M Is for Marquess (27 page)

“When did you begin to receive the blackmail notes?” Kent had his trusty notebook out.

“Around two months ago,” Davenport said after a hesitation. “The first one appeared with the morning mail, out of nowhere. For a moment, I thought I was hallucinating.”

Gabriel exchanged swift glances with Kent and Strathaven. What Davenport described was almost identical to Pompeia’s experience with the blackmailer.

“The note threatened to expose my activities as a spy. To ruin my reputation, political career, and all I have built if I didn’t pay him five thousand pounds.” Anger simmered in Davenport’s voice. “I had no choice. I have a wife—I couldn’t let him destroy her life as well. So I paid.”

“What happened next?” Strathaven said.

“More demands came.” Davenport’s jaw clenched. “I should have known better. Blackmailers are never satisfied.”

“Do you have any culprits in mind?” Kent said.

“My first thought was one of the Quorum.” The politician’s cool, assessing gaze centered on Gabriel. “Only one of our inner circle would be in possession of such facts about me. Thus, I made inquiries into the activities of my three former colleagues.”

Cicero had had him investigated. That came as no surprise.

“And?” Gabriel said.

“Of the three, you’re the one who could use money the most. It seems your circumstances have improved, however, since your business venture with Strathaven last year.” The suspicious gleam lingered in Davenport’s pale eyes. “Still, one can never have too much money.”

“I’m no blackmailer,” Gabriel said coolly.

“Apparently not. If you were, I doubt you’d have hired on an investigator and exposed the secrets of espionage to those outside our world.” Davenport’s eyes formed pale slits. “So that leaves Pompeia and Tiberius. The lady was always a treacherous sort. After all,” he said, his tone darkening, “she was the only one of us who managed to avoid Normandy.”

The mention of the hellhole awakened the ghosts in Gabriel, the muscles of his back tautening. Kent and Strathaven, whom he’d told about the ambush, sat in somber silence.

“Apparently she had her reasons,” Gabriel said curtly. “She’s being blackmailed by the Spectre too.”

“If Pompeia isn’t a suspect and assuming for now that you and I are also innocent,”—Davenport smiled without humor—“then that leaves one clear culprit, doesn’t it?”

“Heath,” Gabriel said.

From the moment Thea and Pompeia had shared their discovery—that Cicero, too, was a victim of extortion—he’d been contemplating the fact that Tiberius, also known as Tobias Heath, was the sole remaining suspect. It made sense. Unstable at best, Heath had always lived life by his own moral compass; it wouldn’t have taken much to steer him in a criminal direction.

Yet some part of Gabriel resisted the notion that Tiberius was the Spectre. He wondered if a fellow on the brink of madness could be capable of such calculation. Then again, sanity wasn’t a requirement of being evil. He’d encountered his share of crazed despots during the war. And maybe Tiberius had been faking his mental instability all along.

“Recall how Tiberius escaped imprisonment unscathed?” Davenport murmured. “Unlike the two of us.”

The memory trickled into Gabriel’s awareness. Spectre’s men had kept the three of them in separate cells, yet they could hear each other’s screams. Gabriel and Davenport’s cries had echoed through those stone caverns but never Heath’s. The latter had emerged dirty, nonsensical, and terrified… but he hadn’t been beaten. Gabriel had assumed that the younger man had broken down and blurted out secrets or had simply been deemed too cracked for torture tactics to do any good.

Now another explanation raised its ugly head. Could Heath have been deceiving them all these years, pretending madness whilst all the while he’d been double crossing them? Was he even now blackmailing and killing off his former comrades one by one?

“We’ll still need solid evidence that he’s the Spectre,” Kent said.

“If he’s the guilty one, I don’t want him slipping from the noose,” Gabriel agreed darkly.

“Heath keeps a place near Lincoln’s Inn Fields,” the investigator said. “According to my men, he’s got a meeting with the radical group tomorrow night. We could take the opportunity to search his place.”

“Are you in, Davenport?” Gabriel said.

The other inclined his head. “Anything to prevent the ghosts of the past from rising.”

“The Spectre’s already risen. Tomorrow night,” Gabriel said with grim determination, “we put him down for good.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

That night, Thea made her way stealthily down the dark hallway of the guest wing. A sense of urgency fueled her flight, the hem of her wrapper whispering over the carpet, her lamp casting a moving shadow until she found the door she sought. Casting a furtive glance this way and that, she drew a breath and rapped softly.

Heartbeats passed. She leaned in, pressing her ear to the door, listening for any sounds from within. She couldn’t hear anything above the thudding in her ears. Her hopes fell. Perhaps he was already asleep—

The door opened so suddenly that she toppled forward.

Strong arms caught her, dragged her inside. Her lamp was summarily deposited on a table. Breathless, she found herself with her back against the closed door, Gabriel towering over her, his hands planted on either side of her shoulders. He’d clearly just risen from bed. A tempting expanse of hair-dusted muscle rippled in the vee of his hastily donned robe. His hair was tousled, his eyes glinting silver in the semi-darkness.

He looked dangerous, deliciously predatory. Her desire for him saturated her being like a watermark through fibers of parchment.

“What are you doing here?” he said in low tones.

“I missed you,” she whispered back. “I wanted to see you.”

He ran a finger along her jaw, his touch rasping over her nerve endings. “As much as I appreciate and return the sentiment,” he said huskily, “you can’t be here. You’ll be ruined if we’re caught.”

“I don’t care. Everyone knows we’re getting married anyway.” Earlier, he’d told her that he’d broken the news to Strathaven. Which meant Emma already knew and the rest of the family wasn’t far off. “You’re going to capture the Spectre tomorrow, and life is too precious to waste. I don’t want to lose a single moment with you.”

“There’s nothing to fear, princess.” He took her hands, kissed them one by one. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

How could she convey the desperation she felt? Knowing that he would be out there tomorrow night, chasing after evil—she wanted to give him a part of her, a talisman for safekeeping. If he didn’t want words of love from her, then she would show him how much she cared. Whenever they made love, she felt the bond between them strengthen.

“We could just lie in bed together,” she coaxed, “and not do anything but hold each other.”

“Yes, and hell could bloom with roses.” He sounded wryly amused.

“I
need
to be with you tonight.” Impassioned, she reached for him—only to have him grip both wrists, this time pinning them above her head.

“No, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m going to see you back to your room.”

Whereas once she would have been hurt by his refusal, attributing it to some failing in herself, now she saw his protectiveness for what it was, and it only made her love him more. With her wrists still anchored by him, she couldn’t use her hands, so she leaned upward on her toes, feathering her lips over his in soft persuasion. She felt like the mouse of Aesop’s tale, seeking clemency from a lion—the moral of the tale being that even smaller, frailer creatures have their power.

And Gabriel had helped her discover hers.

When his mouth remained stubbornly closed, she licked the hard seam. She felt his coiling tension, and sensing her advantage, delicately nipped his firm bottom lip. He shuddered—and then all hell sprung loose.

One moment Thea was standing against the door, the next she was swung up into Gabriel’s arms. His mouth ravaged hers, and she thrilled in the rough possession. When his tongue plunged with voluptuous force, she opened further, holding nothing back. He tasted of desire, dark and primal, and she couldn’t hold back a whimper of excitement.

He set her on her feet by the edge of the bed, his gaze glittering in the lamplight. “Do you know what happens to naughty minxes who disobey orders?”

She didn’t… but she had hopes.

He sat on the mattress. The hem of his robe stopped beneath his knees, revealing his sleekly bulging calves. With his thighs slightly splayed and his eyes heavy-lidded, he radiated male power. “Take off your clothes,” he said. “Be quick about it.”

His clipped commands filled her with heady, feminine triumph. She loved this demanding, intense side of him—loved even more that she had the power to bring it out. Following his instruction, she shed her wrapper, letting it pool at her feet. She kicked off her slippers and pulled her nightgown over her head. Her hair fell in a silken curtain to her waist, but she was otherwise laid bare.

Naked and blushing, she held his gaze.

He crooked a finger at her. “Come closer.”

She took the two steps forward into the lee of his thighs. She could smell his clean scent, nothing but soap and male, and her nipples hardened, straining for his touch. Her toes curled in the soft fibers of the bedside rug.

“Get on your knees, princess.”

Her startled gaze flew to his; her breath lodged at the wicked challenge she saw there. Her knees trembled so badly that she couldn’t have remained standing even if she wanted to. Uncertain and stimulated, she slowly lowered herself so that she was kneeling at his feet.

“How lovely you are,” he murmured.

He, she thought with pulsing arousal, was more along the lines of magnificent. Eye-level with his groin, she couldn’t miss the massive bulge beneath the dark brocade. The words he’d uttered in the library suddenly echoed in her head.

Today it was my pleasure to see to yours. At a time of my choosing, you will see to mine.

She moistened her lips. What would it be like to pleasure him in the same manner that he had pleasured her? To kiss his most intimate parts, the way he had done to her?

She had the shocking, almost overwhelming desire to find out.

He lifted a lock of her hair and rubbed the glinting strand between thumb and forefinger. “You could be made of spun gold.”

“But I’m not.” The last thing she wanted to be compared to was a weak, malleable metal. Lifting her chin to look at him, she said, “I’m not delicate. I helped find the blackmail note in Lord Davenport’s desk, remember?”

“How could I forget? It took years off my life.” he said wryly. “But don’t confuse delicacy with weakness, love. Sometimes the softest things can have the most profound impact.”

His acknowledgement of her power sent a buzzing thrill through her. As did the way he was stroking the silky length of her hair back and forth against her nipple, titillating the sensitive point. The feather-light sensation caused a hot rush between her legs. She squirmed, pressing her knees together as desire burgeoned.

Her cheeks flushed. “Please, Gabriel. I can’t stand it.”

“I like the way you look at me,” he murmured. “With those big hazel eyes of yours. You make me feel as if I’m the most powerful man in the world. As if I could share the darkest corners of my soul with you. As if I’d kill to have you.”

His words elicited another gush of dew.

“I like the way you look at me,” she said. “You make me feel as if I’m the most desirable woman in the world. As if I could give you everything you need. As if I’d do anything to please you.”

They stared at one another, their breaths surging in unison. In that moment, Thea felt something shift between them, as intangible and powerful as an electric current. She saw her own awareness reflected in his stormy eyes.

“You are the most desirable woman in the world,” he said, “and you’re going to give me everything I need.”

He shed his robe, tossed it aside. It was the first time she’d seen him completely naked—and the sight made her dizzy with want. His masculinity overwhelmed her, virile strength in every aspect, from the muscled slabs of his chest to the carved ridges on his taut belly. His manhood stood fiercely, hugely erect.

“Pleasure me, princess.” His words held both a command and a dare.

Eager yet uncertain exactly how to proceed, she came up on her knees. Ignoring his rampant cock for the moment (not the easiest to do since it clamored for her attention), she ran her palms over his chest, savoring the texture of his satiny skin, the light scratch of bronze hair. He bore a few faint scars, mementos of the life he’d led, and it added to his tough potency, his uniqueness. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to the thin ridge of knitted skin below his right nipple. He made a raspy sound.

“Does it hurt?” she said in surprise.

His eyes smoldering, he gave a slow shake of his head.

Relieved, she continued her exploration. She kissed his flat nipples, guessing from his uneven breaths that he liked it. Her hands smoothed over his leanness, learning his edges, his hidden corners, before arriving at the part of him where desire was not concealed at all.

Carefully, she wrapped a hand around his bold member. The thick stalk pulsed with life as she caressed it, moving its velvety cover over the rigid core. Remembering what he’d taught her before, she tightened her grip and increased her pace. She heard his quickened respiration; a drop of liquid beaded upon the burgeoned crown of his cock.

With great daring, she leaned forward and licked it off. His salty clean essence infused her senses. He tasted wild and raw, and she wanted more.

She lapped at the tip, circling it with her tongue. She heard him groan, and determination filled her to please him, to be everything he wanted. She pressed kisses down the length of his shaft, following a veiny ridge down to the root, where his bollocks hung heavily over the edge of the bed. She gave the dusky sac a tentative lick… and his hand speared into her hair.

“Enough.” He guided her head up. “We don’t want this over before it’s begun.”