Page 91 of Where the Heart Leads
The word, almost purred, conveyed pleasured content beyond description. He smiled, more than pleased to hear that in her tone. To know it was there because of what they’d shared.
At long last he understood, fully and completely, why his friends—Gerrard Debbington, Dillon Caxton, and Charlie Morwellan—had all changed their minds about marriage. At one time, albeit for widely differing reasons, the four of them had been firmly set against the wedded state. Yet with the right lady, as each of the other three had found, marriage—to have and to hold from that day forth, forevermore—was for them the true path, their real destinies.
Penelope Ashford was the right lady for him. She was his destiny.
That had, to him, been proved beyond doubt. He’d been feeling restless, dissatisfied with his lot; since she’d walked into his life, restlessness and dissatisfaction had been banished. She was the missing piece in the jigsaw of his life; with her in place, his life would form a cohesive whole.
He no longer even contemplated a life without her; that was not in the cards. So…
The best, possibly the only, way to ensure she agreed to wed him was to subtly lead her to decide, of her own will, that being his wife was her destiny. That decision had to be freely reached; he might encourage, demonstrate the benefits, persuade—but he couldn’t push. Even less could he dictate. And as the evening’s endeavors had illustrated, allowing her to pursue her own route to that decision meant letting her follow her own script.
Unfortunately—as she’d just demonstrated—her script might require actions, even sacrifices, on his part that were more than he was accustomed to, more than he felt all that comfortable making. Letting her take him rather than the other way about had shaken him; it had required more strength than he’d known he possessed to even indulge her as far as he had.
If he wanted to be able to let her follow her own road…he was going to have to limit the byways.
Or, perhaps, to subtly suggest avenues she might wish to explore—ones that left him in control.
Eyes narrowing, gaze unfocused, he considered. Under her skirts, his hands cupped her naked bottom, porcelain curves he’d glimpsed the night before but hadn’t had time to visually savor.
He could easily envision an interlude that pandered to that and associated whims.
Perhaps, with her, what he needed to do was not minimize his control, but rather make her crave it, desire and invite it, by casting that as a natural part of the game—as indeed it was.
Curiosity, after all, was her major motivation.
All he had to do was interest her in the right things.
15
’Ere, ’Orace? You seen this?”
Grimsby came shuffling from the back of his shop, blinking owlishly at Booth, a jack-of-all-trades who occasionally brought him knickknacks to sell. “What?”
Booth set a printed notice on the counter. “This. Saw it in the market yesterday—lots being passed around. ’Eard about it, too, in the pub last night.” Booth stared hard at Grimsby. “Thought you’d want to know.”
Frowning, Grimsby picked up the notice. As he read, he felt the color drain from his face. When he saw the announcement of a reward, his hand shook; he quickly set the notice back down.
Booth had been watching him closely. “Just thought I’d tip you the wink, ’Orace. We go back a long ways—old friends need to look out for each other, right?”
Grimsby forced himself to nod. “Aye, Booth—that we do. Thank ye fer this. I don’t know nothing about it, o’course.”
Booth grinned. “No more’n I do, ’Orace.” He saluted Grimsby. “I’ll be seeing you around, then. Bye.”
Grimsby nodded in farewell, but his mind was elsewhere. While Booth made his way out of the shop, he picked up the notice and read it again.
Then,“Wally!”
The roar brought Wally thumping down the stairs. He scanned the shop, then looked at Grimsby. “What’s up, boss?”
“This.” With one grimy fingernail, Grimsby poked the notice across the counter. His tone was disgusted. “Who’d ’ve thought hoity-toity Scotland bloody Yard would take an interest in East End brats!” Leaving Wally perusing the notice, he stomped around the counter. “It ain’t right, I tell you.”
Which was the point that exercised him the most. In Grimsby’s experience, such unnatural occurrences, things that stepped beyond the normal order of life, never boded well.
Wally straightened. “I…er, did hear a few whispers at the tavern last night—didn’t know it was about this, but I heard people were asking around after boys.”
Wally’s diffident tone and his avoidance of Grimsby’s eye didn’t escape Grimsby. With a snarl, he caught Wally’s ear and cruelly twisted. “What else did you hear?”
Wally hopped and wriggled. “Ow!”
