Thornbrook Park (17 page)

“Quite all right, Captain Thorne.” To his combined relief and disappointment, Winthrop leaped out of the way in time.

“How do you hold this properly?” Alice, who had seemed perfectly capable moments earlier, suddenly struggled to get a grip on her racquet.

Forgetting his earlier misgivings, Marcus wrapped his arms around Alice and pulled her close, showing her how to place her hands on the grip, all the while looking over to see if Eve took any notice. She did. So much the better. It reminded him of holding Eve in his arms to teach her how to spar.

“Like so,” Marcus said, whispering right into Alice's ear as he adjusted her fingers, then pulled her tighter so he could demonstrate the motion of the swing. Together, they leaned, moved their hips, and followed through. If he wasn't mistaken, Eve made a face from across the court. “There, you see? Smooth and easy.”

“Yes, I see,” Alice said. “One more time to be sure I have it right.”

They repeated the procedure, but Eve had turned to say something to Mr. Winthrop. Winthrop laughed. Eve laughed. Both Alice and Marcus seemed to freeze in place, as if forgetting what they were doing.

“Should we try it with a ball now?” Marcus said, trying to get back to business. He dropped his arms and stepped away.

“No, I've got it.” Alice made her way to the net. “Shall we all shake hands first and wish each other a good match? Isn't that the sporting thing to do?”

Marcus wasn't about to argue with a chance to get close to the net and take Eve's hand. He dared to look at her directly when he did so, and her eyes flashed a challenge. The minx. Did she think she could beat him?

“We'll go easy on you, Lady Alice. Since it's your first time.” Mr. Winthrop seemed equally smug.

Alice snorted in response. “No need. I'm a fast learner. Shall we, Captain?”

He nodded. “I believe it's customary for the newcomers to serve first.”

“I've never heard of such a custom,” Eve said from across the court. “But we will allow it. She might even take a few practice shots before we start counting points.”

Alice delivered a hard smack of a serve, sending the ball flying straight in Eve's direction before Eve had time to react.

“Whee! I believe that's a point for us.” Alice jumped up and down.

“Yes. Fifteen-love,” Winthrop said. “Again, Lady Alice. Just like that. You're doing well.”

Eve laughed. “Whose side are you on, Mr. Winthrop?”

“Love? Who said anything about love?” Alice seemed bewildered until Eve explained the scorekeeping.

Apparently, Winthrop was on Eve's side after all. They went on to win the first set, with Marcus scoring the decisive point to tie them up on the next.

“One more,” Winthrop said. “I've got some work to get back to before the sun goes down.”

“Yes,” Eve agreed. “It's getting late.”

Marcus barely paid attention to the conversation because he was so busy watching Eve's breasts rise and fall as she lifted her arms to make the serve. How he wanted to see her in all her glory, without a single stitch to cover her! Intimate as they had been, they still hadn't been afforded an opportunity to strip down together. And he wouldn't have the chance, he reminded himself. It was Alice he should be imagining naked.

For her part, Alice seemed more taken with Mr. Winthrop than she was with Marcus. It seemed perhaps Alice and Marcus found themselves in a similar predicament, destined for disappointment. They played the last match with a marked lack of enthusiasm, as if they had both completely given up and let their opponents win.

***

Game over, Eve put down her racquet and prepared to head back inside. She'd wanted to win, but it felt a hollow victory when she looked across the lawn to see Alice and Marcus together. Though she wanted to hear what had happened with the constable, she suddenly couldn't get away fast enough.

“Thank you, Mr. Winthrop. I must get back.” She turned on her heel and fled before Marcus and Alice were done patting each other on the back for their efforts.

“Mrs. Kendal.” Marcus caught up with her just inside the hall.

“Yes, Captain Thorne.” Deliberately formal, she took a breath and turned to face him before he followed her all the way up the stairs.

“Eve.” He gripped her hands. “That man meant to kill you. We both know it.”

“I'm not so certain, Marcus. He is an odd bird, I'll grant you. I only met him a few times, but he seemed courteous enough, mild-mannered. He's not the type to strike fear in the heart, really, is he?”

He placed the pound notes in her palm. “He had these for you, or so he claims. Your refund for your remaining month's rent.”

She tucked the notes in her pocket. “Well, that should come in handy. There, you see? He was true to his word. He dropped the charges, I presume?”

Marcus nodded, but remained steadfast in his effort to change her opinion of Lawson. “I think we both know it has to do with your money. He's wrapped up in it all somehow. That cousin who came looking for you? It was Lawson. He claims he didn't think you would have responded to his request to see you if he gave his name. I think he meant to lure you out of the house to kill you. It's a good thing that we were out when he called.”

“It is curious that he turned up now, of all times.” She nibbled her lip, considering. “I wonder if it was Mr. Strump who introduced Ben to Mr. Lawson.”

“It will be easy enough to work out the connection once I fill Tom Reilly in. I made sure Lawson got on the London train. You're safe for now. For tonight.” He pulled her close and embraced her. “Good God, Eve, if anything had happened to you.”

The last thing she wanted was to push him away. She felt safe in his arms, treasured. It was a feeling that she'd never thought to have again. “Not here, Marcus. Anyone could walk in.”

“To the library, then? Let's go.” He urged her along. “No one will find us there. I need you to myself for just a little while.”

“We're playing with fire,” she said, even as she willingly went along, desperate to be scorched.

One of the maids happened to be dusting the library when they made their entrance.

Marcus dropped his hand from Eve's waist and took a discreet step away from her. “It's a page-turner, Mrs. Kendal. I believe it will hold your interest. Now where did I leave it?”

He began perusing a shelf for the supposed reading recommendation that had brought them to the library as Ginny, the maid, bowed and left the room.

“Oh, I remember where I left it.” He spoke loudly in case Ginny remained at the door. “I'll bring it to you in the drawing room before dinner.”

“Thank you, Captain Thorne.”

He lowered his voice to a whisper. “In five minutes, make your way to my room. Don't knock, just enter. I'll go ahead first so we're not seen going together.”

Such a risk, it seemed, but no less so than making love in the library. Once he left her, she picked up a book to look occupied in case Ginny returned. She would go to his room, and she would tell him that they couldn't possibly continue. It was madness to think they could carry off an affair at Thornbrook Park without drawing further notice. As the minutes ticked away, she wondered if perhaps she shouldn't meet him at all.

But as the time drew nearer, her feet followed the corridor straight to Marcus's bedchamber. She reached for the knob, but pulled her hand back, turned, and went to her own room. It was the right thing to do, she assured herself. Going to him now would only make it harder to leave him to Alice. She stepped inside, shut the door fast behind her, and leaned against it with her eyes closed.

How close she had come to a foolish decision!

She opened her eyes. Sunflowers. Sunflowers over every surface, draped on tables, scattered across her bed, in a vase on the dressing table, woven through the knobs on the drawers, a trail across the carpet. Sunflowers mean adoration, he'd said. He'd known then what she would find. He'd somehow made time to pick them before he'd gone to Lady Alice with roses. Pink roses, for mere admiration. He must have had a trusted footman waiting to scatter them while she was out. She picked up a handful and ran down the hall to his room. This time, without hesitation, she turned the knob and walked in.

“What do you mean by this?” she meant to say. “Where do we stand? Is it true? You adore me?” But the words died in her throat. She simply held the flowers out, the questions in her eyes.

“Eve.” Even if she'd thought of turning to leave, she was in his arms as soon as the door closed behind her. Marcus ran the pad of his thumb across her lower lip, and she felt the heat pooling deep inside her, molten ore.

“Marcus.” Eve dropped the flowers, rose on her toes, and cupped his face in her hands, the roughness of a half-day's growth of beard scratching her palms. She dropped a light kiss on his nose.

“I want to undress you.” His voice was a velvet whisper as he returned her kisses, blazing a trail down her décolletage. “I need to see you. All of you. Just once.”

“Just once.” Just one more kiss, one more time. She dreaded the day that they finally kept their word, but that day was not upon them. She worked at the buttons of his shirt. “I want to feel your skin on mine.”

He pulled her body against his and kissed her, his hot, open mouth covering hers, devouring her. She tangled her tongue with his, daring him to go deeper, molding her body against his so that she could feel the length of his erection. His longing, pressing against her, was as undeniable as her own need curled into a tight coil inside her.

She eased his shirt down off his shoulders, exposing his bare, muscular arms and chest. Her fingers traced his shrapnel scars and ran over his taut, rippled stomach and down to the trail of golden curling hairs that led under the waist of his trousers. His hand covered hers, encouraging her, helping her undo his clothes. Her breathing slowed as his trousers eased down his hips, tan skin giving way to white as he became exposed. She nearly gasped at the beauty of him standing before her like her own Roman god.

“You should have been named for the god of love,” she said.

“But Cupid is a terrible name.” He laughed. “Besides, Psyche couldn't look on Cupid, and you seem to be enjoying the sight of me.”

She blushed. “I am. But Psyche is from Greek mythology, with Eros. There's no equivalent for the Roman.”

And a good thing
, she thought with a pang. Psyche's punishment for looking at Eros was to lose him, a situation that mirrored their reality all too closely. She had to give him up, sooner rather than later.

“Your turn, my lady. Let's get you out of these clothes.” He embraced her and began to unfasten her gown.

“But it takes so long to get them on again. Perhaps you could just lift my skirts.”

“Suddenly shy, Mrs. Kendal? Would you deny me my heart's desire? I don't think so.” His breath was warm on her cheek, his lips so close.

“Sophia might come looking for me.”

“Not here she wouldn't.” He paused from unbuttoning her to trail a finger along her collarbone. “Besides, she's probably napping until dinner.”

“Or Gabriel could come in search of you.”

“Gabriel”—The gown undone, he gave a tug and it slipped down her shoulders—“is still shooting. I'm the last thing on his mind.”

“We left Alice alone with Mr. Winthrop.” Instinctively, she caught the fabric before it slipped to pool on the floor. He took her hands, dropping kisses on her palms, and the gown fell.

She heard his breath catch as he looked her over in her corset and petticoat. “My own good fortune is all I can think of at the moment. Come here.”

He kissed her again as his skillful fingers toyed with her laces, loosening her stays and leaving her bare in his arms in a matter of minutes. He stood back to have a look.

Naked before him, she did not shy away or cover herself. She let her arms fall to her sides while he took her in, heat in his amber eyes.

“You're exquisite,” he said. “Beyond my imagination.”

The slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He urged her to the bed and fell atop her gently. Finding her mouth again, he parted her lips with his tongue. She reached for him, but he gripped her arms and pulled them back over her head, pinning them to the mattress with one hand, while his other hand quested. He stroked her neck and shoulders, and paused at her breasts before taking one nipple between his fingers and rolling gently. He followed with his mouth, laving, circling his scorching tongue around her swollen bud, and then he moved lower.

Her stomach tensed with anticipation and her desire coiled tighter. He let go of her arms and dipped his head to her navel and lower, causing her to tremble. His hand covered her mound, his fingers parting her slit to his touch, and he slipped them inside her one at a time, pushing deep and pulling back with a smooth, rhythmic motion. She moved against him.

“More.”

“As intended.” His voice was husky and thick with need, but she could hear the smile in his voice even with her eyes closed.

He parted her legs wide, dipped his head lower, and blew on her, her delicate nub quivering against the sudden stream of air. He cupped her buttocks and pulled her into his mouth, feasting on her like a starving man. She arched against him and cried out, then prayed no one had heard her.

“Marcus,” she said. She needed to feel him inside her, filling her. He took another moment to kiss her more intimately than she'd dared hope until her need spiraled out of control, snapping like a whip. Colored lights began to pop behind her eyes. Only then did he straighten up, grip her by the waist, and slide her to him, his hips meeting her own.

He laced his fingers with hers, lowered his hips, and entered her slowly, as if savoring every inch. Inside her at last, he began to move and she moved with him, the two of them in their own private dance. She savored the feeling of him against her, skin to skin, as she tangled her legs around his waist and shifted so slightly that she was in his lap, pulling him tighter against her, deeper inside her. He held her against him, one arm curled around her waist, as they found their release together again and again.

Spent, she settled snugly at his side and let the bliss wash over her.

It was then, as Marcus pulled the sheet up and tucked it around them, nudging her into his arms to rest her head on his chest, that the door opened and the footman, George, entered. He nearly tripped over the sunflowers and Eve's discarded gown, caught sight of them, and dropped his bundle of laundered shirts to the floor. They'd made love in the library and in the open outdoors, but they were finally discovered in a proper bedroom, of all places. Her stomach turned.

“One word of this to anyone, George, and I can no longer promise you that promotion.”

“Captain Thorne, I wouldn't dream of—Mrs. Kendal?” George averted his gaze and backed toward the door. “No, I'm sorry. I won't speak of it. Of course. I'm sorry.” He left the room as quickly as he'd come in.

“The servants will all know of it by dinner,” Eve said. “What have we done?”

“I think George can be relied on for his discretion.”

She shot Marcus a look, one eyebrow raised.

“Seriously. He's a good sort, and I believe willing to accept a bribe. Our secret is safe.”

“But for how long?” She sat up. “I should go back to my room. Before word spreads. What if he comes back with Gabriel?”

He urged her to rest on him. “I'm telling you that George can be trusted. I know the servants well enough. Stay with me. Just a little while longer.”

Resigned, she dropped her head to his chest. “Just a little while. Just one more kiss, one more… We have to stop. Once and for all.”

He stroked the bare skin of her back. “I'm not convinced that I can.”

With a sigh, she sat up and pulled away. “Then I will. For your sake and mine. You need to secure the farm and Alice's affections. It's not going to happen as long as you're angling to get me back to your bed.”

“Eve.” She feared an argument. Would he try to convince her to stay? But she turned around to look at him. All too relaxed, he rolled onto his stomach to face her, lying crosswise across the bed. He propped his chin on his hand and showed no concern for covering his stark, white backside. A slow smile tugged at the corner of his lush lips. “I'll see you at dinner, then?”

She sighed. How utterly adorable he looked, and how devastatingly sexy at the same time. She wanted to go back and roll between the sheets with him all afternoon.

“Yes. Later.” Instead, she gathered her things and stepped into his adjoining room to dress as best she could and make her escape. There would be no avoiding him as long as they remained under the same roof.

***

Eve did not go to dinner.

Instead, she sent a note with her apologies and stayed at her writing desk, absorbed in her work for half the night. The other half, she spent pacing the floor, unable to sleep. And then she began to pack, just a few things in a black leather case so that she would be prepared to spend some nights at Averford House. She could not face Sophia, not after what she'd done with Marcus, not yet. She would have to confess eventually, but better that she took some time to get her affairs in order first. If she couldn't recover her money, she could see about finding a position somewhere. There was no shame in finding employment. Better to provide for herself than to rely on the charity of friends.

At first light, she made her way to Sophia's room and slipped a note under her door, explaining her temporary escape to London to investigate her finances. From there, she made her way to the train station, opting to walk instead of waking Dale at such an early hour to drive her. It was a pleasant walk, the air crisp and refreshing, the smells of autumn in the air. Only once did she fear the sound of footsteps behind her, following close, but she turned to discover that she trailed a branch that had somehow become attached to her skirts. She laughed, freed it, and walked on.

In London, she headed straight for the office of Marcus's detective friend, Tom Reilly, and hoped she would find him in.

“It seems fortune is smiling on me nearly as brightly as the morning sun,” she said when he answered the door. “You are here, Mr. Reilly. And I hope that you have the time to help me.”

“I've never turned down a pretty woman in need of my assistance,” Mr. Reilly said, smiling in a way that enhanced the deep dimples in his cheeks. “And I'm not about to start now. Marcus has been keeping me up to date on your case, and I've made a few discoveries. Shall we abscond to an inn for some breakfast, and I'll fill you in?”

“That sounds delightful, Mr. Reilly. I haven't eaten.”

He grabbed his coat and hat, and took her arm, but somehow she didn't feel that same familiar warmth she'd felt while walking arm in arm with Marcus. A pity. With his dimples and twinkling eyes, Mr. Reilly would have made a charming and available long-term companion for her future lonely nights in London.

Over breakfast, he grew more serious as he informed her of his findings. He waited until she'd nearly finished eating before he placed his hand over hers. “I feel you should know that they've found a body.”

She pulled her hand away to stifle her gasp. “Mr. Strump's body?”

He nodded. “The wife identified him, though she seemed reluctant to do so. At first, she claimed it wasn't him, and then she blamed her misidentification on grief. Poor man's head was bashed in before he was dumped in the Serpentine.”

“Did you tell Captain Thorne?”

He shook his head. “It's not the sort of news for telegram or telephone. I wanted to tell you in person. And here you are.”

“Here I am.” She smiled weakly.

“Curious, though, when Mrs. Strump came in to have a look at the body, she gave her name as Lawson, Mrs. Leona Lawson.”

“Lawson?” Eve felt her mouth drop open, and there was no hope of concealing it this time. “But that's—”