Chapter 26

 

 

 

Oliver couldn’t believe it. Claudia here, in his arms. It was beyond any dreams he had, beyond all expectations. “I know you asked for time. I am sorry I sent the note. It was arrogant of me—”

Claudia turned enough to place two fingertips against his lips, effectively silencing him. “You have destroyed my stubborn wall of resolve. The bricks fell away every time you touched me, kissed me. Oh, hell’s bells, when you walk into a room.” She stroked his cheek tenderly. “I have had such wicked dreams about you. I cannot wait for night to come to lose myself in those heated fantasies.”

Oliver’s heart soared at her words, for he did the same every night. “You do want me?”

“Yes, I want you—as the viscount and the vigilante. When those yearnings merged, I could not fathom the depths of my overwhelming feelings for you, so I tried to place them behind that barrier.” Claudia laid her head against his chest. “But they kept seeping through. I am not afraid anymore. I love you, Oliver. I am so in love with you that I—”

It was all he needed to hear. Oliver kissed her passionately, trailing his hands down her hips until he grasped her rear, bringing her in tight against his arousal.

Claudia moaned softly, writhing in his arms as if desperate to get closer. Breaking the kiss, he took her hand, and Oliver led her off the path behind a large plane tree. With her back against the tree trunk, he kissed her again as his hand tunneled under her gown.

“You are utterly stunning in this dress,” he murmured between kisses. “Beautiful no matter what you wear, laborer clothes included.”

Claudia laughed softly, then gasped as his fingers stroked her inner thigh. 

“Remember what I said? About what I wanted to do?” he asked huskily.

“Oh, yes. Word for word. You said, ‘If you only knew how I wanted to vault across my desk, hold you in my arms, and kiss you senseless. Back you up against the wall, trail my hand up under your skirt, finding the wetness therein.’”

“Yes. I want to touch you. Are you wet?” Oliver whispered fiercely.

“I am. Touch me.”

Oliver needed no further invitation. His fingers burrowed through the slit in her drawers, and wetness coated his fingers. He moaned at the sensation. It would be tempting to drop to his knees and bury his face there, licking her until she screamed. But it was a public park. This is as much as he dared do under the circumstances.

He stroked her folds and, finding that sensitive nub, rubbed it with his thumb as his fingers moved in and out of her. This continued for several moments, and Oliver could feel her peak building. The ecstasy showing on her lovely face urged him onward. Claudia went limp against him, stifling her moans against his shirt sleeve.

“Come for me,” he urged, his voice rough with passion. “Come apart in my arms.”

It took no time at all. God above, he was close to spilling in his trousers. Claudia’s breath came in short gasps until she cried out, covering her mouth with her hand to stem the noise. She shuddered against him, and the tremors sent bolts of desire all through him.

After gaining control of her breathing, Claudia laid her hand against his aching cock. But Oliver heard voices in the distance before they could say or do anything. “Stay here,” he whispered. He ran toward the path, gathered up his coat, and returned to her before anyone saw him.

They stood together, holding each other close behind the tree’s large trunk, and waited until the voices passed. Oliver stroked her silken hair, laying kisses on her forehead. He could not stop touching and kissing her.

“What about you?” Claudia said as she trailed the tip of her finger along his arousal. Oliver trembled in response. 

“Soon. I would like nothing more than for you to bring me to release, but not here.” He motioned toward the pathway as more voices could be heard in the distance. “We will have other opportunities. We love each other, and everything is possible.” Oliver kissed her again but soon halted as he neared the point of no return. “Did you arrive by Gideon’s carriage?” Claudia nodded. “I will escort you to it.” He slipped on his coat and buttoned it. It would not be prudent to walk about the city streets with an obvious erection.

“Everything is possible, isn’t it?” Claudia smiled.

Oliver tenderly stroked her cheek. “We have all the time in the world. I will come by Olivia and Gideon’s for breakfast. When do they serve it?”

Claudia took his hand and kissed it. “Half past nine.”

He absolutely loved it when she kissed his hand. “We will discuss what to do next about Danaher. That must be resolved before we move forward with our future. Or am I advancing this too swiftly?”

“Not at all. Not in my eyes,” Claudia murmured.

Oliver chuckled. “Society will say this all happened far too quickly. That there should be months of courtship before discussing a future together.”

“To hell with society and their rules.” Claudia threw her arms about his neck and kissed him ardently.

“I so agree,” Oliver growled. He clasped her breast, his thumb moving across her erect nipple. He wanted to take her to his bed right this very minute. Have them explore together and make love all night. He was about to suggest that very thing, but those faraway voices drew closer, and common sense again came into focus. Sighing, he took a step back, took her arm, and placed it through his. 

Together, they strolled along the moonlit pathway toward Hill Street.

Oliver could not envision a more perfect evening.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jedi Danaher sat behind a table, watching his men drag in two well-dressed nobs. Jedi wore a long cloak with a hood, which he had pulled over his head and hauled low over his eyes to partially obscure his face. His men removed the burlap bags they had over the men’s heads.

“Names!” he barked menacingly. The place was shrouded in darkness, so there was no possible way the men could identify their surroundings.

“Viscount Shinwell,” the one on the left sniffed arrogantly. “And this is Mr. Bryan Wollstonecraft, son of the Earl of Carstone.”

Wollstonecraft kicked Shinwell in the leg; no doubt annoyed the viscount gave away his aristocratic family ties. Shinwell. Of course, Darrington’s contemptible son. Jedi had done business with Darrington on numerous occasions. Did Shinwell know of his father’s criminal enterprises? Probably not.

“They’ve been at The Black Moon many times and on Bangor Street,” Birch said. “And next door.”

Buying opium. 

“Then you owe me a luxury tax,” Jedi growled. He didn’t bother using his street accent any longer. What was the point?

“I think not, and you have no right to drag us here like this,” Shinwell said, crossing his arms defiantly.

“I have every right. Notting Dale is mine,” Jedi replied, then pointed at the viscount. “I know your father very well. We’ve done many deals together over the years.”

“I highly doubt it.”

Jedi laughed cynically. “How do you think the earl has financed his life and paid your bills? He’s a smuggler and more besides.”

The blood drained from Shinwell’s face.

Jedi was correct. The pampered bastard had no clue. “You, Viscount. Answer my questions, and I might consider letting you go. Do you know a detective named Simpson?”

“N-no.”

Not so arrogant now. “Does Carnstone have any wealth? Is he in the city?”

“Yes, and no, not in London. But his oldest son is Viscount Tensbridge. He lives at 5 Hill Street, Mayfair.”

“You miserable bastard,” Wollstonecraft hissed through clenched teeth.

Perhaps the viscount brother hired Claudia’s agency to follow this wayward whelp. It was plausible and worth a look. “Shinwell, you can go. I will collect the tax from your father. Don’t show your face around here again until he settles your account. As for Wollstonecraft—” Jedi paused. “You will stay here as my guest. I will contact your brother about paying your fee. And Shinwell? Don’t get it in your empty head to go to Tensbridge about this. Or I will find you and silence you permanently. Go now before I change my mind.”

Shinwell scrambled toward the door.

“Troy!” Wollstonecraft called out beseechingly.

Shinwell turned and shrugged. “Sorry. Self-preservation and all that.” One of Jedi’s men grabbed Shinwell roughly by the arm, pulled the burlap sack over his head, then pushed the viscount out through the creaky door, banging it shut behind him.

“Not much of a friend, is he?” Danaher laughed cruelly.

“No. He is not.”

“Put him below,” Jedi ordered Birch.

“What? Below?” Wollstonecraft cried.

How ironic Jedi used the same cache The Sentinel hid in, and probably Claudia as well. “It’s a bit dark, but there is a pallet and a bucket. Keep quiet, and I might even feed you. Don’t try to escape, not that you could. I installed bolts to secure the trapdoor, and my men will be watching.”

The panic on Wollstonecraft’s face was palatable. Danaher could make it out by the dim light of the candle. He probably didn’t like the dark or enclosed places—or both. Who bloody cares? 

“Don’t put me down there. I have money,” Wollstonecraft rasped.

“How much?”

Wollstonecraft dug into his pockets with shaking hands and brought forth a few notes. “Four pounds,” he whispered miserably.

Jedi and his men burst out laughing. “Not near enough. But we will take it and buy bread and cheese for you to nibble on. Maybe you can share it with the rats.” Jedi hadn’t seen any rats below, but he thoroughly enjoyed seeing the blood drain from Wollstonecraft’s face at the prospect.

Birch snatched the money from Wollstonecraft and then pushed him toward the large fireplace. In a manner of minutes, Wollstonecraft was secured below.

“What now?” Birch asked.

“Let the toff stew a bit down there. Bring him bread and water at midnight. Then we will send a note along to his viscount brother. If he pays the money, we will let the sniveling bugger go. If The Sentinel is involved in this somehow, he will show up, maybe with friends in tow.”

“What about the coppers? The viscount could call in the police instead of paying.”

“Maybe. But I will put in the note no coppers, or else—” Jedi made a slashing motion across his neck. “That’s why you are going to the station to bring Constable Nigel Lindon to me immediately. He works nights and feeds me information.”

Birch rushed out the door.

Jedi sat patiently and waited. He cocked his ear toward the trapdoor. There was a noise which sounded like whimpering. A slow, satisfied smile crept across his face.

 

 

Lindon stood before him fifteen minutes later. He described Simpson as about six feet, dark blond, blue eyes, early thirties. The description fits the man who gave orders during the raid. Was it Simpson? Some of the puzzle pieces snapped into place; others did not.

“What else can you tell me about him?” Jedi asked.

“I heard he’s mates with a bunch of nobs. He’s been hanging about at a viscount’s place lately.”

Jedi’s head snapped up. Viscount? It would be too much of a coincidence. In the paper, Jedi read there were over one hundred viscounts currently. What were the odds it would be Tensbridge? Regardless, it was a nugget of information that Jedi tucked away for future use. 

“Is Simpson at the station now?”

“Aye, he is. He was just made Detective Sergeant, the miserable bastard. Everything by the book, strict orders and such, and—”

“Enough. Take Birch with you and point him out. Birch, stick to this bloke Simpson like glue. I want to know his comings and goings.”

Both men departed, leaving Jedi with his thoughts. He was not wholly convinced Simpson was The Sentinel, but he would pursue this to the end on the outside chance that he is. 

No one would interfere with his business. 

Copper or not.