A/N: So glad you are back to continue reading. Please be advised that this chapter dips briefly into the M-rated pool. And now…

Chapter 8

"I'm going through the back door outside, circle around to the front, and stop him," said William to Moses, as a short volley of bullets entered the house above them. The glass from another windowpane tinkled to the floor. Only a few minutes had passed since the shooting began, and at this rate, he and Moses would soon run out of ammunition.

William paused and fired out the broken window nearest him. "He's not going to stay out there just shooting at us forever. He'll try to get in to get at Eliza. Just keep firing at him to keep his attention."

"Don't get yourself shot," cautioned Moses wryly.

"That's the plan." William took one more shot, then, after hastily reloading from the bullets on his shoulder holster, he quickly ducked his way toward the kitchen. Halfway there, he met Eliza, who'd been sitting on the floor behind the wall.

"Where are you going?" she asked in alarm. She rose and they stood out of the line of fire.

"Out. I plan to take him by surprise."

"Are you mad? You could be killed." That was rich, he thought, coming from her. Wisely, he didn't point out her hypocrisy.

"I'll be fine. This is my job, Eliza."

"William—"

"I don't have time to argue with you. Just stay put and…"

He paused, noting the genuine fear on her pretty face, her eyes filling with unshed tears. Her realized her own recent brush with death must weigh heavily on her mind now. The shooter outside was a professional, and death was a very real possibility. He shouldn't be hesitating or overthinking this or become distracted by her concern for him. But then again, he suddenly couldn't bear the idea that he might die and she would never know his true feelings.

Impulsively, he took a step toward her, his free hand cradling her head as he leaned down and kissed her hard on the mouth. He pulled away much too soon for either of them. Lifting his head, he saw a lone tear traveling down her alabaster cheek.

"I love you, Eliza," he said, the words torn roughly from his throat. "Now, for once in your life, stay the hell inside!"

And then he was gone, leaving Eliza openmouthed in a mixture of shock, passion, and fear. Her hand came up to touch her tingling lips, and she watched him disappear into the kitchen then out the door that led to the beach. A bullet whizzed past her, and she ducked again, her eyes still on the hall leading to danger.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

William ran, his body low and close to the side of the house. There was a long hedgerow that stretched on one side of the front of the house, and he hurried up to it, still hearing the report of the sniper's gun and the following sound of breaking glass coming from the front of the house. Moses dutifully fired back. Behind the hedge, William looked to the houses across the street, his eyes scanning the view, hoping to get an idea of the shooter's position.

"There you are, you bastard," he said to himself, when the shooter fired and the sun glinted off his rifle.

The houses across the street were up on a small hill, and through the leaves of his shelter, William could just see the man peeking out through a corner of an upstairs window, the tip of his gun just visible. As he'd predicted, the man was soon on the move, and the gun disappeared from view. Hesitating no longer, William emerged from behind the hedge and, ducking down, trotted across the street to the side of the shooter house. He pressed his body against the house behind a shrubbery, chest rising and falling with exertion and adrenaline.

He listened intently, heard the soft click of the house's back door. And then he could hear the man's footfalls on the seashell gravel path, coming closer to William's hiding place. He gripped his pistol, his senses heightened to every step the shooter took.

And then, amazingly, he heard the man pause right on the other side of the shrubbery where William was hiding. William reached his hand through the dense leaves and fired. There was a surprised grunt, and the sound of the shooter's gun falling to the gravel. William slipped quickly around the shrub, and, pistol before him, aimed it at the man who was sliding down the house wall, clutching his chest. William kicked the rifle away.

"Who are you working for?" he demanded.

The man laughed roughly, then coughed up a spate of blood. "Piss off, copper."

"Rothschild's nae gonna own up to anything—you'll go down for this alone if you don't say he hired you. Matter of fact, the toff's got enough money he'll be out after his trial next week. Either way, you'll rot in prison—you may as well take him down with you."

The man looked up at William with icy blue eyes. He wore a stylish suit and fine leather shoes, his bowler pushed back on his forehead. Even sitting down, William could tell his military bearing.
"I need a doctor," the shooter replied. "You just gonna let me die here?"

William was suddenly suffused with renewed rage, remembering that this was the man who'd almost killed Eliza. With renewed purpose, he pointed the gun right between his eyes, holding back the intense urge to pull the trigger.

"You didn't mind shooting an innocent woman, did you? Why should I be in a hurry to get you any help?" William glanced around. "I see no witnesses. I could blow your fekkin brains out and no one'd be the wiser."

The assassin coughed some more, closing his eyes tightly against a stab of pain. Beneath his hand, blood was seeping in an ever-widening circle on his crisp white shirt. The man's answering smile was more of a grimace.

"Ha. From what I've heard, you're an upstanding copper, and you're not gonna kill me."

It was at that auspicious moment (for the shooter) that the carriage Fitzroy had sent came to a stop in front of William and Eliza's borrowed house.

"Damn it all to hell," cursed William, lowering his gun.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next few hours entailed a trip by carriage and then train to the nearest surgeon, a telegram to Scotland Yard, and a conversation with the local Inspector at the Criminal Investigations Division of the Ryde Borough Police Station.

So far, Inspector Wellington had discovered that no one had occupied the house where the shooter had launched his attack—he'd broken in after following Fitzroy from London and had been lying in wait at the second-floor window. Moses had cursed himself for a fool at not seeing the criminal, but they'd discovered from the prisoner and Scotland Yard that the man was indeed a professional assassin—one Major Barnaby Woodhouse, late of the British Army, veteran of the Boer War and a decorated sniper. Coincidentally, he'd served with Lord Rothschild.

"I must be losing my touch," Moses lamented to Eliza, as they waited for William outside the police station.

They sat on a bench facing the sea, and now that all the excitement was over, Eliza was trying to process the whirlwind of emotions following William's strangely timed confession. She forced herself to attempt to comfort a friend. "From what William found out, he was highly trained. Anyone might have missed him."

Moses sniffed, but said no more.

In the ensuing chaos following the apprehension of Woodhouse, Eliza had had no time to talk to William. She'd been so relieved to see that he was well, but with the carriage driver, Moses, and a few curious neighbors as witnesses, she was unable to do more than fleetingly meet his eyes. She'd seen a brief flash of love there, and she'd been helpless not to let her own feelings show. He's smiled softly at her, nodded once, and conducted the business of carrying a bleeding Woodhouse into the carriage with the help of an apologetic Moses. At William's insistence, Eliza had ridden up top with the driver, while he and Moses stayed inside to guard the prisoner, William reluctantly pressing toweling against his chest to staunch the bleeding. Thankfully, Woodhouse had lost consciousness as soon as they were settled inside the carriage.

"I'll turn mi head away in case you want to move dat towel to cover his face," Moses declared, his eyes moving over the failed assassin with disgust. It had been a long time since anyone had put one over on Moses.

"Don't tempt me," replied William under his breath. It would only take a moment to smother him, but William realized he still needed the man to testify against Rothschild, the devil take him.

The closest constabulary and surgeon were in Ryde, and they'd taken the carriage to the train station, where William showed his badge and they were given a private car. William and Moses laid the man on a long bench chair to travel the twenty minutes to Ryde.

"Are you all right?" she asked William.

"Yes. You?"

Moses looked back and forth between the couple, sensing the thick tension between them. He shook his head and looked heavenward. Why didn't they go at it already and put everyone out of their misery?

Now, on their bench in Ryde, Moses crossed his arms over his chest, bowed his head and pulled down his hat, tired from his long night's journey and the morning's excitement. Within minutes, he was breathing deeply, sound asleep. Eliza sighed, as the reality of all that had happened began to seep in.

William loves me, she thought, hardly believing it. After all this time, all their disagreements, all the danger and struggles surrounding their relationship in recent years, he'd found his way to love her. And she loved him, so much so that she ached with it. There would still be much to discuss, much to settle between them. But she found she wanted whatever he could give her, whatever the future might hold, so long as she could see him every day, watch the way his dark green eyes twinkled in humor or snapped at her in irritation. She wanted it all. Wanted him.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

William paused to stare at Eliza and Moses, both sound asleep on a public bench. Eliza's head had drooped against the Jamaican's shoulder. A few days before and he might have felt a wave of jealousy, but he'd seen the love in Eliza's eyes earlier, and for the first time felt completely sure of her feelings. He recognized that Moses thought of himself as her protector, that he might even be a little in love with her himself, but William had very clearly staked his claim, and he knew Moses wouldn't dare cross him; not if he knew what was good for him. Besides, he was certain Eliza had never looked at Moses the way she had looked at William that morning.

With a grin, he reached out and gently jostled her good shoulder.

"Eliza. Wakey wakey. It's time to go."

He watched in amusement as she opened her eyes, looked up at him, disoriented, and then cringed in dismay at her sleeping companion. She wondered if this was a personal flaw, the ability to sleep on anyone's shoulder. She blushed and sat up straight, causing Moses to snort himself awake. William chuckled at the tableau, and Moses pushed his hat back on his head in annoyance.

"What time is it?" asked Moses grumpily.

William took out his pocket watch. "It's nearly three. You have time to make the last train to London, if you're quick."

Moses nodded and stood. "I'll be on my way den," he said. Eliza was safe and it looked like all would be well again.

"Thank you, Moses, for coming to help, for waiting with me," Eliza said, rising to stand beside him. To everyone's surprise, she embraced the big man and tiptoed up to kiss his stubbly cheek.

"It were nottin'," he said, avoiding her eyes. "I'll see you back in London."

William reached out a hand. Moses shook it, neither of them saying a word before the Jamaican slipped away down a side street and out of sight.

"Are you ready?" William asked Eliza. "There are no more trains to Sandown today, but the Inspector here has offered his personal carriage and driver to escort us back to Fitzroy's house. It's about an hour's ride."

Their things were still there, and besides, now that everything had settled down, he wanted nothing more than to forget the day in Eliza's arms, to revisit his confession, and see if she might find the courage to admit her true feelings as well.

"Yes," she said. "I would like that very much."

There was a promise in her eyes that suffused William with heat. He nodded, and impulsively took her hand. She squeezed it as they walked back to the front of the police station, where the Inspector's carriage awaited them.

"I'll have to come back in the morning to check on Woodhouse and arrange his police escort back to London before we leave. Last I heard, they were able to remove the bullet, but he lost a lot of blood. I think we'll be able to put off the trial back home until we get an official statement when he's up to it. I couldn't get him to confess before he passed out."

Eliza frowned as he helped her into the carriage first. "Do you think anyone else is still out there looking to kill me?" They sat across from each other, William facing the front.

"No. But if it happens again, so help me God, this time I'll kill the bastard with my own two hands."

She wasn't surprised at the threat, just at the wild passion behind it.

"I'm sure it won't come to that," she said calmly, hoping to calm him. She looked about the well-appointed carriage, the expensive brocade upholstery over luxurious padded seats, the rich velvet curtains. "It was kind of the Inspector to loan this to us," she observed, changing the subject. She felt his eyes on her, and she bravely met them.

"Yes," he answered, his lips twitching, "it was."

She was as nervous as he was, he realized, and he took a shaky breath before smiling sheepishly at his own outburst. It had been a long day, and he was feeling every ounce of energy it had taken out of him. He watched the mixture of emotions flit across her pretty face, and he was certain he could discern everything from shyness to uncertainty to affection there. He could actually see in her wide blue eyes the moment she summoned the courage to bring up the large elephant lurking about the very cozy enclosure.

"William," she began, then cleared her throat. Her cheeks were pink, just like he liked them. "About what you said earlier…"

"About Woodhouse?" he teased, eyes sparkling.

"No."

"About the trial?"

"No."

"About—"

Finally, she caught on and laughed. "Stop it, William; I'm serious. Did you-?"

"Yes," he said, "I meant it."

"You did?"

By way of answer, he moved to her side of the carriage, sat on the seat beside her, and pulled her unceremoniously onto his lap. She barely had time to gasp her surprise before his mouth covered hers, and he kissed her with newfound vigor. Her hands slid up to his shoulders, and she paid no attention to the twinge in her sore arm. Her heart was racing, occasionally hitching when he moved his tongue against hers in a particularly pleasurable way, or when his large hands nearly spanned her waist before moving up to cup her breasts. She trembled in his arms and wondered if she could die of bliss. Beneath her bottom, she felt his desire and the realization of her power over him stirred her blood. She wriggled experimentally, eliciting a moan and a tightening of his hands against her ribcage. He tore his mouth breathlessly away, resting his forehead against hers.

"You should probably not do that, lass," he said tightly.

Her answer was a sassy wiggle, and a recapturing of his lips. She felt the vibration of his growl as she kissed him, and very soon he'd pressed her down into the cushions. He was a large man, so there was little room to do what he really wanted, but they spent several heady moments kissing and caressing through their clothes while the carriage moved out of Ryde and followed the road from seaside village to village…

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They'd nearly reached Sandown and William had barely managed to compose himself, moving back to his own seat in a vain attempt at propriety. He was uncomfortably aroused, and watching Eliza, her hair disheveled from his hands, her face flushed and dewy, her lips full and pink from his kisses, was pure torture. She tried to bring some semblance of order to her charmingly askew little hat, before giving a frustrated huff and taking it off altogether, settling upon awkwardly removing and re-sticking loose hairpins with one hand. William chuckled.

"It isn't funny," she said, smiling wryly. "The moment the driver sees me, he'll guess what we've been up to. I don't want tawdry gossip to follow us back to London."

"It's sort of like closing the barn door after the horses got out, isn't it? Besides, the moment we're back at the house I'll be messing up your hair again." His eyes were dark and meaningful.

"We should talk about this first, shouldn't we? What all of this means."

William sighed. "You know my feelings, Eliza. I'm only waiting to hear from you."

"I think my feelings are rather…obvious."

"Then it won't hurt to say them out loud, now, will it?" His voice was gruff, his eyes a challenge.

William was all in, but she needed to verbally commit to this, commit to him, so there would be no doubt where this was heading before he made her his own. When she hesitated, he felt his heart clench and drop into his stomach, but he couldn't give up now, not when he was so close to getting everything he'd ever wanted.

"I love you, Eliza. Do you love me?"

"I—"

The carriage came to a sudden, jarring halt, and William cursed under his breath. He felt the conveyance shake as the driver jumped down and came round to lower the steps and open the door. If the man noticed anything amiss in their appearance, he was trained well enough not to stare, merely helping Eliza out and accepting William's coin before climbing back up and driving away. The pair regarded Rose Cottage. The broken windows had been boarded up from the outside, glass swept away. He took the key from his pocket and opened the door, whose bullet holes had yet to be repaired. Inside, the disordered foyer and parlor had been put to rights, blankets covering the inside of the broken windows to stave off rain and chill sea breezes.

"Looks like Mrs. MacKenzie has been here," Eliza commented. "I wonder what she must have heard about what happened here, what she must think of us now."

William shrugged. "This was police business. The old busybody can think what she bloody well pleases." He was suddenly annoyed at the further interruption, of the fact that he was tired to his bones from the combination of seeing to a case and trying to get a handle on where he stood with Eliza.

"I'm going to check around the house, see that everything is locked and secure from all the looky-loos that have likely been hovering about."

He brushed past her, but she reached out and grabbed his arm. "William, wait. Please."

He stopped, looked down at her small, white hand grasping his forearm, then up into her eyes, wide and serious and resolved.

"I do, William. I—I love you too. So much so that it frightens me. And I want this, all of this, with you. Now, the question remains: what do you want of me?"

His answer was to take her in his arms and kiss her with no intention of ever stopping again.

Eventually, they made it up the stairs, stopping frequently to kiss and touch, working once more toward the feverish frenzy they'd experienced in the carriage. She led him by the hand to her room, and in the light from sun through lace curtains, he began to undress her with trembling fingers. In the heat of their passion, her shyness seemed to melt away, and what started as a slow revealing of one another turned quickly into a frantic race to undress and revel in the heat their bodies were creating.

When they were both finally naked at last, they moved as one to the bed, William feeling like a green youth, uncertain where to begin, what to kiss and caress first, the reality of her even better than he'd ever dreamed. Eliza was inundated with a sensuality she'd never known, a heightened madness in the blood that had her hands exploring everywhere she could reach—from his thick hair, to his strong neck, his hairy chest, his warm, muscular back, his tight buttocks beneath surprisingly smooth skin. She felt the hardness of him resting against her thigh, heavy and velvety and unutterably exciting.

His mouth latched on to her breast, suckling there while his hand travelled lower, to the downy hair between her legs. She gasped and cried out as his fingers deftly traced her throbbing little bud before slipping just inside her body. He found her wet and ready for him, and he shuddered with the torment of holding himself back.

"Eliza," he said, his breath hot upon her breasts, his beard soft and sensual against her bare skin. "Let me love you."

"Yes," she said, her eyes closed tightly against the overwhelming pleasure of what his clever fingers and thumb were doing to her. He continued to stroke her, and she began to feel light, as if she were floating above her body, but at the same time with a powerful, delicious tension building deep inside of her. Her breaths became fast and harsh, and flashes of light exploded beneath her eyelids as billows of pleasure inundated her. She cried out as her body began shaking uncontrollably, and for a moment, everything went black. She came back to herself as William gently kissed her lips, and she felt his smile there.

She had read of la petite mort, had blushed at the reference in a recent medical journal, but hadn't fully understood its meaning until now. She did, in fact, feel as if she had died a little, but in a very, very good way.

She smiled languidly and kissed him back, while he moved over her. Instinctively, she drew up her knees to cradle him, felt him hovering at the entrance of her body.

"I'm sorry, love. This might hurt," he whispered, his words shaking with the strain to control himself, to go slowly. He reached down to guide himself in, and she tensed at the sense of intrusion. He caressed her there, gentling her, and then, with his mouth on hers, pushed his way all the way in. She felt a brief pinching as he met her barrier, but then he was gliding deep inside, drawing from him a long moan of pleasure. His body continued to tremble as he paused.

"Eliza?" he asked, looking for assurance that she was all right. Experimentally, she lifted her hips and he had his answer.

He felt like they were melding together, becoming one as the old poets opined in the books. He'd never had this before, not with anyone, and as he moved within her, felt her rise to meet him, his joy was immeasurable. Part of his hesitance the other night had been the fear of getting her with child before they were married, so at the last moment, he withdrew with a moan of ecstasy. There could be no one else now, he realized, as the remnants of pleasure shook through his body. He'd always thought Eliza Scarlet would be the death of him.

He was ruined, wrecked, and helplessly in love.

A/N: Thanks so much for your great reviews! One more chapter to go…