The Detective's Dilemma (24 page)

Isabelle and Peter left the kitchen, Peter chatting about cows.

It made sense that Brennan felt possessive of Peter—James’s son, after all. James, her husband, who had never looked at Julianna with hunger or need. She craved that and suddenly understood that she didn’t want to let go of Caleb.

“We should talk, Brennan.”

“Later,” he said.

“I mean all of us. All three.” She drew out a stool and sat. “Now.”

Brennan didn’t look at Julianna. He kept his attention on Walker, an almost unblinking stare.

Walker was reminded of two dogs circling, each waiting for the other dog to lunge or simply growl. He could flash his own teeth.

Depressing thought—if Walker took on Julianna, he got this man too. She came with a small, fractious child, a hostile ex-servant, a large house in need of repair. He wasn’t sure if he felt excitement at the challenge or fear of the trap.

He’d walked away from his family for the most part and hadn’t regretted it. And really, his current situation wasn’t fit for any sort of family. He toyed with the idea of bidding these two a good day. Julianna and he could pretend they’d enjoyed a diversion, and nothing more. Her reputation would remain…well, as safe as it had been before they’d touched.

She would not condemn him because she’d said their kisses and time together constituted moments set apart from their real lives. She’d reacted comically, and badly, when he mentioned marriage not a half hour before.

He could leave immediately and stay safe. But that meant abandoning Julianna, the person who’d brought him to life after months—no, years—of feeling disinterest in anything but work. And work had been pretty miserable lately.

Walker decided he was too selfish to give up Julianna and not selfish enough to encourage her to regard him as purely entertainment on the side. She’d suffered enough with the reputation of a fallen woman. He opened his mouth to put an end to this ridiculous silence, but Julianna spoke first.

“Brennan, I wish you’d stop glaring. Mr. Walker is a friend of mine,” she said. “He helped me.”

Brennan gave a small unhappy grunt. “A friend?”

“I hope to be more than that,” Walker said, and even he heard the challenge in his voice.

Brennan said, “If she needed a husband, she knows I’d marry her.”

Brennan was playing dog in the manger; the man didn’t desire Julianna, but he didn’t care to allow anyone else to have her either. Walker said, “Come on, Brennan. You don’t want her. Not the way I do.”

Julianna gave a strangled groan. “Why are you discussing me as if I’m not here—not to mention discussing a future I have not agreed to?”

Walker would try again. Using what he knew of his lady, he’d win her and Brennan with honest sweet talk. He looked into her face. “Mrs. Winthrop, I understand Brennan is important to you, so he should know my intentions. I’d want to tell your family members, and this guy is obviously part of your immediate family.”

Brennan sank onto the stool slowly. He didn’t look cheerful, but he no longer appeared to want to smash his fist into Walker’s face.

Walker kept going. “I have no intention of stealing Mrs. Winthrop away and keeping her a prisoner in my apartment.” He grinned at her, hoping that she caught the reference to Mrs. Calder’s place. She reddened, looked down at her hands resting on the table, then back at him with the corners of her mouth turned up in just a hint of fun. That mouth could undo him. Staring into her eyes, he went on. “I want to marry you. It was a joke at first, Julianna, but now I know it’s what I want.”

That made her jump to her feet. Again. Perhaps she would always leap like a startled rabbit when he mentioned marriage. “But you don’t know me. Two days ago, you wouldn’t have recognized me if we’d passed on the street.”

“True enough, but time isn’t the same for us. Yesterday, and today too, we didn’t bother with the small things, talk of the weather or anything to fill time. You and I were pitchforked into the sort of situation most people don’t face in their lives. The circumstances were more than intense. I got to know you in different ways.” For a couple of seconds, he ran his gaze up and down her figure, a clear message to her and a chance for him to get a good long greedy look at her.

She bit her bottom lip--not a dainty, ladylike nibble but a sign of true agitation. “I’m not going to marry you. I mean, um, not yet. But I want to be friends with you. I want…” She waved a hand. “I don’t know how to describe it. More.”

She might not understand, but he suddenly did.

“You’ve been rushed into marriage before,” he said. A small groan of protest came from Brennan, but Walker kept his attention on Julianna. “You want courtship,” he said. “What does that mean to you? Shall we attend a concert? A lecture? A dance hall?”

She studied him. “The intention of courtship,” she said at last and smiled. “I hadn’t understood, but yes, that’s a good start. All the things you propose are good.”

Except the actual proposal. He felt rather deflated but hoped he didn’t show it. After all, no sane woman wanted to marry a nut who proposed only hours after first meeting her.

“I don’t want you to spend money, so I’d be satisfied with walks on fine days.” She twisted the ring she still wore, her dead husband’s ring. “I won’t rush into anything, because of Peter. I can’t marry a man who spends money or drinks too much or lies or has too many secrets.”

His heart gave a double thump. He wasn’t guilty of the first on that list but the rest… Had she smelled the alcohol? Ah well. He’d planned to give it up already. Not just for her—he’d seen too many men, and women, destroyed by drink. It occurred to him that this could be easier now he had nothing to deaden. He’d sucked out his personal poison with the help of Julianna, Mrs. Winthrop, Sawyer, and the grim men at Sawyer’s house. Lies and secrets had been vanquished in the last twenty-four hours. He’d eliminate the drink starting…now. He might well have to look for a job or spend time in a prison cell. Either was best approached stone-cold sober.

Conditions meant she’d consider him. The thought made him giddy with anticipation.

He nodded, trying to make himself solemn. “Yeah, that makes sense.” The thought of that prison cell made him add, “And I won’t push you for anything other than your company until my own, ah, problems are settled.”

“Oh dear, can you believe I forgot?” She glanced at Brennan, who raised his eyebrows. She clearly hadn’t spilled Walker’s confidences yet. He supposed he knew Brennan’s guilty secrets, so it would be fair if she did say something.

She crossed her arms and looked out the window. He thought she was avoiding him until she said, “It’s a fine day. You and I shall go for a stroll.”

“That’s a great plan if your feet can hold you up after yesterday’s tramping.” An inspired idea hit him. “You and me and Peter. Just to the park around the corner.”

When she smiled, he knew he’d said the right thing.

Chapter Eleven

Walker went to find Julianna the next day. If he didn’t have much time before he went to prison, then by God, he’d spend any spare moments enjoying her company. He stopped at the hat shop. Her delight at the gift of the hat made him feel as if he’d made the most brilliant purchase of his lifetime.

She immediately donned it and they walked with Peter in Central Park that day and the one after that.

The small boy spoke to him now, or rather at him, since he didn’t seem to require an answer. Walker nodded and agreed with whatever Peter said, though he often had no notion what the kid was talking about. When they fed the ducks, Peter solemnly offered Walker a miniscule bit of bread to throw. Walker felt oddly touched by the gift of a grubby little crumb.

When Walker and Julianna sat next to her fireplace, they discussed genteel topics he’d forgotten existed—books, poetry, plays neither of them had seen, and the taste of pears in autumn—and very little about cases and criminals. He managed to pay attention to the conversation, and to keep some distance from her, despite the distraction of his instincts that whispered at him to lock the door and strip off every inch of her clothing. He enjoyed every tortuous moment of arousal evoked sitting near her without touching her, watching every restless shift she made in her chair, the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed. When he came near her, just a hint of her scent excited him.

On the third afternoon, he stopped at her house and she told him she was alone. She’d been polishing silver and her hands were dirty, her hair tied into a scarf.

He grabbed the scarf and pulled it off.

She threw her head back in mock protest. When she looked at him again, her eyes glinted with pleasure.

“Shall we go for a walk?” he asked.
Say no
, he begged silently.

“A short one.”

He already smiled, a broad and foolish grin he knew he usually wore in her presence but he laughed with pleasure as she took his hand and led him up the stairs.

Her bedroom was simple and not large. He walked in and examined the oak bureau and washstand, the rocking chair, the mirror, the small bed with a curving white iron bedstead.

He ran a finger along the bright red-and-white-striped wallpaper. “There aren’t toys, but this is a child’s room.”

She watched from the doorway. “After James and my parents died, I could have claimed any room in the house, but I couldn’t bring myself to move from my girlhood room.”

Even though she stood, he behaved in a most ungentlemanly manner by taking a seat on the bed. She walked over and, after a moment, sat next to him. Their legs almost touched. He considered shifting closer but that might make her change her mind and get up.

With her fingertips, she traced a swirl on the iron bedstead. “Before my debut, I used to lie here and imagine my life. I would marry Brennan and move to France. We’d marry after I’d attended a few dances and other events, of course. I supposed we wouldn’t have much money until my parents got over their anger at my choice.”

She inched closer to him then.

So he put his hand on her leg, and the heat of her rose to his palm. “Your dreams were far sweeter than mine. France, eh? Your first husband didn’t take you?”

She shook her head.

He squeezed her leg. “I’ll go with you. I’ve always wanted to see the Seine.”

When she covered his hand with hers, he knew he’d won.

He lifted his hand and hers and kissed her palm, tasting her and something bitter—silver polish. Her sleeves had been rolled up so she could do housework. “When we’re married, you will only wear gowns that allow me to kiss you like this.” He demonstrated, kissing and lightly licking her pale wrist and nibbling along her forearm. By the time he’d made it to her mouth, she panted and he did too.

She tasted even better today, and he loved the sweet delving and retreating, with her mouth eager against his. She ran her hands over his back, pulled him close and then down onto the bed, partially on top of her.

“I like small beds.” He pushed off his shoes and then reached for hers.

He unbuttoned the front of her dress, so many small annoying buttons on the peach-colored thing, it had to be left over from her days as a stylish lady.

But then he discovered that if he kissed her newly exposed skin or chemise, he could reduce the annoyance. And he sucked in a happy breath when he discovered she didn’t wear stays or, joy of joys, closed undergarments. He slid his hand up her gown, and his fingers touched bare skin.

“I want you,” he said. He cupped her mound and pressed against her soft hair. His finger touched slick heat, and he moaned at the same time she did.

He sat, and pulled her up too. When she gave a protesting sigh, he explained, “Naked, now.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“No. Clothes.”

She looked at the lace-covered window. “It’s daylight. You’ll see me.”

“Yes, that’s what I want.”

She turned her attention to him. “I… We… I have only seen an entirely naked man a few times. Most often when my husband was ill.”

“What the hell?”

She winced.

“Sorry about the language. But, ah, I don’t understand. You were married.”

“Yes, and James and I slept in the same bed and enjoyed…” She pursed her lips. “But always in the dark and not naked.” A ghost of a smile touched her mouth. “I suppose naked means passion?”

“Yes, that’s it exactly. Passionate.” He tugged at her sleeves. “I’ll undress you.”

“No.” She pulled away, and he regretted bully-ragging her. He wasn’t used to this much desire coursing through him.

She opened the front of her unbuttoned gown and pulled the sleeve down her arm and said, “I’ll do it.”

He got busy on his own clothes and decided only to remove his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt.

He stopped to watch her quickly and efficiently wiggle out of her gown and then, oh, glory, she scrambled out of her chemise. His own wardrobe forgotten, he moved to her to explore her breasts and belly, the curves and delicate skin of a perfect woman. Her nipples were darker than he’d expected, and they grew hard under his mouth.

“Stop,” she gasped.

He pulled away, determined not to allow his body to overwhelm his mind, whereupon she grabbed the waist of his trousers. “You too. It’s only fair.”

“Yes.” Caleb’s hands were clumsy with eagerness as he undid the buttons of his fly, making the process take far too long.

Finally they touched, naked skin to naked skin, and she trembled in his arms.

“You’re not afraid, are you?” He stroked her side, her back, and tried to stay away from bottom or breasts or other amatory bits, but God bless him, every inch of her lovely soft skin seemed entirely erotic. “Or cold?”

“Passionate,” she whispered, and he could have crowed his joy.

He touched her everywhere. Her hands made only brief tentative explorations of his body, fingertips grazing him, until he lay flat on his back, and pulled her close to stop her falling off the bed. He murmured into her hair, “Do whatever you want. It’s all wonderful.”

When her kisses moved down his belly and she gave his aching cock a small lick, he bucked up into her hand and mouth.

She gave a small sound of surprise.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

She pulled away. “It’s all wonderful, remember?” she said and went back to tasting and stroking him. Her hands moved boldly and her lips dipped deeper, pulling him into her hot wet mouth.

“Oh Christ,” he growled and knew he couldn’t last. “If you don’t stop. Oh, Julianna.”

She paused and smirked at him. “I know what will happen. Let me see, here in the light.”

He clutched the sheets. “I want to be inside you.”

“That too,” she said and bent her head over him again. The thought of her spread under him, groaning his name, the feel of her mouth and even the small graze of teeth meant he didn’t last a minute. His orgasm hit him so hard, he arched up so violently, he nearly pushed her off the bed, but she held on until he stopped spending in her hand.

When he opened his eyes, she smiled down at him with a self-satisfied look. “Thank you,” she said.

“Oh no, no, thank you. Come here.” He opened his arms, and she crawled on top of him. “Will you need to rest?” she asked.

“No, I need to return the favor.”

“Oh. Really? Is it something I’ll like?” She sounded dubious. “I do enjoy it when you touch me. That’s good enough. I mean. If the other doesn’t work.”

“We’ll find out, shall we?” He didn’t tell her he hadn’t orally pleasured a woman before. This would be a delightful experiment. He laid her down and crawled between her legs.

He lapped, and she tasted sweet and salty and delicious. He settled in for more but couldn’t do it for long, though, because she writhed and grabbed at his head, yanking his hair and his ears. “Now,” she demanded.

“I knew you’d be bossy,” he said happily and went back to licking and sucking.

She groaned something he didn’t understand but whimpered, “Please?” at the end. She tried to hoist him up to make her meaning clear.

Hard and more than ready, he moved up her body. She reached between them to guide him to her, and when he didn’t move quickly enough, she twisted and begged and raised her legs.

Their joining was almost violent with their need. Her pussy felt so tight around him, he felt sure it must be painful to her, but when he slowed, her heels pounded against his flexing rear.

“So demanding,” he panted.

She froze under him. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no.” Each no was punctuated with a forward rock of his hips. “Never stop. Never. Be passionate. Be Julianna.”

She gave a breathy laugh that turned into something more like a keen. She shivered and squeezed him tight inside her.

When she shouted out, he tumbled over the edge again and clutched her as if he could hold on forever.

They lay sprawled, still clinging together, though he tried to keep his weight on his elbows. A small lady’s clock on the bureau gave a tiny chime.

“Four o’clock,” she whispered. “They’ll be home soon.”

He rolled away, then, on impulse, spread his hand over her belly. “I might have put a baby in there,” he said.

She shook her head. “No, the time is wrong or I would not have allowed you to, umm…”

“Odd.” He gazed at her belly button and a tiny line of silvered flesh.

She covered herself, embarrassed. “The mark is from childbearing.”

He pushed her hand aside and touched her skin, which seemed softest on that spot. “No, not that. Odd that when you said it wasn’t the right time, I felt almost disappointed.”

“Truly.” She beamed at him. Then she levered herself from the bed and grabbed her chemise. “Do you mean to say you have gone from untamed creature to domesticated animal in a matter of days?”

He nodded and lay on his back, still naked.

She nudged his arm. “We must dress, I’m sorry.”

“I am too,” he said. “I look forward to sleeping in a bed holding on to you.”

“That sounds familiar,” she said with a laugh.

“Trained and housebroken,” he said, and reached for his drawers.

He went to work, but, except for the hours he spent with Julianna, his life seemed to be suspended. Walker considered turning himself in and let Sawyer’s men do their worst. He was tired of waiting for the axe to fall.

They came for him at his job a few days after that first leisurely walk to Central Park. He felt headachy and in dire need of coffee. That was what days without alcohol did for a man. That and too many late nights thinking about Julianna and what he’d do with his life, if he still had one.

He’d just returned from the scene of an attempted murder when he found Persky standing by his desk.

“Let me finish writing this,” Walker said, and, wonder of wonders, Persky nodded and sat in the chair next to the desk.

Walker pulled out his incident book and copied the description of the victim’s injuries, then moved on to the interview Sergeant Oakley conducted with the unconscious lady’s landlord. It wasn’t a difficult crime—they’d found a footprint that matched the gentleman friend’s boot and a neighbor had heard the couple arguing. A storekeeper said the gentleman friend had admitted he’d stolen money from the battered girl. Walker finished the report and wrote up a description of the suspect he’d have the sergeant deliver to the other wards and precincts.

“Thanks for waiting,” he told Persky and meant it. Walker got to his feet, dragging along without any pleasure down the stairs and out the door of the bustling station, past the pushcarts of fruit and vegetables. They walked toward St. Patrick’s old cathedral and entered the south cemetery, strolling among the gravestones and obelisks.

“You need to tell me more about corruption,” Persky said.

“You want a definition? The police force was crooked before it was even founded. If you’re looking for particular guys, I know I gave you a list. And how about you try Creedon. But don’t bother asking me about the upper levels—talk to Commissioner Porter or Mayor Perry. I keep my head down.”