The Deepest Sin (33 page)

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Authors: Caroline Richards

BOOK: The Deepest Sin
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Meredith forced herself not to wince when he smashed the glass opening on one side. With careful fingers, he coaxed out what at first appeared to be a piece of vellum. It was the papyrus, the spell from
The Book of the Dead
that she and Hamilton had admired at the Fitzwilliam. Awareness slammed into her like a fist.
“He stole it. Hamilton.”
Lowther shook his head. “Not quite.
You stole it
, and returned to France, as you longed to do, what with your questionable past and eccentric interests, so distasteful in a woman,” he explained as though to a small child who could not quite grasp the whole truth. “A fact to which Mr. Hamilton will attest, with perhaps the aid of some small coercion.”
A strange smile lit his eyes. “And think of the poor dears, Julia and Rowena, when they hear the truth, believing that you've deserted them and returned to the arms of the man who has plagued them for so long.”
And Archer. What about Archer? The question drummed in her mind. Would he believe that she had reunited with Faron?
Lowther rose from the chair with deceptive nonchalance. “If only I'd left the door open, you would be able to savor the rich aroma of burning wood. The fire should be well along now, so with absolutely no reluctance after such a short reunion, I will bid you farewell, Meredith.”
He walked a few paces toward her, his hand raised in mock salute. “You were ever the challenging opponent, albeit unwittingly, I'll give you that.”
If she listened hard, she thought she could already hear the crackling of the fire coming toward her. The noise would grow louder, a building crescendo, insinuating its way, curling toward her. The mask leered and she closed her eyes, only to hear a shattering cacophony like a thousand mirrors breaking.
There was a swift movement of air, and she opened her eyes. Lord Richard Buckingham Archer moved quietly for a large man, his arm around Lowther's throat, exerting pressure from behind. Meredith's heart hammered as a combination of relief and horror cut into her belly. Archer towered over her so close that she could smell the fury emanating from him. The impact was of power and a deep rage that was capable of crushing anything or anyone in his path. She drank in the strong features, the lined face and piercing blue eyes of the man she loved with a conviction that seared her soul.
Epilogue
Two months later
 
“
Y
our beautiful nose has been buried in that book far too long for my liking.”
“I always noted that you were hardly the scholarly type.” Meredith pretended to continue scribbling her notes, sitting cross-legged on the bed beside her resplendently nude husband, whose physical pull was nearly impossible to ignore.
He sighed, one hand coming to rest on her knee covered in a wisp of silk. “How quickly the honeymoon fades.” Claire de Lune was now a distant memory, the remains of Giles Lowther buried in its ashes, Meredith's past finally laid to rest. And then the future—they had spent the past four weeks first locked in her apartments at Montfort, after which they had reunited with Rowena, Rushford, Julia and Strathmore at Archer's London town house, which suddenly no longer echoed with silence but was filled with laughter, friendship and love.
The warmth of Archer's hand burned through the thin silk draping Meredith's leg. “I should like to finish this article detailing the latest discoveries at an archeological site just outside Alexandria. The translation, as far as I can glean, is nowhere near complete.” They had returned to Montfort three days ago and had hardly left the large bedchamber with its monstrous fireplace and large mullioned windows for more than a brisk ride over the rolling hills of the estate. Spring was coming, and a tender, nascent green enveloped the countryside.
Archer's hand crept along the inside of her thigh. Meredith snapped the book closed. Smiling, she turned to him, touching his mouth with a fingertip. “I wish I knew what it was about you that I find irresistible, Lord Archer, because you really are the most impatient man.”
He caught her wrist, his fingers circling the bones, feeling the rhythm of her pulse. He placed a lingering kiss on the inside of each forearm, soothing the scars. “There must be something, madam.” There was a contentment in his voice that came with the realization he would no longer need to look for his next adventure—because Meredith was by his side.
“I can think of a few things, but with great difficulty,” she said teasingly. She put her head on one side as though giving the question real consideration. “Lust, I think, might be one.”
Archer smiled. “Finally, you admit to it.” His mouth curved beneath her caressing finger. From the first, Meredith had ignited his response, seeming to have no fear of his limits or hers. She was not an ordinary woman who would be satisfied with a circumscribed life and he would make sure that she never had to. A sizable donation to Burlington House and its Learned Societies was the first step in ensuring they would eventually open their doors to women. It was only a matter of time.
She was a challenge, the most exciting he'd ever met, and he could no more resist her than keep the sun from rising every day. Catching both her wrists in one hand, he pulled her against his body. “Time to prove your assertion, Meredith,” he challenged. She laughed beneath his mouth, her breath mingling with his. Her teeth nipped his lower lip, the sensual sting sending his blood racing.
“With pleasure,” she said, her body melting into his.
Did you miss the other books in Caroline's fabulous series?
 
 
 
The Deadliest Sin
 
 
Dark Dreams
They had haunted Julia Woolcott all her life, but the strangest of all began with an invitation to a scandalous house party, and a game more dangerously arousing than any she'd ever imagined.
 
Unbound Desires
Driven by his ruthless ambition, Alexander Strathmore would do anything to come face-to-face with the mystery man who'd challenged him to first decauch Julia, then destroy her.
 
Deadly Sins
A wild shot ... a frantic carriage ride through the night ... a forbidden seduction. Rakehell adventurer and sheltered spinster, Alexander and Julia will break every rule of propriety to chase down their nemesis and consummate their unlikely passion.
T
he air was like a heavy linen sheet pressed against Julia's face, yet a cold sweat plastered her chemise and dress to her body. It was peculiar, the ability to retreat into herself, away from the pain numbing her leg and away from the threat that lay outside that suffocating room.
A few moments, an hour, or a day passed. She found herself seated, her limbs trembling from the effort. Guilt choked her, a tide of nausea threatening to sweep away the tattered edges of her self-regard. Why had she ignored Meredith's warnings and accepted Wadsworth's invitation to photograph his country estate? Flexing her stiff fingers, Julia felt for the ground beneath her. A film of dust gathered under her nails. If she could push herself higher, lean against a wall, allow the blood to flow ...
The pain in her leg was a strange solace, as were thoughts of Montfort—her refuge and the splendid seclusion where her life with her sister and her aunt had begun. She could remember nothing else; her early childhood was an empty canvas, bleached of memories. Lady Meredith Woolcott had offered a universe unto itself. Protected, guarded, secure—for a reason.
Julia's mouth was dry. She longed for water to wash away her remorse. New images crowded her thoughts, taking over the darkness in bright bursts of recognition. Meredith and Rowena waving to her from the green expanse of lawn at Montfort. The sun dancing on the tranquil pond in the east gardens. Meredith's eyes, clouded with worry, that last afternoon in the library. Warnings that were meant to be heeded. Secrets that were meant to be kept. Wise counsel from her aunt that Julia had chosen, in her defiance, to ignore.
She ran a shaking hand through the shambles of her hair, her bonnet long discarded somewhere in the dark. She pieced together her shattered thoughts. When had she arrived? Last evening or days ago? A picture began to form. Her carriage had clattered up to a house with a daunting silhouette, all crenellations and peaks. Chandeliers glittered coldly into the gathering dusk. The entryway had been brightly lit, the air infused with the perfume of decadence, sultry and heavy. That much she could remember before her mind clamped shut.
The world tilted and she ground her nails into the stone beneath her palms for balance. She should be sobbing but her eyes were sandpaper dry. Voices echoed in the dark, or were they footsteps? She strained her ears and craned her neck, peering into the thick darkness. She sensed vibrations more than sounds. Footsteps, actual or imagined, would do her no good.
She felt the floor around her, imagining rotted wood and broken stone. Logic told her there had to be an entranceway. Taking a deep breath, she twisted onto her left hip, arms flailing to find purchase to heave herself into a standing position. Not for the first time in her life, she cursed her heavy skirts, entangling her legs. If she could at least stand ... She pushed herself up on her right elbow, wrestling aside her skirts with an impatient hand. The fabric tore, the sound muffled in the darkness. The white-hot pain no longer mattered, nor did the bile flooding her throat. Gathering her legs beneath her, she pushed herself up, swaying like a mad marionette without the security of strings.
She held her breath. The silence was complete. Arms outstretched, her hands clutched at air. No wall. Nothing to lean on. Just one small step, one after the other, and she would encounter a wall, a door, something. She bit back a silent plea. Hadn't Meredith taught them long ago about the uselessness of prayer?
Suddenly, her palms were halted by the sensation of solid muscle. Instinctively, she stopped, convinced that she was losing her mind. She felt the barely perceptible rise and fall of a chest beneath her opened palms.
Where there had been only black, there was a shower of stars in front of her eyes and a humming in her head. She saw him, without the benefit of light or the quick trace of her fingers, behind her unseeing eyes.
She took a step back in the darkness away from the man who wanted her dead.
The Darkest Sin
 
 
Desperate Deceptions
Lord James Rushford is the only man in London who can lead Rowena Woolcott to the villain who has been tormenting her family for years, and she will stop at nothing to enlist his help. Even if she must pretend to play a dangerously enticing role: his mistress.
 
Shadowed Secrets
Rushford has demons of his own—a dark past that haunts his memories. Yet the temptation that Rowena presents is more than he can resist.
 
Relentless Desire
Claiming to be lovers should not be so easy—or feel so achingly appealing. But as Rushford ushers Rowena through London's most elite clubs and sinister underworlds, truth and fantasy blur. And as the threat to Rowena grows near, the masquerade of passion begins to feel startlingly real ...
R
owena Woolcott was cold, so very cold.
She dreamed that she was on her horse, flying through the countryside at Montfort, a heavy rain drenching them both to the skin, hooves and mud sailing through the sodden air. Then a sudden stop, Dragon rearing in fright, before a darkness so complete that Rowena knew she had died.
When she awakened, it was to the sound of an anvil echoing in her head and the feeling of bitter fluid sliding down her throat. She kept her eyes closed, shutting out the daggered words in the background.
“Faron will not rest—”
“The Woolcott women—”
“One of his many peculiar fixations ... they are to suffer ... and then they are to die.”
“Meredith Woolcott believed she could hide forever.”
Phrases, lightly accented in French, drifted in and out of Rowena's head, at one moment near and the next far away. Time merged and coalesced, a series of bright lights followed by darkness, then the sharp retort of a pistol shot. And her sister's voice, calling out to her.
The cold permeated her limbs, pulling down her heavy skirts into watery depths. She tried to swim but her arms and legs would not obey, despite the fact that she had learned as a child in the frigid lake at Montfort. She did not sink like a stone, weighted by her corset and shift and riding boots, because it seemed as though strong hands found her and held her aloft, easing her head above the current trying to force water down her throat and into her lungs.
She dreamed of those hands, sliding her into dry, crisp sheets, enveloping her in a seductive combination of softness and strength. She tossed and turned, a fever chafing her blood, her thoughts a jumble of puzzle pieces vying for attention.
Drifting into the fog, she imagined that she heard steps, the door to a room opening, then the warmth of a body shifting beneath the sheets. She felt the heat,
his heat
, like a cauldron, a furnace toward which she turned her cold flesh. Her womb was heavy and her breasts ached as he slid into her slowly, infinitely slowly, the hugeness of him filling the void that was her center.
Was it one night or a lifetime of nights? Or an exquisite, erotic dream? Spooned with her back against his body, Rowena felt him hard and deep within her. She slid her hip against a muscular thigh, aware of him beginning to move within her once again. She savored the wicked mouth against the skin of her neck, pleasured by the slow slide of his lips. Losing herself in his deliberate caress, she reveled in his hands cupping and stroking, his fingers slipping into the shadows and downward to lightly tease her swollen, sensitized flesh.
“Stay here ... with me,” he whispered, breath hot in her ear.
And she did. For one night or a lifetime of nights, she would never know.

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