Page 94 of Juliet's Touch

Chapter twenty-nine

Ifitweren’tforthe attentive chaperone who’d joined them for their carriage ride across town, Eric would pull Juliet onto his lap and lift her skirts. He’d slide his fingers into her cunny, then coax her honeyed juices to flow. Finally, he’d slam his cock deep inside her, while telling her how thrilled he was that she’d agreed to be his wife.

He sighed. Having to behave was doubly frustrating since a tup might calm his racing thoughts and frazzled nerves. Unfortunately, he might have to wait longer than he cared for to enjoy a private carnal betrothal celebration. Hell, now that Juliet had returned to her parents, they might not have a moment alone until after they officially married. Once he had taken care of the task at hand, he needed to find them a home and purchase a large bed.

’Twas obvious that Juliet and Betty had missed each other because they held hands, chatting and laughing as the carriage rolled along. Even though it was not the time for such innocent happiness, Eric found the scene endearing.

“I shall embroider you a lovely wedding present,” Betty said.

Juliet clasped her maid’s hand. “I would love that, but my father is going to help us obtain a common license, so we will marry soon. That won’t give you much time.”

Betty grinned. “Don’t you worry about that. Where there is a will, there is a way.”

“Eric, Betty is a skilled seamstress, and her needlepoint is better than anyone of my acquaintance,” Juliet said.

Betty blushed.

“That is a wonderful skill to have,” Eric said. “I tend to tear my shirts. I could use a seamstress.”

“’Tis those large, rippling muscles,” Juliet said with a mischievous grin.

He preferred Juliet’s explanation to the truth, which was that it was easy to tear your clothing when you roamed around in the dark, climbing, punching, kicking, sprinting, and leaping. Too bad he didn’t have a sturdy costume that allowed for easy movement.

“I would be happy to fix your torn clothing,” Betty said.

Eric suspected she wished to stay with Juliet after she moved out of her parents’ home. He had no objections, as long as his blunt held out. But that was a conversation for a later time, because currently, he had a lot on his mind.

“Thank you,” he said.

As the women talked about the wedding, Eric turned his gaze to the window, watching London pass by. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about their nuptials, but he was fretting since he was about to meet his nemesis. As much as he wanted to spend time with Juliet, it had been a mistake to bring her with him.

He’d tried to talk her into spending the afternoon with her parents, but the woman was single-minded. “You faced my parents with me, so I shall be there while you face your demon,”Juliet had declared. “I insist. I shall wait in the carriage with Betty.”

He struggled to articulate that his demon was not the same as over-protective, pretentious parents, whom they’d won over quite easily. He, in fact, quite liked Dudley and Theodosia, something he hadn’t predicted. His demon was truly evil, hunting the streets of London as he snuffed the life from unsuspecting women. A lump formed in Eric’s throat.

And now, due to his inability to convince Juliet otherwise, he had two gentle women with him as he drove across London on route to a rookery in the East End where all hell might break loose.

Coldpepper was correct.Women!Lord, give Eric strength.

He had no idea when Juliet and Betty quieted or when the carriage officially arrived at their destination. When he stopped daydreaming, he realized their vehicle was silent and had come to a standstill. Chewing on her lip, Betty stared out the window.

Juliet crossed the carriage to sit beside him. “I shall be right here after you finish talking to him.”

As much as he wanted to kiss Juliet, he didn’t want to shock their chaperone, so he simply reminded them to stay in the carriage, then he excused himself.

“Rotters of all sorts walk these streets, so please look out for the ladies,” he told the footman and the carriage driver. So much for Baron Coldpepper’s support because once his staff told him where they’d traveled to, the baron would punch him in the nose. Eric would have to stand there and take the beating, since he deserved it.

“They are in good hands,” the driver said.

“They better be,” Eric mumbled under his breath. His passive-aggressive response was likely a result of his nerves getting the better of him. Because, of course, Coldpepper’s men would take care of the women.

Eric did his part by scouring the area for suspicious-looking individuals. Deciding that it looked safe for the moment, he followed Fletcher’s directions, easily finding the orange flashhouse.

He entered through the front door and took the rickety stairs to the third floor. He knocked on the second door on the left. When no one answered, he entered. Perhaps this was rude, but the man who resided here was a murderer, not an upstanding citizen.

The room was dark except for a small amount of gray light filtering in through a window. Eric choked on the smell of piss, gin, and rot. A figure that was half skeleton, half man, and lying on a mattress in the corner, sat up.

“Pete Dixon?” Eric asked, wanting to confirm that he had the individual Fletcher had sent him to.