Twenty-four

HE DID NOT PAUSE TO CONSIDER HIS DESTINATION. There was only one place he wanted to be at that moment. He hailed a passing hackney and ordered the coachman to take him to the little house in Claremont Lane.

His leg gave a few protesting twinges when he alighted, but he ignored them and went up the steps to bang the brass knocker.

There was no response.

He was not in the best of moods, and the silence did nothing to enhance his temper. On his way out after breakfast he had informed Mrs. Chilton that he would return this afternoon around three.

It occurred to him that lately he had begun to think of Lavinia’s little house as his home away from home. Rather like his club. He had even taken to issuing instructions to Mrs. Chilton just as he did to Whitby.

He knew that he had no right to be annoyed when those instructions were not carried out. Nevertheless, Mrs. Chilton had implied that Lavinia would be home this afternoon. Yet no one came to answer the door.

He went back down the steps into the street and studied the upstairs windows. The drapes were pulled shut. In his experience, Lavinia kept all of the household curtains open during the day. She liked the light.

A chill of unease drifted through him. It did not seem right that the house should be entirely empty at this hour. Perhaps some last-minute shopping had taken Emeline and Lavinia out, but where was Mrs. Chilton?

This was more than a little odd. He spent so much time in this house these days that he knew Mrs. Chilton’s schedule as well as he knew Whitby’s. This was not the day she took the afternoon off to see her sister.

The sense of unease darkened in him. He tried the front doorknob, expecting to find it locked.

It twisted easily in his hand.

Memories of how the door at Tredlow’s shop had opened just as smoothly yesterday chilled him.

Quietly, he let himself into the front hall and closed the door. He stood for a moment, testing the quality of the silence. It told him nothing.

He reached down into his boot and found the small knife he kept in the hidden sheath. Gripping it in his right hand, he went to the door of the parlor. The room was empty.

He continued down the hall to Lavinia’s study.

It, too, was empty.

So was the kitchen.

He suppressed the fear that threatened to claw at his insides and started up the stairs, careful to make no sound on the treads.

At the top of the staircase he paused. This was the first time he had ever been up here, he realized. He did not know his way around on this floor.

He studied the doors that opened off the hallway and recalled that Lavinia had once mentioned that her bedchamber had windows that faced the street.

He approached it cautiously, glancing into the other rooms he passed along the way. There was no sign of a disturbance, he noted with some relief, nothing to indicate that an intruder had been here.

A soft rustling came from the bedchamber he had decided belonged to Lavinia. He moved to the wall and flattened himself against it, listening intently.

The slight noise came again. Someone was moving about in that chamber.

Stealthily, he made his way to the edge of the door and looked into the room at an angle. A handsome screen covered in panels decorated with scenes of Roman gardens stood in his line of sight. It concealed whoever was on the other side, but he could hear the soft crackle of a fire on the hearth and a soft splash.

An elegantly arched bare foot appeared beneath the bottom edge of one of the screen panels. It settled on a towel that had been spread on the floor. There was another little splash and a second foot materialized.

The cold tension inside him evaporated. It was immediately replaced by another kind of awareness. He bent slightly to sheath the knife, straightened, and went through the partially open door.

“I would be delighted to assist you with your bath, madam,” he said.

There was a soft gasp from the other side of the screen.

“Tobias?” Lavinia peeked around the edge of one of the panels, a thick towel clutched to her breasts. Her eyes widened at the sight of him standing in her bedchamber. “Good heavens. What are you doing here?”

He looked at her and felt his blood heat. Her hair was pinned up into a knot on top of her head. Wispy tendrils trailed down the length of her bare neck. Her face was flushed and rosy from the combination of the warm water and the flames of the fire. The voluminous folds of the towel she grasped draped gracefully to her small ankles.

“I’m certain that there is something poetic and romantical that I ought to say at this moment,” he muttered. “But I’m damned if I know what it is.”

He left the doorway and crossed the room to where she stood at the edge of the screen. She smiled at him, her eyes as brilliant as the flames on the hearth.

“I’m wet,” she warned him when he reached for her.

“That is extremely fortunate for both of us.” He picked her up and started toward the bed. “Because I am aching to sink myself into you.”

Her husky laugh was the most alluring music he had ever heard.

He put her down on the bed and took hold of the towel that veiled her body. Gently, he tugged it aside and tossed it onto the floor. He had thought himself already fully aroused, but the heavy excitement he was feeling became almost painful at the sight of her gently curved breasts and the triangle of tight curls at the apex of her thighs.

He reached down and curved his hand around her hip. She shivered at his touch and his mouth went dry. This was, he realized, the first time he had ever experienced the luxury of seeing her entirely nude. The very nature of their affair limited such opportunities. All of their previous trysts had been hurried encounters conducted in locales that did not allow for complete disrobing.

He knew from the way she watched him strip off his shirt, trousers, and boots that she was thinking the same thing.

“Do you realize,” he whispered thickly when he came down on top of her, “that this is the first time we have ever shared a bed together?”

“That thought did occur to me, yes.”

“I trust you will not find the experience too dull or boring. I know how fond you are of exotic locales and a touch of novelty when it comes to this sort of thing.”

She smiled up at him and put her arms around his neck. “I must admit that there are certain advantages to having a bed. It is considerably more comfortable than a stone bench or a coach seat or the top of my desk.”

“Comfort is not my primary concern when I am with you,” he whispered against her throat. “But there is something to be said for it.”

He raised his head, found her mouth, and kissed her deeply. She returned the embrace with a sweet hunger that ravished his senses. The knowledge that she wanted him as badly as he wanted her was the most intoxicating drug imaginable. Need pounded through him, a driving urgency that was far more intense than mere passion. The hot brew flooded his veins and tightened every muscle.

He would never let her go, he vowed silently, not to Hudson or any other man.

He stroked the length of her body from bare breast to bare thigh. Her skin was soft, sleek, and wonderfully resilient to the touch. She arched beneath him. He plunged his fingers into her warmth.

“You are, indeed, very wet,” he said into her mouth. “Perfect.”

She moaned and twisted against him, closing her thighs around him. He could feel the fullness of the small button at the top of her cleft. He stroked lightly until she sank her nails into him.

He could wait no longer.

He eased slowly, deliberately into her snug, warm passage and groaned aloud at the raw satisfaction.

He felt the edge of her teeth on the skin of his shoulder. She clung to him so tightly that he thought they surely must be bound together for all time.

 

ANTHONY FELT THE TINY JOLT OF ELECTRICITY across the back of his neck again. No doubt about it, the flower-seller was following him. He caught sight of the now-familiar shape of the massive gray bonnet at the edge of his vision. It disappeared quickly behind a farmer’s cart, but he was sure it was the same flower-seller he had spotted a few minutes ago in the square.

A tingle of anticipation, a heightening of all his senses arced through him. He suddenly felt more alert. Objects, buildings, and the people around him appeared to be more sharply focused.

He wondered if this odd excitement was one of the lures that drew Tobias to the business of conducting private inquiries. The sensations were certainly vastly more stimulating than those that came with placing a wager or watching a boxing match, he thought.

There was no time to contemplate the philosophy of his new profession. The goal now was to identify the person who was spying on him.

“Thank you for your assistance, miss.” He handed the streetwalker a few coins. She was the youngest woman he had talked to today. He guessed her age to be fifteen or sixteen at the most. “Something for your trouble.”

“No trouble at all, sir.” She giggled and made the money disappear into the front of her shabby gown. “Glad to help.”

Her laughter made him uneasy. For a moment or two she sounded like an innocent young chit who ought to be in the schoolroom, looking forward to being launched into Society, not a hardened prostitute with no hope of a future. He wondered what sad fate had brought her here to this corner.

He touched the brim of his hat politely in farewell. The girl broke into another gale of giggles. Evidently the notion of a man offering her a small gesture of gallantry struck her as vastly entertaining.

He shook off the depressing ruminations that had been brought on by the interview and turned his attention to thinking of ways to get a closer look at the flower-seller. This could be a turning point in the case, he thought. If he handled this situation carefully, he might turn up a nugget of useful information.

The thought of proving that he had a real talent for this profession was an added incentive. If he came back with a clue, Tobias might even stop dropping hints about the advantages of pursuing a career as a man of business.

He moved quickly through the maze of twisted lanes and walks. The task of interviewing the prostitutes had drawn him into this mean neighborhood an hour ago. It was a place where the principal businesses were gambling hells, dingy taverns, and establishments run by fences who dealt in stolen goods.

He turned a corner and saw the shadowy opening of a small alley. The smell—a mix of urine, foul refuse, and some decaying animal parts—hit him with the force of a slap. He held his breath and slipped into the narrow passage.

Two boys ambled past the entrance, intent on a conversation concerning the best way to steal hot pies from the pie cart across the street. They were followed by an elderly man who leaned heavily on a walking stick.

Just as he was about to give up hope, the flower-seller drifted slowly into view. The huge gray bonnet hid her face. A tattered cloak fell around her in voluminous folds, concealing her figure. The flowers in the basket on her arm drooped.

The woman’s shoulders were bent, but something about the way she moved told Anthony that she was not as old as her garments and demeanor indicated.

The flower-seller came to a halt at the entrance of the alley, obviously bewildered by the sudden disappearance of her quarry. She started to turn slowly in a circle, searching her surroundings.

Anthony moved forward, encircled her waist with one arm, and hauled her sharply into the alley. He spun her around and pinned her against the brick wall.

“Bloody hell. I should have known,” he said.

There was a shocked gasp. The oversize bonnet lifted abruptly, catching Anthony under the chin. He leaned back slightly to avoid the obstacle and then scowled at Emeline.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

His pulse was still racing, he realized. He was breathing hard, in spite of the unpleasant odors in the alley. Suddenly the only thing he could think about was the one time he had kissed her. Very carefully he released her.

“I was following you, of course.” She straightened and shook out the cloak. “What did you think I was doing?”

“Are you mad? This is an extremely dangerous neighborhood.”

“You behaved very secretively this morning when I asked you about your plans for the day.” She righted the bonnet. “I knew you were up to something.”

“So you followed me? Of all the nonsensical, idiotic—”

“Why were you talking to that girl on the corner? And that woman who was hanging about the tavern at the far end of the street, why did you speak to her?”

“I can explain.” He took her arm and hauled her briskly out of the alley. “But first we must get you away from here. Ladies do not come to this part of town.”

She glanced back at the prostitute he had just interviewed. “Some do,” she said quietly. “But not by choice, I think.”

“No, not by choice.”

He whisked her down the street to a small square. He heard the clatter of hooves on stone and turned to see a hackney coming toward them. Relief shot through him. He raised a hand to hail the vehicle.

“Anthony, I demand to know what you were doing. I think I have the right.”

The hackney rattled to a halt. He yanked open the door and very nearly tossed Emeline inside. She bounced a little when she landed on the seat. He paused to give the Claremont Lane address to the coachman and then vaulted up into the cab.

“You owe me an explanation,” Emeline announced.

“Tobias asked me to make a few inquiries.” He sat down and slammed the door.

“That girl on the corner. She was a prostitute, wasn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“And so was the woman outside the tavern.” Emeline’s voice was very tight.

“Yes.”

“I trust you are not going to fob off some Banbury tale on me about these interviews being connected to the Medusa bracelet case.”

“No.”

“Well?” She removed the gray bonnet and placed it very precisely on the seat beside her. When she looked at him her gaze was somber and wary. “Why are you chatting with prostitutes, Anthony? Is this a regular habit of yours?”

He cursed softly and lounged back into the corner of the seat, considering how much to say. But this was Emeline. He could not bring himself to lie to her.

“If I tell you the truth, you must promise not to mention it to your aunt.”

“Why should I promise?” she asked.

“Because Tobias does not want her to know how deeply concerned he is about Oscar Pelling’s presence here in Town, that’s why.”

Her eyes widened, and then comprehension mingled with something that might have been relief appeared in their depths.

“Oh,” she said. “I see. Mr. March is keeping an eye on that dreadful man?”

“Yes. And I am assisting him.”

“Keeping watch on Pelling is an excellent notion,” Emeline said slowly. “He is not a man to be trusted. But what do those women have to do with him?”

“Pelling is staying at an inn near here. According to one of the stable lads, he has been seeing a local prostitute. Tobias wants me to find her so that he can talk to her.”

“I don’t understand. What can a streetwalker tell him about Pelling?”

Anthony cleared his throat and fixed his gaze on the view of the street. “Tobias says that in his professional experience he has discovered that such women are in a position to learn things about a man that no one else knows.”

“Indeed.”

Anthony looked back at her. “You should not have followed me. It was a dangerous thing to do.”

“If you had told me what you were about, there would have been no need for me to spy upon you.”

“Damn it, Emeline, where is it written in stone that I must advise you of every move I make?”

She stiffened. “I beg your pardon, sir. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course you do not owe me any explanations. You are perfectly free to go about your own affairs. It is not as though we were married.”

An appalling silence descended.

Anthony struggled to pull himself together.

“No,” he said in a very low tone. “It is not as though we were, uh, married.”

They sat there staring at each other for what seemed forever. A heavy sensation settled on Anthony.

Emeline moved abruptly, reaching forward with an impulsive gesture to put her hand on his. “Good heavens, what is happening to us, Tony? All this quarreling and snapping and so forth. It is not like us. I vow, we are starting to sound like Aunt Lavinia and Mr. March, are we not?”

He turned his hand palm up and gripped her fingers very tightly. “Yes, we are, and you are right. It is not like us.”

“I believe it is their nature to do things the hard way.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “But surely we can find our own path.”

He tightened his hand around hers. “Yes.”

The heavy weight lifted. His spirits rose.

He pulled her gently onto his lap. She came to him without a struggle, smiling her glowing smile. He kissed her slowly, deeply. She softened against him.

When he raised his head he was breathing quickly. Her eyes were slumberous and inviting.

It took every ounce of will he possessed to ease her back onto the opposite seat.

They finished the journey to Claremont Lane hand in hand, neither of them speaking until the hackney rumbled to a halt. With a last squeeze, Anthony released Emeline’s fingers and opened the door.

Emeline paused in the opening. “Look, here comes Mrs. Chilton.”

He turned his head and saw the housekeeper hurrying toward them across the paving stones. Mrs. Chilton waved madly to get their attention. Even from this distance he could see that she was flushed and breathless from her exertion.

Emeline descended from the coach, frowning in concern.

“Is something wrong, Mrs. Chilton?”

“No, no, it’s just that ye mustn’t go inside yet.” Mrs. Chilton came to a halt, panting. “Thought it would be finished by now but they’re takin’ their time about it, I’m afraid. Nothing to do but come with me and wait. There’s a nice little bench in the park at the end of the lane.”

“Wait for what?” Emeline asked. “I don’t understand.”

“I just told ye, Miss Emeline, the two of ’em are in there together.”

Emeline looked at the front door, baffled. “Who is in there together?”

“Mrs. Lake and Mr. March. Thought they’d be done with it by the time ye got back.” Mrs. Chilton shook her head and started off toward the end of the lane. “Lord only knows what’s keepin’ ’em so long. Not that much to the business, if ye ask me. Leastways, there wasn’t in my day.”

“Not that much to what business?” Emeline sounded exasperated now.

Mrs. Chilton gave Anthony a speaking glance.

Comprehension struck him.

“Mrs. Chilton is right.” He seized Emeline’s arm and hurried her along in the housekeeper’s wake. “It’s a nice day for sitting in the park.”

“What is this all about?” Emeline allowed herself to be swept off, but she did not look happy about it. “What is going on, Mrs. Chilton?”

“It’s my own fault, I suppose. Felt sorry for ’em, ye see. Always havin’ to make do with parks and gardens and carriages and such. Can’t be comfortable what with his bad leg and all, and the weather is so unpredictable at this time of year.”

“What on earth does the weather have to do with this?” Emeline demanded.

“Mr. March told me this morning that he would be back around three. I saw an opportunity to give the pair of them a few minutes to themselves in a warm house with a nice bed,” Mrs. Chilton huffed. “It was an act of charity. How was I to know they’d take a good bit more than a few minutes?”

Anthony struggled to suppress a grin.

“A bed? Mr. March and Aunt Lavinia?” Understanding dawned in Emeline’s eyes. She blushed a very bright pink and did not meet Anthony’s gaze. Then she started to laugh. “Mrs. Chilton, that is outrageous. Did Lavinia know what you intended?”

“No. After she got into the tub I told her I had to go out to fetch some currants for jam. I knew Mr. March would be along shortly, so I left the door open for him. Saw him arrive nearly an hour ago and thought he’d be done by now.”

“Perhaps you made things a little too comfortable for them,” Anthony said dryly.

“Aye.” Mrs. Chilton studied the late-afternoon sky. “Luckily it’s not raining.”

“True, although there is a nip in the air, isn’t there?” Emeline drew the folds of the raggedy cloak around herself. “I’m certainly glad to have this.”

Mrs. Chilton noticed her attire for the first time and frowned. “Where on earth did ye get that old thing?”

Emeline sat down on the bench. “It’s a long story.”

Mrs. Chilton sank down beside her and gazed morosely toward the closed front door of the little house. “Ye may as well tell it. It appears we’ve got plenty of time.”

 

TOBIAS SETTLED BACK AGAINST THE PILLOWS, one arm behind his head, and cradled Lavinia against his side. He knew it was getting late, but the last thing on earth that he wanted to do was leave the tumbled bed and the woman in his arms. This was the way it should be, he thought. Perhaps someday . . .

“I paid a call on Hudson this afternoon,” he said.

For a few seconds Lavinia did not respond. Then she propped herself up on one elbow and looked at him. The drowsy sensuality faded from her eyes. Concern replaced it.

“You did not tell me that you intended to speak with Howard today,” she said. “What did you discuss?”

“You.”

“Me?” She sat up straighter, anchoring the sheet across her breasts. Her brows nipped together above her nose. “What about me?”

He touched the silver pendant she wore around her neck.

“I told you that he wants you,” he said. “He’s searching for a replacement for Celeste.”

“And I told you that’s outrageous.”

“Trust me on this matter.”

“How humiliating. I cannot believe that you actually embarrassed me to such a degree.” She scowled ferociously. “What, precisely, did you say to him?”

He pulled her back down onto the pillows and rolled on top of her. Sliding one leg between her soft, warm thighs, he cradled her face between his hands and lowered his mouth to hers.

“I told him that he could not have you,” he said.

 

TWENTY MINUTES LATER LAVINIA PUT ON A dress ing gown to see him out the front door. She kissed him one last time in the shadows of the hall.

“Hurry,” she said. “Mrs. Chilton will return at any moment. We are extremely fortunate that neither she nor Emeline chose to come back before this. I cannot imagine what is keeping them.”

He smiled to himself. He was of the opinion that the unlocked door and the housekeeper’s convenient absence told a different story, but he thought it best not to question his good fortune.

“Until tonight,” he said. “I take it all is in readiness for the grand event?”

“Yes. The gowns are to be delivered in an hour’s time. Joan sent a note around this morning to say that her personal hairdresser will come at five and that she has arranged for the carriage to call for us at eight-thirty.”

He nodded. “Anthony will no doubt show up promptly at nine. I’ll put in my appearance around ten. Will that do?”

“Perfectly.” She practically shoved him down the steps. “Off with you now.”

She shut the door in his face.

Reluctantly, he went down the steps and started toward the end of the lane in search of a hackney.

He saw the small group of familiar faces when he was halfway to the corner. Emeline, Anthony, and Mrs. Chilton strolled toward him with a studied nonchalance. Anthony made a small show of pulling his watch out of his pocket and checking the time.

Tobias ignored him to greet Emeline and Mrs. Chilton.

“Mr. March.” Emeline gave him a gracious smile. “How nice to see you. What an unexpected surprise.”

“A pleasure, Miss Emeline.” He stopped and inclined his head. “Good day, Mrs. Chilton. I understand you went out for currants.”

“I know how much you like currant jam,” she muttered.

“I am certainly very fond of yours,” he agreed. “Indeed, it was very kind of you to dash out for more currants this afternoon just to make a new batch for me. I can only hope that you will feel the urge to make a lot more jam in the future.”

“Depends upon the weather.”

“The weather?”

She gave him a reproving look. “Can’t buy good currants when it’s cold or when it rains. Ye might want to bear that in mind.”

“I’ll remember that.”