Page 41 of The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth
His mumbled question was lost by the sound of her thumping heart. She was squeezed so far against the wall she was practically climbing out the window. Unfortunately, she had an overwhelming desire to place her hand at the back of his neck and pull his head down for a kiss, although she knew it was not a wise move. The other kisses they’d shared had left her rattled, and unsure of herself.
“Am I making you nervous, Charlotte?” God help her, he moved even closer.
“No, of course not.”
Liar.
“Good. Because I want to do something that I hope you would welcome.”
“What is that?” A mouse had settled in her throat to squeak out the question.
“This.” He released her hand, and his fingers framed her face. His head descended, blocking out the light from the lantern on the wall of the coach. His lips touched hers and the butterflies in her stomach danced a cotillion.
* * *
“Why arethey still traipsing around together? I thought I paid you to take care of that?” The Master slammed down the glass of bourbon so hard, the liquid sloshed out of the sides, onto the black lacquered table.
The man discharged a stream of tobacco juice in the spittoon the Master kept by the door. Disgusting thing, tobacco. “You paid me ’o warn ’im. I did. You didn’ say nuttin’ abou’ killin’ ’im. If hats wha’ you wan, ’he price jus ’ripled.”
Narrowed eyes took in the lumbering fool who was supposed to get rid of this Baker fellow. “Whatever you did, apparently did not dissuade him.” The Master turned toward the window. “Leave me now. Be sure to make that delivery.” A nod toward the package on the table drew the man’s eyes.
“Once you pay me.”
“I’ve paid you plenty. Make that delivery and watch them. In three days, report back to me. Then we’ll see about more payment.”
And what the next step will be.
Once the obnoxious idiot had left, the Master dropped into the chair by the fireplace and sighed. This was taking much too long. Did Anne not realize the items left on her doorstep were a reminder of their love, and the punishments that had been necessary to remind her to obey? That as a submissive to her master, she held no control?
How many times had Anne awoken to a dead animal on the pillow—as a reminder that she had been a naughty girl? That she was deserving of punishment for the hurt she’d caused the Master? Until the ultimate betrayal when Anne had been lost forever.
But she was back. Miraculously alive and well and living in London. And the Master would have her. It was only a matter of time before Anne realized she’d been claimed for eternity. Claimed by the Master.
