caress.

He swallowed, his eyes never leaving hers. “Do you still want me then, love? Is that what this is?”

She tried desperately to focus on his words, but his firm, luscious mouth was so very close. “Y-yes,” she whispered.

He gave her a pained smile. “I thought you’d given up on me. Your broken heart mended so quickly. You moved on to Rotham a month later.” There was no accusation, no censure in his tone, just genuine confusion.

She shrugged and tried to explain that which made no sense to her now. “Then I’m a better actress than I gave myself credit for. I never stopped loving you. And with Rotham, at first I figured, why not? I’d already found my one true love and he wouldn’t have me. Why waste time searching for something I knew I’d never find again? Rotham seemed as nice a fellow as the next. I’d have a chance for the child I’d always wanted, and you would still be in my life, in a fashion. There were worse things I could imagine than that.”