The Viscount Always Knocks Twice (Heart of Enquiry Book 4) (19 page)

Her words struck like arrows dipped in poison. A sharp, painful sensation spread through his chest.

“Wick… lied about me?” he said thickly.

She nodded. “And I believed him. Consequently, I think it’s made me judge you harshly…
wrongly
. And for that I am truly sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.” Disbelief seeped through him; he shook his head, trying to understand why his brother would betray him. “Why would Wick say such things…?”

“He said he was ashamed,” she said quietly. “He’s always measured himself against you, I think, and felt he came up short.”

“Compared to
me
?” Richard was stupefied. “He’s the one with all the good looks and charm.”

Violet frowned. “That’s not true.”

“Of course it is. Wick’s the golden boy of our family, everyone’s favorite. He could have done anything, been anything had he put his mind to it.” Richard rubbed the back of his neck, said gruffly, “In looks and manner, I can’t hold a candle to him.”

“That’s
absurd
. You’re very attractive,” she said hotly.

His head snapped up. She didn’t appear to be making fun of him. “You think so?”

She nodded vehemently. “How could you doubt it?”

Because you’re the only female who’s ever said it?

He coughed in his fist. “I wasn’t certain you saw me that way.”

“I don’t go around kissing just any gentleman.” Although she blushed to the roots of her hair, her gaze was steady and sincere.

“Just me, then.” Hope bloomed in his chest. Curling a finger under her chin, he said, “Could it be that you’ve taken a liking to me, lass?”

Her tawny gaze turned troubled. “Maybe I have, Carlisle, but look at our history of misjudging one another. We’re so different, you and I.”

“Whatever our differences are, we’ll overcome them. Learn to compromise,” he said resolutely.

“Compromise,” she murmured. “Just like Thea said.”

“You spoke to your sister of me? Of us?”

“With the omission of certain details, yes.” She nibbled on her lip—by Jove, he wanted a nip at that plump ledge, too. “Sisters talk, Carlisle. Don’t take it to heart.”

“Have you spoken of other men in this fashion?” Satisfaction rolled through him when she shook her head. “Then it
does
mean something.” He took hold of her hands. “Violet, my sweet, give me a chance to court you. I know the timing isn’t right, what with this mess involving Wick. But after I get this sorted, if you give me permission I’ll—”

“The timing
is
right.”

He frowned, not following.

“Don’t you see, Carlisle? Fate has thrown us together time and again for a reason.” Her beautiful eyes were beseeching. “We have to work
together
to find out what really happened to Monique and clear Wick’s name. And, in doing so, we’ll get to know one another better and see how we get on. If you want to court me, let me be a part of this.”

Why did she have to want the one thing he couldn’t agree to?

With simmering frustration, he said, “Don’t you understand it isn’t safe? You’re more delicate than you realize, lass, and vulnerable too. I won’t risk anything happening to you.”

“For crumpet’s sake, I’m not some shrinking flower—”

Approaching voices and footsteps cut her off.

Her eyes grew large as saucers. “We can’t be seen alone in here. Emma will have my head!”

Richard scanned for possible hiding places. The voices were getting closer, no time to get off the stage. His gaze hit the wardrobe: big enough for two—barely. Grabbing her hand, he reached for the wardrobe door. He pushed her inside and followed, closing the door swiftly behind them.

In the darkness, he waited, Violet jammed up against him.

Laughter… people had entered the amphitheatre. Their voices were muffled by the heavy wood of the wardrobe, but he heard a woman and a man talking. He strained to hear their conversation, to gauge how long this might go on. At the same time, he was distracted by the exquisite torture that was Violet: her feminine scent, her lips within kissing distance, her sublimely perky bosoms pressing into his chest...

“There’s something poking into me,” she whispered.

Good God, not this again.

Before he could utter an apology, she wriggled against him, rendering the source of her discomfort—and his—harder than an anvil.

“It’s against my back. I think I can reach it,” she muttered. “I’ll just push it aside…”

Before he could puzzle out what she was referring to, there was a soft click—and the ground dissolved beneath their feet. She gasped, and he threw his arms protectively around her as they plunged into darkness.

Chapter Eighteen

Lying in the musty gloom, Violet tried to catch her breath. When she did, she felt a sensation building up in her, rising from her belly, tickling her throat like champagne—

A hand clamped over her mouth just in time to muffle her giggle.

“Hush, you little minx.” Carlisle’s breath heated her ear. “They might hear us up above.”

He was lying on his back, and she was sprawled atop him. They were in some sort of concealed compartment beneath the stage; above them, the trapdoor through which they’d fallen had closed again, a faint line of light seeping through.

Squinting in the dimness, she gauged that the low-ceilinged space was only a bit bigger than the Priest Hole. A short ladder rested on its side against one wall. Looking up, she guessed that she and Carlisle had fallen a good seven feet. She recalled him twisting mid-plunge to bear the brunt of the impact.

“Are you all right?” she whispered.

“I’m fine,” came his reply. “There’s a mattress beneath me.”

“This must be The Great Nicoletti’s
Wardrobe of Vanishing Wonders
. The wardrobe has a false floor—that’s how he disappears. And, to reappear, he just climbs up the ladder.” Tickled, Vi said, “I figured out his secret.”

“Bravo,” Carlisle said dryly.

Footsteps thudded overhead. Carlisle’s arms closed around her, holding her still as hinges creaked. Vi’s breath held; someone had opened the wardrobe up above.

“See? Nofin’ inside,” said a man’s voice.

“But I could have sworn I heard something.” Violet recognized the simpering female tones as Mrs. Sumner’s. “You’re certain there’s no one in there, Tobias?”

Tobias Price, one of Billings’ cutthroat clients, Vi recalled. A bearded, barrel-chested man.

“Look for yourself, dove: ’tis as bare as a babe’s arse inside.”

“You’re right. It must be my nerves. They’ve suffered such a shock from Madame Monique’s untimely demise.”

“O’ course they would, you bein’ a true lady,” Price rumbled. “But you’ve nothin’ to fear when you’re with me. Even the devil knows be’er than to cross Tobias Price.”

“I do
adore
a strong gent. But it’s not the devil I fear.” A coy pause. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Did Mary ’ave tits?”

“Well, I heard from my maid who heard from one of Billings’ servants that a footman came upon
Lord Wormleigh
and Madame Monique having words the night she died.”

“That bloated old nob?” A snort. “’E’s no killer.”

“I read sensation novels. Killers are those one
least
suspects. Besides, my maid also said that Wormleigh was seen by the library later that night—and that, as you know,” Mrs. Sumner said triumphantly, “was where Monique was found.”

Another snort. “I’d put my blunt on one o’ the filly’s studs. She ’ad a stable o’ gents, and talk ’as it that some are at the party. Any one of ’em could ’ave the done the deed.”

“You weren’t one of her studs, were you, Tobias?” Mrs. Sumner said archly.

A guffaw. “Not jealous, are you?”

“I don’t like to bathe in dirty water,” she said with a sniff.

“No need to be coy. I think you like to play dirty—that’s why you approached me. Now come ’ere, dove, and let Tobias soil you some more…”

The door slammed on the wardrobe, muffling the laughter. The pair’s footsteps moved over and off the stage. Their moans and grunts were distant, coming from the seating area.

“Did you hear that?” Violet said in an excited whisper. “About Wormleigh? And Monique’s
other
lovers?”

“More leads to follow. In the interim, we’ll have to, er, wait Price and Mrs. Sumner out.”

At that moment, Violet became acutely aware of the fact that she was still lying atop of Carlisle, his arms wrapped around her. Beneath her cheek, his heart thumped in a potent, virile rhythm. Thrill, and a bit of mischief, wound through her. Despite his irritating tendency to be overprotective, here they were again, sharing another adventure together.

With her elbows on his chest, she propped her head in her hands and looked at him. The dim light limned his granite features, the sensual pools of his eyes. She recalled his gruff statement that he couldn’t hold a candle to Wick—utter codswallop, as far as she was concerned—and the surprise he’d tried to conceal when she told him that she found him attractive.

In truth, he was the most compelling man she’d ever met. She admired him: his honor, strength, and loyalty. To think, all this time she’d believed he was bullying Wick when he’d been working tirelessly to help his brother! Remorse filled her; she wanted to make it up to him. She also wanted him to understand that she wasn’t some fragile dandelion that would fly apart at a puff of air.

Why can’t you accomplish both tasks at once?

The notion came out of nowhere, a spark that set her smoldering emotions aflame. She’d always been a girl of action: why not
show
him that she was no weak, missish female? That she could match him step for step, be a worthy partner… in every respect? Although her experience with lovemaking was limited, she could go by Carlisle’s example: she’d do to him what he’d done to her. Everything else, she’d improvise.

Guided by impulse and desire she could no longer deny, she bent and touched her mouth to his. Tasting his surprise, she felt his animal shudder, and it thrilled her that she could arouse this primal response in so proper a lord. She ran her tongue along his bottom lip, and his breath gusted, his mouth opening for her.

With thrumming excitement, she dipped her tongue in and his surged to meet her lapping caress. The sensuous, moist tangling drew goose pimples on her skin, her nipples stiff and throbbing beneath her bodice. When his hands clamped on her waist, she batted them away.

“No. My turn,” she whispered.

His brows rose… but his hands fell to his sides.

Tearing off her gloves, she cupped his jaw and slanted her mouth over his. The kiss caught fire, sucking the air from her lungs. Panting, she tugged off his cravat, tossing the starchy linen aside. Nuzzling his neck, she breathed in his arousing male musk. Then she licked her way down a strong, quivering tendon, drawing her tongue over the hard bump of his throat. A groan rumbled in his chest.

Dizzy with success and her own escalating need, she fumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat. In her eagerness, she tore off the last one, sent it skittering into the darkness. She tugged his shirt free of his waistband and slid her hands up under the linen.

“By… Golly.” The words left her in a stunned whisper.

His eyes gleamed up at her. “Not what you expected?”

Having never touched a naked male chest before, she hadn’t known
what
to expect. The combination of hair-dusted skin and flexing muscle filled her with wonder. Marveling, she ran her fingers up the lean ridges of his abdomen to the powerful slabs of his heaving chest.

She squirmed, arousal making her mind fuzzy. How badly she wanted him to touch her. But, no, she was in charge, trying to make a point… what was she supposed to do next? What would he do to her?

Remembering, she searched out his nipple with her fingertips. She circled the flat nub, caressing him as he’d caressed her. She’d loved it when he’d stroked her thus, but she could tell she wasn’t getting the same reaction from him.

“Am I doing something wrong?” she whispered.

“I’m not complaining, lass, but it’s not quite the same for me as it is for you.” There was a catch of humor in his voice. “Now are you done playing your game?”

“I’m not playing—”

The air whooshed from her lungs as he rolled over in a swift motion, pinning her beneath him. Breathless, she stared up at his rugged features and smoldering eyes.

“You’re done,” he informed her huskily. “Now it’s my turn.”

~~~

Lust pounded in his veins as he took her mouth, swallowing her whimper of excitement. The little vixen had driven him nigh mad with her innocent explorations, her untutored caresses firing his blood more than the most experienced courtesan could have done. He didn’t know what she was trying to prove, but he’d gone along until he judged she’d had enough and neither of them could take much more of her teasing.

Now his lips coursed over the exposed swells of her décolletage, his fingers hooking beneath the neckline to find her nipples. One of these days, he would have time to get all her clothes off, and he was going to spend
hours
paying tribute to her breasts. He was going to kiss and suckle her sweet tits to his heart’s content. For now, he had to satisfy himself with fingering the stiff peaks, rubbing and pinching them lightly as she moaned.

She was so responsive. Made for him. Even the scent of her skin smelled right, ratcheted up his need to touch and taste her everywhere.

He grabbed a fistful of her skirts, dragging them upward. The dimness couldn’t hide the fact that every inch he revealed of her was absolute perfection.

“Christ, you’re bonny,” he rasped.

He ran a hand reverently up one slender stockinged leg, from dainty ankle to shapely calf. His palm moved up to her bare thigh, so sleek and soft it put silk to shame. He made room for himself between her legs, and the view got even better.

“Carlisle...”

She squirmed bashfully, but he didn’t let her close her legs.

“I’m right here, lass,” he said thickly.

Aye, he was right where he wanted to be, looking his fill of the shyest, prettiest little pussy. He inhaled her earthy sweetness before running a finger through her silky thatch. His cock jerked against his smalls. Goddamn, she was wet. Her petals were dripping with nectar.