Tarnished Knight - By Bec McMaster Page 0,33

traces of jollity sprouted everywhere in the East End.

Mistletoe seemed to dangle from every rafter in the Warren; Esme quite suspected whose hand had done that when she saw Blade laughingly snatch another kiss from Honoria. Indeed, he’d managed to lure Esme and Rip beneath it once or twice, where they’d been forced to share a chaste kiss. Neither of them had mentioned what had happened that night and it irritated Blade to no end.

“I only want what’s best for you, Es,” he’d lecture her.

“I know what’s best for me,” she would reply with a straight face as she bustled about her work. Only when she turned away would she give herself the opportunity to smile as Blade sighed in exasperation behind her. There was no surer way to get at him than to keep something from him.

Every night she would sneak into Rip’s room in her nightgown and fall asleep in his arms. Of the other, though he gave her as much pleasure as he could, he would never let her touch him.

Her smile faded slightly as she stuffed the goose, ready for the morning. It would happen. When Rip was no longer afraid he’d hurt her. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t quite telling her something.

***

Christmas came in a blaze of white. It had snowed again during the night and Esme woke in Rip’s arms, watching the drift of it through his glass window.

“’Ave to get a bigger bed,” he murmured, snuggling his face against her hair.

“I don’t know,” she replied, burying herself in his arms. “I quite like this one.” Lifting her head, she pressed a kiss to his lips. His eyelashes fluttered open. “Merry Christmas.”

A slow smile spread over his mouth making Esme’s heart flutter. “Why so it is,” he drawled. “Do you want your present?”

“It depends on what it is,” she replied with a naughty little smile.

Rip’s eyes darkened. “Wench.” Spilling her onto her stomach with a laugh, he reached over her and dragged something out from underneath the bed. The press of his body drove her into the mattress and Esme almost moaned.

“’Ere,” he said, handing a small, brightly wrapped box to her. “Your other present’s downstairs, under the tree, but I wanted to give you this before…”

Before anyone else could see.

Esme sat up, the blankets pooling in her lap. Her heart stammered as she reached for the small box. It was jewellery. It had to be. And though she told herself not to expect anything, she couldn’t help remembering the way he’d spoken of marriage.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“Open it.” His smile was almost gleeful and she realised he’d probably never done anything like this before.

Tugging off the bright paper, Esme opened the velvet box. Then gasped. A small silver ‘E’ winked in the light with a strip of black velvet to tie around the throat.

“D’you like it?”

“Oh, John,” she whispered. “It’s perfect.” Her trembling fingertips stroked the letter. She’d never been given anything of the like.

Reaching up, she kissed him on the lips, feeling the chafe of his stubble against her cheeks. Rip smiled in a lazy manner, then captured her face in both hands, the cool steel of his mech limb a startling sensation. He kissed her deeply, turning it hot and hard, his tongue caressing hers. Esme melted against him with a soft moan.

It was over before it began. Rip drew back, his forehead resting against hers as he fought to capture his breath. Esme stroked his chest. “Let me please you,” she whispered. “I could--”

“No.” He pulled away, his face expressionless. Blackness gleamed in his eyes; the hunger.

A sharp ache filled Esme’s chest. The fierce need shouldn’t have roused so quickly. Rip had better control than this. Unless it was true… unless she was his Achilles heel. And always would be.

“I’ll wait,” she whispered, sinking onto her knees. She pasted a small smile on her lips as tied the ribbon around her throat. “Thank you for my present.”

Rip looked away. Shuttered. She almost felt like reaching out, to ask if that was the only thing bothering him. “Aye,” he said. “Weren’t much. But you ought to ‘ave pretty things o’ your own. Come. I can ‘ear people stirrin’.”

***

The moment Esme tried to put her apron on, Rip tugged it off. Balling it in his fist he threw it at Will’s chest. “Apron’s yours, lass,” he called.

“But pink suits your colourin’ so much better,” Will shot back, then tossed it at Rip’s face.

Blade snatched it out of