As an answer, she wrapped her legs around him as much as her skirts would allow, which tilted the scale very emphatically back toward pleasure. So did the sensation when Stephen began to move. He went slowly at first, with that sensation of leashed power that still excited Mina. Then, when she started to get breathless again, to writhe under him and feel desire building again, his control slipped considerably.

That was fine with Mina. That was better than fine. She thrust up against Stephen, listening to his voice come broken and ragged in her ear: good girl and just like that and so hot, so tight, and felt the urgency driving him. She met it with her own, surprised to find herself back on the edge but not inclined to ask questions. At the end, she bit his shoulder to stifle her scream.

Stephen reared his head back and looked into her eyes. “Mina,” he said, in a voice that came from very deep in his chest. “God, Mina.”

Then he threw his head back and arched forward, pouring himself into her. For a moment, there was nothing in the world but them and the darkness—and the darkness was fine, even welcome, because they were both in it.

Thirty-eight

Given his own way, Stephen would have lain a long time with Mina in his arms, listening to her breathing and drifting in the languid and pleasant dizziness that followed climax, particularly this time. Out of almost two centuries’ experience, he could recall no interlude as intense as this one had been, nor as satisfying. He would have greatly preferred to stay where he was.

He would also have greatly preferred a light and a bed. Clearly the universe didn’t pay as much attention to him as he would have liked. Perhaps that was just as well—he wouldn’t have asked for a strange woman to come running through his house, and he certainly had no quarrel with the results.

The thought made him grin against the top of Mina’s head. He’d rolled onto his back, not entirely trusting his arms to remain steady. Now she was curled against his side, and he absently stroked her tumbled hair with his free hand. The occasional disarranged pin presented a hazard to his fingers, but Stephen barely noticed.

“We’d better get dressed,” Mina said, voicing what Stephen hadn’t yet been able to speak. Suiting action to words, she rolled briskly away from him and stood up. He heard little clicking sounds in the darkness: corset hooks. “I don’t know how long we have before Colin sends someone, but I’d guess we’ll need to move quickly when he does.”

“Likely enough,” said Stephen.

Putting himself back together was considerably easier than the same process must be for Mina. Had there been more light, he’d have offered assistance. As it was, he’d probably only be an encumbrance. He was better at undressing women than dressing them, particularly in darkness.

He concentrated on shaking out his coat and waistcoat, on getting the buttons right and then smoothing down his hair. He kept glancing over to Mina in the process, or to where sounds revealed her to be; he could only catch glimpses of movement.

This was not how Stephen had pictured—well, anything.

Not that he would have taken it back; his entire being seemed to protest at that thought. Mina had enjoyed herself as well—he had enough experience to ensure as much and to know the signs. He had no doubts on that score, and no regrets.

He just wasn’t at all certain how to proceed.

Getting out of the building would be a necessary start.

From nearby, Mina cursed, quiet and vehement. Stephen turned toward her. Uncertain what to ask or how to ask it, he ended up making a strangled interrogatory sound, neither his most dignified moment nor his most seductive.

“Oh. Nothing—I just hate buttons as much as you do. There.” She laughed, and then stopped and took a breath. “I should say it before we leave: thank you. I, um, I liked what we did. A great deal.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.”

“And you don’t have to—it doesn’t change anything,” she said. “I’m a modern girl, after all, and I knew what I was doing. You don’t have to worry that I’ll want more money or that I’ll hang around and make calf eyes. I wouldn’t know how. I’ve never even seen a calf. I—wanted you to know that.”

Forced lightness and real intensity twined together in her voice. For once Stephen could tell what she was really saying—and what she was avoiding. Sometimes, a man saw better without light. He laughed at his discovery.

“You’re a city girl, Cerberus. I’ll not hold it against you,” he said. Reaching out, he took her hands in his own and drew her closer. “Trust me, worry’s the last thing on my mind. Worry about the things you mention, at least.”

“Well,” she said, still uncertain but without that note of duty in her voice, “God knows we’ve got enough to fret over otherwise.”

“Aye. And as far as you’re concerned—damn it.”

The ring pulsed against his finger, and Colin spoke almost at the same time. “Ready to go, Stephen? You haven’t gotten yourselves killed, have you?”

“No,” he said and thought he almost sounded civil. “We’re fine.”

“I did say it would take a while. Get yourselves as close to the door as you can and wait. You’ll have about five minutes. I’ll meet you at the corner.”

“We’ll be there,” said Stephen.

Mina, in fact, had let go of his hands already and was heading toward the stairs. She was right, and Stephen understood the impulse—the last hour or so aside, this was not a place he’d choose to spend any time—but still he cursed again. Silently, this time.

* * *

Downstairs, they waited on the last step, not talking and keeping even their breathing as quiet as they could. Stephen could see the shapes of the guards still outside and hear their voices through the door. He didn’t think they could hear anything but the loudest noises from within, but it was best not to take chances.

Beside him, Mina waited. He could feel the tension in her body, the readiness to spring, but she was still except for the restless movement of her hands, clenching and unclenching on her skirt.

If not for the impending need to bolt, Stephen wouldn’t have resisted the urge to kiss her again. He reached out instead and took one of her hands. Her state of mind was appropriate and useful—and so was his, for that matter, for he knew he was waiting on the edge as well. Calming down might not be a good plan, but at least he could let her know that she wasn’t alone. He could reassure himself of the same thing.

Mina slid her hand into his readily enough and stroked her thumb across his knuckles, an absent gesture, but one that roused as well as comforted. Even such a short time after their earlier activities, Stephen felt himself respond to it.

Part of that was the situation, of course: hot blood, survival instinct, and whatnot. He’d taken more than a few risks in his long life, though, and he knew that danger wasn’t the only explanation.

He didn’t think peace would make him grow tired of Mina.

He didn’t think anything would.

“Oi, there!” One of the guards shouted from outside, jarring Stephen out of thought. “What d’ya think you’re doing?”

As if in answer, a largish piece of glass went smash somewhere nearby. The guards shouted some more and then ran, their footsteps loud against the pavement at first and rapidly growing dimmer.

“Now!” Colin shouted in Stephen’s ear, loud enough to make his head ring with the noise.

Later they’d have a discussion about magic and force and what volume was really necessary if one felt a proper fraternal urge to leave one’s brother with intact hearing. Stephen promised himself that much.

For now, he yanked the door open and bolted outside. He would have pulled Mina with him, but there was no need. She was running right at his side. Out on the doorstep, though, she stopped to slam the door behind them, then turned. “Lock it.”

There wasn’t time to argue or ask questions. Stephen grabbed the key, shoved it into the lock, and nearly broke his wrist turning it. Outside, he couldn’t hear the guards’ footsteps any longer. Even in the relative quiet after midnight, London was too noisy to distinguish one set of sounds from a dozen others.

Grasping the key in his fingers, he took off again.

One house flew by, then another, passing in a blur of darkness and light. The few people in his way were easy enough to dodge. Stephen could have gone on for a while, if Mina hadn’t yanked on his arm again.

“What?”

He turned back, expecting her to be tired. That was no matter: she was a tall girl, but he could carry her easily enough if he needed to. She was shaking her head, though, even when he reached for her.

“Stop.” She caught her breath. “We should walk now.”

“Walk?”

Mina nodded. “Nobody can say where we’re coming from now, and running people catch the eye. We slow down and act a bit tipsy, and we’ll just be two out of many.” She paused for a moment. “You might put your arm around me.”

“Happy to oblige you.”

They walked onward, less than steadily, leaning against each other. Mina began to hum: a loud and somewhat out-of-tune version of a song Stephen had heard in his club once or twice. Then, as the streets nearby got more respectable, she stopped, straightened up, and stepped away again.

Colin waited on the corner ahead, with the carriage nearby. He’d had to button a coat rather clumsily over his broken arm, and his hair stuck out at odd angles beneath his hat. Presenting such a flawed appearance must have been killing him, Stephen thought, and couldn’t help smirking.