The Infamous Miss Ilsa Read online

  He’d never said that out loud, even to himself. It was an ugly thing to admit.

  Ilsa touched his arm and they stopped again. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I prefer this version of you.”

  The thumping in his chest suddenly didn’t seem related to the exertion of the hike. “You do?”

  “Of course. You’ve been out in the world, and you’re a doctor now. A good one. And you finally grew into your gigantic ears.”

  He blinked, hard, as if she’d slapped him instead of paying him the nicest compliments he’d ever received. Ilsa just smiled and then pointed up and to her left.

  “That’s the last one, I think. Crow’s Nest Creek.” He could see the sunlight glinting off another stream; in that direction, the trees gave way to scree and boulders and then a meadow that sloped downwards towards the town. He could see the bright, green-tinged waters of the hot springs, and the next range of mountains in the distance, gray and purple against the blue sky. The view really was breathtaking up here. This time, Ilsa took the test tube from his satchel before he could object, and darted off to gather the sample herself; she was halfway to the stream before he even realized what was happening.

  He certainly wasn’t going to chase after her. He propped himself in the shade of a large limestone rock, roughly the size and shape of a bear, and settled in to wait for her. He took a long pull from one of the two canteens of boiled drinking water Ilsa’d had the forethought to bring along. He nearly choked when Ilsa popped out from the other side of the boulder, shouting “Ha!” like a child playing hide-and-seek.

  “Brat!” he yelped, wiping his chin with the back of his free hand.

  “Stick-in-the-mud,” she replied. “That hasn’t changed. I’ll trade you this lovely little tube for that canteen.”

  He handed it over and tucked away the last of the day’s samples while Ilsa drank. She drained the canteen and then hopped up nimbly to sit on the bear-shaped boulder. “Break time. I’m not much for these long hikes.”

  “So a career as a mountain guide is out. What’s your backup plan?” It wasn’t his cleverest conversational gambit, but he’d been dying to ask her more about her past and her hopes for the future.

  “Pirate,” she said without hesitation.

  “No, be serious. I told you mine. What’s your big, complicated dream?”

  “Pirate,” she insisted. “What could be more complicated than the life of a lady pirate in this day and age?” He glared at her, and she laughed and gave in. “Promise you won’t tell Jo?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “I haven’t told anyone about this.” She picked at an imaginary thread on her skirt. “I make a bit of money on the side by updating people’s old dresses. Add some lace, drop a hem, cut away a flounce: presto! Brand-new dress. But it’s hard to find the right materials. I want to open a little sundries store for that.”

  “Don’t women just buy new dresses every year?”

  Clearly, he’d said something wrong, because Ilsa looked at him as if he’d grown an extra nose. “A brand-new dress, a nice one? That’s forty dollars at least. Your mother’s evening gowns probably cost upwards of a thousand dollars each. And then capes and gloves and hats to match.”

  Was forty dollars a lot of money? Theo had never really handled the financial side of anything. Even in Fraser Springs, his bills were forwarded to his father’s bank in Vancouver. He didn’t dare ask, nor did he dare to volunteer his mother’s opinions of women who wore “last year’s dress.” “It sounds like you’ve thought a lot about this,” he said.

  “You don’t think it’s a good idea?” She looked disappointed.

  “No! I mean, no, I didn’t mean that. I don’t know much about women’s fashion. But it sounds like you do.”

  Again, that didn’t seem to be the answer that Ilsa was looking for, because she fell silent.

  “So you would move to Vancouver and start a business,” Theo tried. “You don’t want to settle down instead, start a family of your own?”

  “I’ve haven’t had a family for a long time, and it hasn’t killed me yet.” Ilsa closed her eyes and tipped her face up to the sun. “You’re not exactly an advertisement for happy families yourself.” Wasn’t that the Lord’s honest truth? She looked back over at him suddenly, like a cat startled awake from its sunbathing. “You’re not married, are you? Or engaged or whatever?”

  He laughed at her sudden, very belated concern. “No. Although not for my mother’s lack of trying. She still keeps inviting debutantes to extremely formal family dinners. With any luck, they’re starting to give up on me. And at least Father’s too decrepit to try dragging me off to a whorehouse again.”

  Damn it. He had not meant to say that. He’d never mentioned that humiliating incident to anyone.

  “That sounds like a story I haven’t heard.” And Ilsa wasn’t going to let it pass, either.

  Theo sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound. “After we got caught,” he said carefully, “my father decided to make ‘a real Whitacre’ out of me.”

  He could still recall the decade-old memory in crystalline detail. He’d known at once that something was wrong when his father had come down to his room. The old man rarely left his study, preferring the company of his cigars and his brandy.

  “I told him I was going to go find you. And he just laughed and told me to get my coat. He loaded me up in that ghastly old carriage—they still have it, by the way. The same horses and everything. They must have one hoof each in the glue factory by now, and it’s not as if we can’t afford a motorcar.”

  “Theo,” Ilsa prompted. No, she absolutely wasn’t going to let him back out of this, it seemed. He leaned back against the warm boulder to take some weight off his leg and to avoid looking at her for the rest of his ugly little tale. “He kept slapping me on the back and giving me his flask to drink from. I think it was the proudest he’s ever been of me. He told me I’d just gotten a little confused, that ‘having urges’ was natural, but you’ve got to take care of it in the proper time and place. And that he was going to show me around one of the proper places.”

  “Oh.”

  “Exactly. It was an absolute nightmare. The place reeked, and the women all looked miserable, and Father was half drunk and kept telling everyone not to worry about my leg, because my pecker still worked.” He’d also insisted that the madam rustle up “a blond one with big titties” to suit his son’s newly discovered tastes. “He got me hustled into a bedroom with some poor girl, and almost as soon as the door was closed . . . ” God, it really had been the worst night of his life. “I was a mess. I started bawling, and then I vomited. Everywhere. The girl started crying, too, and the madam dragged my father upstairs to take me home.”

  Even telling the bare outline of that night made his stomach churn. He wasn’t sure he wanted to admit this next part; wasn’t sure he even needed to. He took a deep breath and spoke quickly, before he lost his nerve. “I’ve avoided it ever since. All of it.”

  A moment of gut-wrenching quiet passed before Ilsa spoke. “Wait. You’re . . . all of it? Not with anyone?”

  “Well,” he began, but he didn’t have any plan for completing the sentence. He attempted a reassuring smile and then looked away, over the lake.

  “Hey!” She kicked his arm with her booted foot. “Look at me.”

  When he turned back, she wasn’t laughing at him or giving him the look that always meant “poor Little Teddy.” She looked, actually, quite serious. As if he’d told her a riddle that she couldn’t quite puzzle out. She slipped down from her perch and touched his cheek, as if to smooth away his embarrassment.

  “Oh, Theo. You’ve been carrying that around for all these years?”

  Her blue eyes were bright with an emotion he couldn’t quite place, something more like affection than revulsion. Relief coursed through his body like adrenaline. He’d told her his most shameful secret, and not only was she still here, but she was also still touching him. From the moment she had
walked into the room in Wilson’s Bathhouse, he’d acted clumsily, hurt her feelings more than once. And yet, here she was.

  Her hair had loosened from its pins during her scramble to and from the stream, and when she sat with her back to the sun, it formed an aura of light around her face. Her lips were parted, just slightly, and her cheeks and the tip of her nose were flushed pink from the crisp air. He reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. Touching her before, in the darkness of the St. Alice’s fountain room, seemed completely natural. But here, in broad daylight and in the open air?

  He felt like taking a risk. His limbs buzzed with six years’ worth of wanting to take a risk, to try again. He erased the last inches between them, and he kissed her. Not tentatively this time, but with the hunger and confidence of that glorious night in the basement. Ilsa melted into him immediately, weaving her fingers into his hair to pull him closer.

  After an intoxicating minute, she pulled back. “You can’t be a virgin,” she said breathlessly. “You’re too good a kisser.”

  “First off, men aren’t virgins.” She looked sceptical, and he grinned back at her. “I’m inexperienced. Completely different thing. And second, being inexperienced is not the same thing as being ignorant. You’d be amazed at the things you can find illustrated in medical books.”

  “So it’s all theoretical,” she teased.

  He grabbed her around her waist and swung her back up onto the rock. She shrieked with surprise and pushed at his shoulders, but she also parted her knees as he stepped closer, so that he stood cradled between her thighs.

  “A little respect, please. You might need some lessons yourself.” He bent down to kiss her again, and she tilted her chin in anticipation. He smiled and dipped his lips to the crook of her elbow. “Here, for example.” He glanced up and saw her looking at him in confusion. Perfect. He closed his eyes and gave the tender spot a swirl with the tip of his tongue and then nipped gently at the sensitive skin. She squirmed in his arms, and he felt a ridiculous surge of triumph.

  “There’s a lovely little bundle of nerves here that doesn’t get nearly enough attention.” Another nibble. “Your breasts get all the glory, but this spot”—another lingering kiss—“is for experts.” He kissed his way lower, to the pulse at her inner wrist. He noted its unusually rapid tempo with interest before continuing to the sweet creases of her palm. He tasted each fingertip and each of the three unexpectedly intimate little deltas between her fingers.

  He watched her as he went, eager to see what pleased her. Her eyes were half lidded, her focus entirely inward on her own responses and sensations. He was hard, uncomfortably so, but he tried to put that fact aside for now. He had a point to prove, and he refused to be distracted until he’d made it.

  “I could touch you all over, like this,” he murmured. “I want to touch you everywhere.” He brushed his lips across her palm again, and she shivered. “The soles of your feet. Your ankles. The backs of your knees.” He tucked her hand back against his shoulder and ran his hands lingeringly down the tops of her thighs. He reached the hem of her skirts and pulled them higher, inch by inch, until he could cup her knees in his palms. He grinned into the sensitive curve of her neck.

  “You wore silk stockings to climb up a mountain?” He pressed a kiss to her neck, just below her jaw.

  “Maybe I wear them all the time,” she said breathlessly. “I like silk stockings.”

  “Hmm. I like them too. I like them very much.” He slid his fingers a few inches higher, to the ribbons and lace of her garters. “And I like this frilly nonsense here,” he whispered against her ear. She seemed to be holding her breath, letting it out in little sighs with each move he made.

  “Where else do you like to be touched, darling?” She responded wordlessly, reaching down to pull his hand higher under her bunched petticoats.

  He dipped past the gauzy muslin of her pantalets, until he could brush his fingers through the delicate curls between her thighs. Her hand guiding him parted her slick folds—hesitantly at first, until she urged him on with a little whimper of pleasure.

  She leaned towards him, clearly expecting him to pull her closer into his arms. Instead, he leaned forwards, slowly pushing her back until she lay on the sun-warmed stone. He kissed the tender little hollow at the base of her throat, skimmed down to the swell of her breasts, and on to the corseted valley of her stomach. She finally realized his intention and propped up on her elbows to try to catch his eye.

  “Theo! You don’t have to—”

  “I want to. You can’t possibly know how much I’ve thought about pleasuring you like this.” She bit her lower lip in indecision, and it just made her look more adorable. “Please. If I’m terrible at it, just tell me and I’ll put you back to rights.” That earned him a little laugh, and she dropped her head back down. She bunched her skirts up in her fists, blocking his view of her face as he returned to his work.

  He dropped kisses on the tops of her thighs as he pulled the little pantalets down to her knees. He brushed his lips across the sweet swell of her lower abdomen, pausing at the shining pale curls on her mons. He swept a single exploratory finger along her folds and thrilled as Ilsa gasped.

  “Good?” he asked, and she made a low humming noise that he took for a yes.

  Bolder now, he parted her folds and indulged himself in a long, slow lick. She tasted of salt and musk, not at all what he’d expected and yet somehow still exactly right. He’d read about this act, overheard snickering remarks between grown men and dirty jokes whispered between boys. None of that compared to the reality of this warm, glowing woman spread before him, waiting and eager for the pleasure he could give her.

  He applied himself, he suspected, with no great skill or finesse. But Ilsa didn’t tell him to stop or push him away. After a minute or two, he felt her fingers in his hair, subtly guiding lower, higher, deeper, as she chased her pleasure. He had a passing fear that he might disgrace himself and be in for an especially awkward walk back through town. Then Ilsa arched her back suddenly, her fingers fisting in his hair and in her skirts, and she shuddered under his mouth, cried out incoherently. He gave one final flick of his tongue before she shoved him away onto her thigh, laughing.

  He tidied them both up as best he could with his handkerchief. Ilsa flipped her skirts back down over the lovely silk stockings.

  “Oh! Your hair!” She giggled, and he reached up to investigate the damage. “You look like a cranky rooster.” He patted his head, and there was, indeed, a distinctly roosterish quality to the ruff of pomaded hair left from Ilsa’s clasping fingers. She slid down to her feet and attempted to undo the damage with her fingers; in the process, she bumped against the other lingering result of their sylvan interlude.

  “I could take care of that for you, too,” she murmured. “If you’d like.”

  It was tempting. Extremely, painfully tempting. But his appetite for risk seemed to have found its limit for the morning. “I’m enough of a wreck as it is. If you start plying your wiles on me now, I won’t make it back to work alive.”

  She skimmed her fingers along the rigid outline. “Fair’s fair, though.” He groaned and snatched her wicked little hand away from danger.

  She smiled as he lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Later, then? I should have the test results ready to show you in a day or two.”

  Her smiled widened, crinkling the corners of her eyes. “I’d like that very much.”

  He held her hand until they reached the first sign of habitation, just where the dirt path turned to gravel. Theo had managed to recite the provincial capitals enough times to restore his own appearance to decency. There was an uncomfortable moment as their hands pulled apart, and he smiled sheepishly.

  “I hate that I can’t walk down the street with you on my arm.”

  She paused to twist and pin her tumbledown hair back under her hat and smiled at him reassuringly. “It’s okay. This is only for a little while, right?”
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  “Right.” At sixteen, he had loved her and failed miserably at keeping her by his side. But now things were right where they’d left off all those years ago. In fact, they were better. As soon as this business at the St. Alice was sorted out, he could court her properly. Publicly. He’d lost her once, and he’d be damned if he let anything come between them again. In fact, even if the whole business blew up in his face and he wound up disinherited, he’d find a way to support the two of them. It would be worth it to see the look on his father’s face when Ilsa walked into that cavernous old mansion as his betrothed.

  He pulled her close for one last kiss, just a playful peck on the lips. “I’ll see you later this week, won’t I?”

  “Eight o’clock this Wednesday,” she confirmed. “Same place as before.”

  “I’ll leave the door propped. And if you’re a very well-behaved young lady for the rest of the day, I might even let you sit on my lap again.” She crossed her eyes at him and hurried off in the direction of the boardwalk. He stood and watched her until she was out of sight. When it seemed as if she’d put enough distance between them to avoid attracting unwelcome attention, he set off himself. His leg and hip ached now, with all the promise of worse to come, but he whistled cheerfully as he limped along.

  The porter hailed him almost as soon as he entered the lobby.

  “You look to be in fine feather today, sir. Have a pleasant walk?”

  “Yes, a very pleasant walk,” Theo replied. “In fact, it was quite probably the pleasantest walk of my life.”

  • • •

  Ilsa took her time heading back to Wilson’s. Partly because it was a beautiful day, and partly because she needed a chance to think.

  What she’d told Theo when they’d parted ways had been true: this was only for a little while. She had no illusions about her place in his world, let alone in his future. Within a month or two, she would probably be out of his life. But she also couldn’t deny that the spark they’d shared at sixteen was still there. If anything, it was stronger now that they were more mature. Now that she, at least, had a better idea of what she wanted and what a man could offer her. She’d had a fair few beaus over the years, and the intimacies she’d shared with them had been a pleasure and a comfort in the midst of life’s hard work. What a shame that anyone had ruined such a lovely thing for Theo.