in green silk. "Did you know that there are fire-
breathers in the back room? This place is...
extraordinary."
That was one way of putting it. At the front of
the room, the crowd thinned as attendants wearing
only tweed vests, tight pants, and bowler hats
cleared some space. A sheet was dragged across
the stage, but her attention was focused on Ava,
and Kincaid's words.
She liked Ava. And she obviously wasn't the
only one who'd noticed how the pretty laboratory
assistant lit up when Byrnes entered the room,
which left Ingrid feeling like slime coated her skin.
"Shadow Show's starting," Kincaid said, his
voice like liquid velvet in the night, and again, they
were on the same wavelength.
Ingrid had rather hoped Ava would stay
enamored with the fire-breathers a little longer.
"Ladies and gentleman." A tall woman
wearing a ringmaster's attire strode onstage as the
lights dimmed, and instantly the room fell quiet.
"The lovely Miranda and Cozette are about to
begin their act. Do we have any volunteers to
assist them?"
Over two dozen men threw themselves to
their feet, waving their arms.
"Pick me, ma'am!"
"I volunteer!"
A chorus of enthusiastic cries rolled around
the room, leaving only their table untouched.
Kincaid looked unimpressed and poured
himself another brandy as a spotlight suddenly
flicked on behind the sheet, highlighting a bed.
"You're not keen to volunteer?" Ingrid
murmured.
"Do I look like I'm the fucking entertainment?"
He held out his hand, and she passed him her
cheroot, which he took a long drag from. "I
prefer... something a little more private." His gaze
lit on the long-legged beauty in the ringmaster's
outfit.
"What must he do?" Ava asked, as a young
man was helped onto the stage, thrusting a fist in
the air in victory toward his rowdy table.
Ingrid looked at Kincaid. Kincaid looked
back at her, and actually appeared to blush.
Coward. "He's, ah, they're going to engage in
—"
"Oh, my goodness," Ava whispered, staring at
the stage. "Are they...." Her mouth fell open as the
shadows moved, and it became very clear that yes,
yes they were. "Is that even legal?" she gasped, as
the two curvaceous women dragged the willing
young fellow behind the sheet.
Kincaid eyed the fellow's rampant excitement
as one of the shadows pushed the fellow down on
the bed. "Probably not."
Ava blushed to the roots of her hair, but tore
her gaze away. "Oh, my goodness."
Ingrid shot Kincaid a look, who returned it
steadily. Then he handed back Ingrid's cheroot and
sighed. "Would you care to take a stroll in the
gardens, Miss McLaren?"
"Is it going to be any safer out there?"
"Possibly." Kincaid's smile turned slightly
evil. "But then, you'll be with me, so possibly not."
Onstage the female shadow crawled up over
the ecstatic young volunteer, and Ava staggered to
her feet. "Yes! Yes, the garden would be good."
"I deserve a medal for this," Kincaid
murmured in Ingrid's ear as he rolled to his feet
and extended an arm toward Ava.
"Be nice to her," Ingrid warned, and it wasn't
entirely playful.
Kincaid rolled his eyes. "Virgins," he said, in
some disgust.
And then they were gone.
Ingrid stayed to watch the show. A swift
glance showed Charlie caught up at the bar,
laughing at something that another young man was
saying. The play onstage didn't interest her overly
much, but if she closed her eyes and listened to the
soft sounds of laughter and panting, then she could
imagine she was elsewhere.
In Byrnes's bed, her thighs straddling him as
she bent down to take his nipple between her
teeth.
That got her going. Half memory. Half dream.
Soft fingers of heat trailed through her abdomen
gasped . Then she was sliding lower, down the
chiseled ridge of his abdomen, as Byrnes flexed
beneath her, his wrists bound to the bed with her
stockings.
"Touch yourself," he rasped.
And Ingrid smiled, rearing up to tug at the
ribbons on the chemise as they trailed between
her full breasts. "Oh, Byrnes... who said you were
in control?"
A shiver ran over her skin. A sense of
foreboding. Ingrid stubbed her cheroot out,
exhaling the smoke. She felt like she was being
watched.
Opening her sleepy eyes, she had a moment of
disorientation, as though she were in the dream
again, reliving that memory. But as Byrnes
prowled the edge of the room, his gaze locked on
her, she realized it wasn't a dream. Nor a memory.
But the man himself.
GIVING IN TO TEMPTATION, Byrnes trailed his
fingertips along Ingrid's shoulders as he slid into
the chair next to her, ignoring the stage with its
enthusiastic noises. "Where was my invitation?"
"You weren't around," she replied, the sudden
stiffening of her spine belying the easy way she'd
been sitting with Kincaid and Charlie until he
showed up.
And didn't that get to him.
Watching her laughing and drinking with the
other men had set him close to the edge. Because
she didn't behave like that around him. No, there
was always some sort of tension in her whenever
they shared a room.
It was his own bloody fault too. He'd not
considered how frustrating this would be. Not so
much in a sexual manner, though there was that too,
but returning to Baker Street with the expectation
of running into Ingrid and starting some kind of
teasing debate, and then not finding her there....
"See something you like?" he asked, glancing
toward the stage. There was not a chance in hell he
was going to admit his conflicted feelings.
“Not yet,” she replied.
“Liar.”
She smiled faintly.
Despite the rowdy shouts throughout the
room, and the ensuing climax onstage, they might
as well have been alone. Byrnes reached out and
traced his fingers down the back of her hand. She
didn't pull away, but she didn't encourage it.
And he didn't know what to do about that.
Withdrawing his hand with a wry smile in her
direction, he leaned his arms along the back of his
chair and two neighboring ones, creating just
enough of an illusion of distance to make her settle.
There was an uncomfortable knot in his abdomen.
He shouldn't have come. But the second Herbert
had told him where they'd all gone, he'd wanted to.
He'd even looked forward to it, to seeing her,
taking some time to reconnect with her after a day
apart. She'd enjoyed his kiss, but had it only been
the heat of the moment?
“Find anything today?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she replied, in a disgruntled voice.
“And you?”
“Same.”
Silence fell, and her gaze locked on the stage.
Was this affliction something only he felt?
Suddenly he couldn't handle it anymore.
"I need some fresh air." The chair legs
squealed on the floor as he stood.
Byrnes was halfway across the room before
he realized he was being followed. Those sharp
rapping heels alerted him to her identity, a second
before Ingrid shoved him into a dark corner at the
back of the room. "What was that?"
Byrnes glanced around. Nobody watching.
"Nothing."
"You're the one who fled with his tail tucked
between his legs."
That irked him. "Maybe I'm weary of being
left out in the cold. You clearly didn't want my
company. So I complied with your unspoken
demand."
"I didn't want you to...." Ingrid pursed her lips
together, then looked down, at the hand pressed
against his chest.
"Didn't want me to what?" Byrnes captured it,
and pinned it there, so that she could feel the beat
of his heart. Come on, damn you.
Ingrid's eyes flared with heat as the pressure
on his chest eased. "I shouldn't do this right now.
I've been drinking."
"Don't go." He held her hand there, the words
blurting out of him. At her arched brow, he cursed
under his breath. "Nothing's going to happen
tonight. Not if you've been drinking. I promise I
won't touch you."
"How gentlemanly of you."
But she relaxed. And it felt like a kick in the
guts.
"If you don't want this, Ingrid," he growled,
"then tell me. And this ends. Now. Tonight. I keep
thinking you're enjoying having me chase you, but
then"—he let her hand go, gestured to her—"your
spine practically acquires an iron rod whenever I
walk into a room. And if I get too close to you, you
push me away. If you don't want me, then say so."
Ingrid looked away. "You make me nervous."
Which was not what he'd expected her to say.
Byrnes sorted through the words. Then again. And
then a smile curved over his mouth as he began to
understand them. "In what way?"
She buffeted him in the arm. "Stop smirking at
me."
But all of the tension between them was gone.
Thank God. He wasn't the only one who was
afflicted with this... issue. "That's not an answer."
Ingrid rolled to the side, resting her back
against the wall and closing her eyes. “You make
me nervous because I’m not entirely certain I trust
your intentions.”
“I—”
She waved his words away. “But I trust that
you want me, more than you’re willing to
compromise that.”
He brushed a strand of honey-brown hair
behind her ear, resting the other hand on the brick
wall behind her, near her hip. “Have I not proved
that I’m willing to work with you? That I can
compromise?”
Ingrid sighed. “That wasn’t what I was
referring to.”
He examined her. “Then what—?”
“Forget it, Byrnes.” She rested her head
against the brick wall, looking up at him from
beneath that fan of dark lashes. “Just forget it. It’s
the brandy talking.”
Byrnes studied her, his thumb stroking her ear.
He wasn’t going to forget a thing, though he’d
comply for the moment. “So… are you going to
give me the second challenge?"
Ingrid considered it, then her eyes turned
smoky with devilry. "Maybe.”
“You’ve had time to think.”
“Fine. Give me a present the likes of which
no one's ever given me."
"Done." His smile widened, his thumb
brushing against her cheek. Once. Twice. It didn't
escape his notice that she was virtually asking him
to court her. “And what do I get when I complete
the challenge?”
“What do you want?”
Everything. “Don’t tempt me,” he whispered,
leaning closer.
Ingrid’s gaze dropped to his mouth, almost
unconsciously. He wanted to kiss her, knew she
wanted it too—but he’d promised.
Byrnes withdrew, just an inch or two. “I
want… to pleasure you. I want… my mouth all
over you.”
Again that smile. “That sounds like a reward
for me.”
“Maybe it’s a reward for both of us? You
don’t know how often I’ve thought of what
happened last year, of how close we came….” He
couldn’t help himself. “Did you ever think of me?"
"Of course I thought of you." Her voice
softened. "I'm rash sometimes, Byrnes. What I did
that day—writing that poem and leaving it on your
pillow, leaving you tied to the bed—it was not.... It
was wrong of me, and I regret it."
Byrnes made a frustrated sound in his throat.
This was not what he’d meant. "Are you actually
apologizing?"
"Of course I am. I shouldn't have liked it if
you'd done it to me. I was angry, and you were
being your obnoxious best, and I lost my temper."
"Somehow I remember it differently."
"Really?" Her words came out more growl
than speech again, but she did that when she was
uncomfortable, he'd noticed, not just when she was
angry.
He crossed his arms over his chest,
considering his words. "It's entirely possible that
I... deserved it. Sometimes I say things I don't
mean." Clearing his throat, he added, "Lynch
always tells me that pride will be my downfall."
"You're just saying that because you want to
get under my skirts and get your revenge."
"Revenge has nothing to do with what I've in
mind. I told you that."
"Oh?”
"Damn it, Ingrid. Is that all there is? All
you've thought about me in the last year is regret
about leaving me tied to my bed?" He reached out
and rested his hand on the brickwork beside her
head. "You didn't once think about what could have
been? You didn't once regret the missed
opportunity?"
Wary eyes gazed back at him.
"I've thought of you every day," he admitted,
and that uneasy twisting sensation in his stomach
made him pause. It was hard to admit this. Harder
to let go of the secrets he kept hidden within him.
But he needed to. "Every day." His voice softened
as he saw that he had her attention. "And I looked
for you. At first because, yes, I wanted revenge.
Not in the way that you think. It was not your
humiliation I sought, but you. What you'd promised.
I wante
d you. I wanted to kiss you, damn it, to taste
your mouth again." His gaze dropped to her lips.
Those tempting plump pillows of rose. "I dreamt of
that mouth. Of all the things it could do to me. I
woke up with you tangled in my mind, but missing
from my bed. A perfumed ghost. And you haunted
me, day and night. You got under my skin and I... I
don't even know how you did it."
Ingrid's heart began to race. Byrnes closed his
eyes, leaning closer to her until their foreheads
pressed against each other and his hands cupped
her cheeks. Giving in to temptation, he stroked her
silky mouth with his thumbs. "I hate it that you
didn't think of me at all." Easier to admit when he
couldn't see her looking at him. He brushed his
mouth against her temple. "Not like that. I hate it
that whilst you haunted me, I was barely a glimmer
on your horizon, a port that you'd sailed from,
without a single look back."
"I thought of you." She barely breathed the
words.
Did you? His heart leapt at the thought.
"And then I thought that only madness came of
following those thoughts, so I pushed you out of my
mind." Her hands curled around his wrists, and she
ducked beneath his arm, heat flushing through her
cheeks. "How can I believe you? It sounds too
good to be true. You're not the type of man to be
tied down."
"Because I don't lie, Ingrid. You know that."
Those considering eyes killed him. But she
finally nodded. "No. You don't, do you? Even if the
truth is a blunt-edged weapon in your hands."
"Then hear this: this is my truth. I don't want
revenge, Ingrid. I don't want forever. I just want
you in my bed. I want to know what it feels like to
explore that... that spark between us. I want to
exorcise you from my mind, from my thoughts.
That's all. I want to burn like the supernova that
flames through my veins when you're nearby, and
drown myself in these feelings until it's done. Until
you're... extinguished from my soul."
Until I can finally forget you.
Ingrid's eyes grew dreamy, but the hesitation
was still there.
"I want you," he breathed. "This needs to end
between us, Ingrid. I need to burn you out of my
blood, and the only way I can think to do so is to
follow this through to its natural conclusion. I will
complete your challenges." The words were a
promise. "And you will end up in my bed. And
then? Then I can forget you."
Ingrid watched him as he backed away, her