Dreadful Desires: A dark gothic why-choose romance (Monsters of Whitechapel Book 1) by Lucy Lark

Author:Lucy Lark [Lark, Lucy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-03-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

We sat in silence during the cab ride, jostling against each other as we cruised the short distance from Thrawl Street to my house. He smelled like an apothecary shop; a strange blend of aniseed with something woodsy I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I wanted to drink in that smell, but I turned my head away from him instead. Inevitably, however, I found my attention drawn back.

It wasn’t long before my gaze wandered over my dim surroundings.

Not for the first time did his sheer physical presence strike me. Easily the tallest of my new collection of monsters, Rory had shoulders as wide as an axe-handle and just as sturdy. I let my gaze skim over them, traveling down over his broad chest and counting the buttons on the waistcoat he wore. I imagined what those buttons would be like to undo, one by one, with fingers ready to unveil something else in short order.

We went over a bump in the road, and it momentarily unseated me before landing back down on the seat quite hard. The hansom cab wasn’t plush like Dorian’s carriage. This seat was hard, and there wasn’t much room between the two of us. My arm brushed against Rory’s brawny bicep, hot and powerful beneath his thin shirt. It was a wonder he didn’t feel cold, but, then again, my mind was seeing to it that I felt quite flushed.

My womanhood gave a sudden but not unwelcome throb. I squirmed against the seat instinctively, but knew there would be no relief found in this carriage. Determined to get to my room as quickly as possible, I called out to the driver loudly so he might hear me through the closed window.

“Here is fine, thank you.”

The hansom cab rolled to a halt.

“Don’t want yeh neighbors seein’ you with some strange fella?” Rory accused gruffly, pretending not to care.

“Don’t want any stalker seeing you before you’ve had a chance to do… whatever it is you’re going to do,” I clarified, lifting a gloved hand to open the door. He reached out too, pushing it closed again. My brows lifted in surprise, and I turned to him, ready to bark.

“Look,” he said, forcing out the words before I could start. “I’m sorry about kissin' yeh.”

Of all the things I thought he might say, that wasn’t on the list. I blinked as I registered the regret in his tone. He looked away from me, out of the opposite window at the wall of the old factory building that took up most of the block opposite my home.

“Oh.”

It was the only word I could find at short notice after such a revelation. That kiss had tormented me ever since it landed on my lips, both during waking hours and through long, dark nights. Sometimes I woke from a dream covered in sweat with an aching desire between my legs, hoping I might hear a burly Scotsman rummaging through my bedroom.

I wouldn’t have had the strength to fight him off again.

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