Heiress for Hire, page 21
* * *
As arranged, the carriage was waiting for them when they left the building. Chase guided Minerva through the crush to its door.
Her expression in the lamplight reminded him of the one yesterday when she was leaving. Astonished. Transformed.
“Have you never heard music like that before?” he asked when he sat beside her and the carriage began nudging away from the other conveyances.
“Not quite. Not like the last piece. The first ones—I have heard something similar in church.”
The first had been Bach. The second Beethoven. The first a fugue on harpsicord. The second a symphony that thundered through the theater. Uncle Frederick had not liked Beethoven’s music. Dionysiac, he had called it. The structure is there but buried in storms that rouse the emotions, not the mind, he had said. On the other hand, when you want to seduce a woman, it is useful to have her listen to Beethoven first.
“Did your church in Dorset have such sophisticated music?”
“No, but when in London I would attend St. George’s near Hanover Square. I never missed Sunday service. Beth and her son would come too, and we would walk both ways, even in bad weather, to make the outing last a long time.”
There would be no way Finley could object to his wife attending church. That must have annoyed him. Not enough that he accompanied her, though. Such a man knows his soul has no business in such a place. “How far was it?”
“We normally let a house west of Portman Square, so not too far. I would have to leave quite early, though, because we would walk very, very slowly.” She kissed his cheek. “Thank you for tonight. It was a special treat. I feel as though the music is still inside me.”
He turned and gave her a full kiss, such as he had been wanting to do since she left her house. “I will return you to your home now if you want.”
“Don’t you dare.”
He needed no more encouragement than that. The music was still inside him too, and he released some of the passion in kissing her. Things were more equal this time. She parted her lips, inviting the deep exploration of her mouth. She nipped his lip, testing her own power a little.
It was hell releasing her when the carriage stopped. They both pretended they were normal while he settled with the coachman and they walked calmly to the door. Up the stairs they trod, when in truth he wanted to sling her over his shoulder and run.
Once the door closed on his apartment he grabbed her and swung her into his arms. There was no sight or sound of Brigsby, who must have taken shelter in his chamber. He held her head with one hand and shrugged off coats and cravat. She dropped her reticule. Amidst kisses and bites and grasping embraces they inched through the apartment with garments flying.
Only when they dropped onto the bed naked did he seek some restraint. He might not have to be heroic, but he could not ravish her either. Yet he craved to be in her, thrusting deeply, feeling her tremors and hearing her sighs and—he forced himself to find the final tether to sanity that still existed.
He took his time after that, to make sure she knew pleasure. The rhythm of her sighs and gentle moans, slow at first then rising in speed and sound, found union with the hard beat of his heart. She abandoned control fast, like a woman more than ready. He put his hand to her mound while he used his mouth on her breasts, to push her further into delirium.
He gently pushed at one thigh. “Open, darling.” He slid a finger down her cleft while he spoke. Her mouth fell open and her back arched. He almost pulled her atop him then, but instead again resisted. He touched her more purposefully. The intensity had her cry out.
She moved against his hand, seeking more. Her cries turned loud and desperate. A series of small tremors shook her and with each one she stopped breathing. He circled his touch around the edge of her passage, then brought it forward to the nub. A series of frantic cries rang through the chamber. Then she screamed, and even as she did she scrambled atop him, and took him inside herself. She came down hard, absorbing him.
She looked glorious and perfect and he wanted her only more now. He gritted his teeth and restrained himself yet again, so whatever she experienced would not be interrupted.
It seemed like forever they remained like that, with him throbbing inside her, hot and demanding, with his whole body tight as a bowstring. He was about to give up on heroics when she opened her eyes and looked down. She leaned forward, kissed him, and began moving.
She soon joined him again in frenzied passion. The coil of pleasure tightened, increasing his hunger and pushing for more. He thrust hard again and again. His release came in an explosion of pleasure that buried him.
She sank down on him, her fingers gripping his shoulders and her breathing hard and short. He wrapped his arms around her back and bottom so they stayed together a while longer in every way. She remained with him as sensations slowly gave way to thought. Even then he kept her there, because most of those thoughts wandered around her.
He finally loosened his hold. She rolled off him and onto her back beside him. He figured out how to cover them both with the tangle of bedclothes they had created. He embraced her with one arm so she came closer.
“I am speechless,” she said lowly into his ear. “I have no way to know for sure, but I think you are probably a very good lover.”
He enjoyed her flattery to a ridiculous extent.
She nestled down closer and deeper. “You spent the day on inquiries, didn’t you?”
“I did. You were correct about Dolores. There was an old resentment, over a man that my uncle warned off most effectively. He paid the fellow to disappear. She is still angry.” He was going to let it rest, but found himself adding. “And Kevin admitted to me that he indeed returned from France earlier, and met with Uncle Frederick. They had a row.”
She didn’t move or speak for a long time.
“Not on the roof,” he felt obligated to add. “And not that night, but the evening before.”
“Well, that’s different, isn’t it?”
It is if he is telling the truth. Damnation. For hours he had not been turning that over in his head. Inevitable that it would all start again, though.
“It is difficult to investigate one’s own family. Perhaps you should wait for an official inquiry. If there isn’t one, you can take it up again if you think you should.”
He watched her profile and the way the low light limned it. The tangle of her hair spread out over the pillow, its silken strands feathering his face. He had not told her, or anyone, that his inquiry was the official one. It had crossed his mind to tell Peel to find someone else to do it, though. Only then he would have no control over it. No ability to turn that blind eye, or avoid ferreting out information on people he did not think required investigation. Like Kevin. Or Minerva.
He had wondered when she would go to this topic. Right now had been a good choice. Their intimacy allowed more honest talk than daylight ever required.
“If it is someone in the family, I would want to know first,” he said.
“So you could tell that person to purchase packet tickets?”
“Something like that.”
She turned her head to look at him. “Have you ever done that?”
“There was one time when I might have. I was too trusting of the person’s innocence, however, until it was too late.”
“I hope you did not blame yourself for trusting, no matter what it meant to the direction of events.”
“It was a mistake that I paid for dearly, that is all.”
She peered at him, as if trying to see his thoughts. When he said no more, she looked away. There was no hurt in her, from what he could tell. She merely accepted that he chose not to share the story with her.
He looked away too, at the ceiling. She turned into his arm and rested her head on his chest.
Did you kill him? Only twice had he answered that question, and even then not told everything. He did not speak of it. He did not explain.
“I was in the army and at times conducted investigations. That was where I started and learned. After Waterloo, I was with my regiment in France, part of the army that remained there while matters were sorted out. A Frenchman was found dead in the town. Knife wounds. Someone said one of our men had been seen nearby. I was told to look into it.”
She did not move or react. She only listened.
“I learned this man had a lover. A woman of renowned beauty. And he had a rival. One of our officers. A friend of mine. A good friend.”
Only briefly did he consider not finishing. Yet it felt good to speak of it, finally. With her.
“I knew it could not possibly have been him. I knew him. I had for years. I would have sworn to his character. So I kept searching for another, and yet—there was no one else. I did not accept the truth until they arrested him. One of her servants came forward and admitted she had seen it all. An argument over the woman. A crime of passion, the French called it. The British army claimed jurisdiction, however, and we have no provisions for such an excuse. He was sure to hang.”
“How terrible for him. And for you if he was a friend.”
“It meant an ignoble death, and the loss of his good name. An embarrassment to his family and all who claimed him as a friend.” He was there again, hearing the damning evidence, and knowing all that it meant, even beyond death. He could see the fear in his friend’s eyes, worse than any seen in battle. Did you do it? Did you kill him?
“On the second morning of the trial he was found dead in his cell. A single pistol wound, well placed. A suicide wound, it appeared, but no pistol was found.”
She turned her body so she looked up at him.
“Did you kill him?”
Brave woman. Braver than he was. He had never asked her that question, after all.
“He admitted his guilt to me, then asked me to. Begged me to. I refused. I gave him my pistol, however, and stood aside, outside the cell while he used it. Then I took the pistol, so he would not in fact be a suicide.” He only got it out by speaking without pause, by forcing down the emotions of that dank donjon of a gaol and the friendship that led him to such a choice. “No one could prove a thing, but they guessed. Few thought the less of me for it. ‘I would have done the same,’ one senior officer confided, even though I had admitted nothing. When asked if I killed him, I said I had not.”
“You hadn’t.”
“Not officially. But in a way I had.”
“Is that why you left the army?”
He smiled into the dark, ruefully. “You are good at inquiries, aren’t you? It was recommended that I sell out my commission. It was the kind of story that follows a man throughout his career. As for now, and the rumors even in my own family—there is no good way to explain it, is there?”
She kissed his chest, gently. “There is no blame for you in this sad story. I hope you don’t tell yourself there is.”
“If I were not so trusting of my knowledge of him, I would have known sooner. I might have had better choices then.”
“Such as telling him to run?”
He stroked her crown. She stretched up and kissed him. “So now you only trust evidence and proof that you can list on paper, because when it mattered your deeper knowledge of a man got it all wrong. Yet, I think you did know back then. Your heart and your loyalty and your youth would not accept it, but deep inside you, even before the evidence and proof, I think you knew.”
The argument that rose in his head died on his lips. She sighed deeply, and began to doze off. He held her, glad she had not reached for her garments instead of falling asleep in his arms.
Sleep crept up on him as well. Thoughts and fragments of memories floated in what remained of his consciousness. Bits of Dolores’s story, and of conversations with Kevin and Minerva, and of events from that old inquiry. Oblivion pulled at him, making him drift down. With his last awareness he felt her body against his, and his hand and arm around her nakedness.
Yes, damn it. I knew.
Chapter Nineteen
“I have been thinking. You said in passing that you could use someone like Jeremy at times. If you meant that, you have my permission to offer him a situation, as long as I don’t lose his services.”
They were in a carriage, riding to her home in the gray light of dawn. Not that anyone at her house would be unaware she had been gone all night. Still, she thought it best to maintain the normal standards of deception.
“In other words, if you have no use for him, I can make use of him.”
“If he agrees. He might like earning some coin. I think he grows restless when I don’t keep him busy.”
“I will see what his thoughts are on it, and if his view of his value is as high as yours. I hope not. Will you loan me Miss Turner too?”
“She is still a little green, but holds much potential. In a few months, perhaps.”
He went back to kissing her, which her comment about Jeremy had interrupted. He didn’t stop when they arrived at her house until she gave him a gentle push.
“He will be awake by now, if you want to speak to him,” she said. “He has lived in the little carriage house in back the last two years.”
“At his age I expect he was getting underfoot here with you two ladies.”
“It was all his idea to move out there. Beth was too aware of his movements when he lived in the house.” There had been some rows about that, with Jeremy letting his mother know that it was time for her to mind her own affairs. At first the house seemed empty without him, and less safe, but he was close by in that carriage house, and by nature watchful.
“What will you do today?” he asked, dallying at the door, his hand resting on her arm as if he did not want to stop touching her.
“First, I will sleep.”
He smiled wickedly at the meaningful look she gave him. Among the other things she had learned in that bed to her amazement was that people on occasion did that more than once in a night. The pleasure had been quieter the second time, even languid, but no less moving. After his revelations, their closeness seemed even deeper, as if they had absorbed parts of each other.
“Then I will start on my new inquiry.”
“An interesting one?”
“I am to find a relative who has gone missing. There was an estrangement, and now one party wants a reconciliation, but has no idea where to find the relative in question. I think I will start with advertisements.”
She worked the latch and opened the door. “I would love to stand out here with you and kiss and embrace and shock the neighbors, but I do have to send you home.”
A charming smile. An elaborate bow. He turned away and she shut the door. She went up to her chamber, hoping Beth would pepper her with questions and force her into confidences. If she did not tell someone about last night, she would burst.
* * *
Chase untethered his horse and sent the carriage on its way. He definitely would have to purchase one, and arrange for the services of a coachman and groom.
He tied the horse to a post, then strolled to the side garden portal. If Jeremy was awake and about, he might as well see if Jeremy had the same view of being shared as Minerva had of it.
The narrow house had a narrow garden with old walls separating it from the neighbors’ property. The carriage house way in back looked to have a new roof, but Chase doubted a carriage had lived there in many years.
He walked around to the front and rapped on the door.
“In here,” Jeremy called.
Chase entered. It was a small place, but had been made comfortable. A wooden floor made it into a house if anything did. The gates for the carriage were firmly locked and bolted, becoming a wall. Simple furniture, probably borrowed from the main house, created a little sitting room.
Another door gave off from this one, and he walked to it. On its threshold he saw that it was the bedchamber. Inside Jeremy washed, stripped to the waist, his youthful body bent over the basin while he rinsed his face. He heard Chase, and glanced over. Smiling, he stood and faced the door while he pulled on a shirt. Then he opened the door fully and came out. “I thought it was my mum. I didn’t expect callers. I don’t have any.”
Chase looked around the chamber. “You have made a pleasant home for yourself here.”
“I like it. Mum doesn’t.” He smiled again. “‘We’ll be killed by intruders and you’ll be none the wiser out here,’ she said. As if any intruder would stand a chance with those two, as you learned to your pain. Also, they can shoot better than I can.”
“Is that who taught Miss Hepplewhite? Your mother?”
“It was. Mum was a farmer’s daughter. Tenant on some estate somewhere. But she married an army fellow. Not like you. Just a soldier. He got killed in the war early on, and she went into service to be able to keep me.” He pulled on his coat. “Come and sit down. If you are here, there is a reason I expect.”
Chase and he returned to the sitting room. Jeremy built up the fire a bit and soon the flames broke through the night chill still hanging in the house.
“I would offer you something, but I take meals at the house and there’s not even coffee here.”
“I have no need of anything, but thank you for the good intentions. Miss Hepplewhite suggested something to me. I thought I would talk about it with you, since you may not think it as good an idea as she did.”
“Could be, although she usually has good ideas.”
“She said that there are times when she does not have much use of your services, and that if I do have need of such services then, perhaps you would like to make yourself available to my inquiries.”
Jeremy absorbed that. He frowned vaguely while he thought. “There’d be wages for this?”
“I will match whatever she pays you.”
Jeremy smiled at the floor and scratched his head. “I’ll be wanting a bit more than that, because she doesn’t pay me anything. Not yet. She feeds me and I live here, and she is like my family.”
“Then let us settle on wages that are suitable, since I am not like family.”
It did not take long to do so. Jeremy seemed pleased. “It could be complicated, what with you sending for me and I’m maybe not even here to know it because I’m somewhere for her.”
