“You have made yourself clear, indeed, Albert,” Edward said, looking at his employer with distaste.
“Very well, then. I also expect you to report to me should you hear from your son. I have mobilised every able-bodied man in this town to hunt for him, and we will catch him, sooner or later.”
“I do hope you catch the person responsible for the murders, Albert.”
“You still believe your son is innocent?” Albert’s voice rose in anger.
“My son is no murderer.”
“Tell me, Edward, how many men did your son kill in the war?”
“Patrick was a soldier. He isn’t a sick individual who cuts up people for sport.”
“Then you better pray you are right, for the entire town believes otherwise. Did you see Sender’s body? Did you see what happened to it?”
Edward shook his head.
“I still have nightmares about it. I picture Angelica lying in pieces in her room, and I wake up in cold sweats every night. I swear to you if your son had anything to do with this …”
“He didn’t.”
“So you’ve said. Let it be so.”
Albert walked out of the office without another word. Edward stared at the empty doorway for a while after Albert had left, wishing he could take the day off. Sighing, he returned to his desk and looked over the new documents brought to him this morning.
“Lord Blakesley, may I have a word?”
The soft voice startled him, and he was surprised to find himself looking up into Angelica’s sweet face, standing beside his desk. How had he not heard her come in?
“Miss Angelica, how may I help you?”
Edward thought Angelica appeared paler than usually. She wore a black dress, as she did most days, enhancing her pallor.
“My father won’t speak much to me about what is going on.” She looked shyly to the floor. “I was hoping you have some news.”
“News? If you mean that I have seen Patrick, then no, I have not.”
“Forgive me; I was not clear. I know it wasn’t Patrick who killed those men. He could never do such a thing. I only mean to know how the hunt is proceeding to know that he is still safe.”
Edward smiled at the girl he would have liked to have as a daughter-in-law. “Indeed, Miss Angelica, he is still safe. The hunt continues, but the trail has gone cold.”
“It is a relief, then. Thank you.” She turned to leave but then paused. “It is quite shocking what they discovered about James Sender, don’t you think?”
“I do not follow, Miss. What did who discover?”
“You do not know? My father discussed it just yesterday with two of his men. Sender used to rob rich folk in London when he went there for supplies. After he robbed them, he killed them, and brought them back here to feed to his pigs to hide the evidence.”
Edward’s mouth gaped open. Why would Albert hide this from the rest of them? Dorien should be made aware of this.
After Angelica bid him goodbye, Edward thought about what she said. Something was tugging at his mind, like a clue, but he could not grasp it. For the rest of the day, he struggled to concentrate on his work, knowing there was something he was missing. There was a pattern to these murders that could lead to their killer, but he could not quite see it.
Patrick had spent the day nailing shut the windows of the boat shed with the supplies Angelica brought the day before. She had proven to be quite resourceful.
The bottom part of the shed Patrick left undisturbed; if ever anyone wandered in, all they would see would be dusty old rowboats and equipment.
Upstairs, in the storage loft, was where Patrick made his hideaway. There was a door in the wall for hauling goods to the top floor, which was now his escape route. The side facing into the boatshed was piled high with old equipment and served to divide the space into a cosy room. With the blankets, pillows and candles Angelica had brought him, it was comfortable enough.
“Are you sure you were not followed?”
“I am sure,” Angelica said lightly and moved over to the space he had turned into his bed, where she dropped the bag she had brought today. “Father took his men to town with him, and Mother is in the parlour with some ladies. They won’t miss me.”
Patrick hesitantly followed her onto the blankets. They had not made love since she questioned him about love, but with her coming here now almost every day, the tension between them grew.
“I spoke with your father today.”
Patrick stopped, sitting on the blanket, instead of taking her in his arms, as he had planned.
She sat beside him. “He is worried about you. Do you want me to tell him that you are all right?”
“No, I do not want anyone to know you are involved. Not even my father. He will be fine.”
“As you wish.” She paused, taking food out of the bag. “I did tell your father about James Sender. He was horrified.”
“Even I cannot believe it.” Patrick shook his head. “There are despicable people in this world.”
Angelica busied herself with setting out the food and lighting more candles as the last rays of sunshine falling through the hole in the roof faded.
Taking off his shoes, Patrick sat cross-legged in the middle of his make-shift bed, eating the sandwiches Angelica brought. He could hunt, but she kept him well-fed, so there was no need.
Taking her boots off, Angelica watched him in silence until he had finished. She did not eat.
“Will you show me?”
“Show you what?” he asked, wiping his mouth, and then putting down the napkin.
“Your wolf. I would like to see him.”
Patrick stared open-mouthed at her sparkling eyes; all trust and adoration. How could she be so innocent and naive?
“No, absolutely not.”
She pouted; her soft lips so inviting. “Please, Patrick.” She moved closer. “I want to see you. The wild you.” Tracing her fingers along his neck, she whispered, “I want to run my hands through your fur.”
“Angelica, that could be dangerous.” He swallowed hard.
“Nothing is ever won without a bit of danger,” she breathed in his ear, her eyelashes tickling his cheek.
“The change is not a pretty sight.”
“I will look away.”
Overwhelmed by her teasing hands, her breath on his skin, and her audacious request, Patrick forcefully grabbed her wrists. With his body, he pushed her back onto the blankets and spread her legs with his knees. Pinning her down, he looked at her, knowing she could feel his arousal against her.
“And what would you do with me now, big bad wolf?”
“Now I will ravish you.”
Seductively, Angelica tilted her head back, exposing her neck to him. He could see her pulse throb beneath her pale skin.
Although he wanted nothing more than to take her right then, he took his time, undressing her slowly. The black dress she wore untied at the back, so he turned her onto her stomach, undoing the laces with one hand while tracing the shape of her buttocks with the other.
The summer undergarments came off quickly, and he turned her back around to look at her. Pale, petite, and feminine in every way, she was the most perfect woman he had ever seen. Her nipples stood dark and erect against her white skin; beckoning him. He leaned over her, cupping one breast in his hand while putting his mouth over the other.
Angelica moaned softly as he gently sucked and kissed her breast. His need for her swelled in his trousers, but it would have to wait. When Patrick moved his lips over to the other breast, Angelica slid her hands under his shirt and pulled it over his head. Her hands then moved to his pants, undoing the buttons. Quickly, he shrugged out of his clothes and then lay down beside her again. The flickering of the candles danced golden highlights across Angelica’s dark hair, and he could have sworn her eyes were black once more.
Patrick bent forward to kiss her and then moaned loudly as she took him in her cool hand. Smiling up at him, she slid her hand down to the bas
e and then brought it back up to his crown, where she toyed with it with exquisite and excruciating slowness.
Too soon, he felt himself building at her devilish touch, and he reached down, taking her hand. Again, she pouted, but this time, he took those lips and bit them playfully.
“My turn,” he whispered in her ear.
Leaving a trail of kisses along her breasts and stomach, he kissed the inside of her thighs until she spread them readily for him. Working his arms around her legs, he took hold of her buttocks, and held them fast, before savouring the first taste of her cherry blossom.
Angelica’s cry of surprise soon turned into moans of pleasure as he explored her warm folds with his tongue. He toyed with her, holding her unyielding with his hands, finding her pleasure node, and then moving on from it just before she was ready.
Again, and again, he brought her close. Each time she’d cry out in frustration when he moved his tongue to a different area. Angelica tried to move her hips, but he held her firm. She clawed him with her hands, and he could feel the hot, burning scratches on his back from where she had broken the skin. It only excited him more.
With himself ever so ready for her, his tongue found her node again, cupping his lips around it, sucking and licking. Angelica grabbed his hair, pulling him hard against her. His wolf senses were almost overwhelmed by the smell of her readiness, and the explosion of taste in his mouth when it was time, almost made him lose control.
Without waiting, while she was still sensitive from her orgasm, Patrick entered her. He was so ready, so hard and big; she cried out again.
Swollen and sensitive as she was, she experienced everything a hundredfold as he slid in and out; driving in deep and steady. He never broke the rhythm, never sped up, no matter how she squirmed beneath him.
Clenching his jaw, he fought for control as he watched her. Stroke after stroke, he brought her closer. A tear ran out of the corner of her eye; her face beautifully contorted in ecstasy.
Hard and throbbing, he thought he could hold on no longer when she finally became quiet. Angelica’s entire body tensed; she gripped his arms tightly, and her legs wrapped around him like a vice.
Completely silent, her eyes closed, and her body rigid as a board, Patrick drove it home. He could feel the breaking point coming, as her body began to quiver.
Soon, she bucked beneath him, moving in rhythm to his strokes, and he finally gave in, moving faster, and harder. Angelica shuddered beneath him, thrusting herself hard against him, and he finally released all his pent-up energy deep within her.
“Will you show me your wolf tomorrow?” Angelica asked as Patrick walked her out of the boatshed.
The moon stood high, shining its light down on them. The river sparkled to their right as they walked along the path; the frogs croaking in the shallows.
“You are adamant you want to see?”
“I am. I am not afraid. I want to know all of you.”
“Aye, I will show you. We will be together one day. I will prove my innocence. If we are to marry, you need to know what it is like to live with a werewolf. Do you think you are ready for it?”
Angelica’s eyes shone at the mention of marriage, and he knew he had not assumed too much. Strangely, here in the moonlight, her eyes were bluer than they had been in the candlelight.
“I am ready to spend the rest of my life with you, Lord Blakesley, no matter the beast you are.”
Patrick turned her toward him and kissed her. This was as far as he could accompany her. “I do not like it that you are going the rest of the way by yourself,” he said again.
“I have done so many times.”
“Not in the dark, Angelica.”
“Please, Patrick, trust me. It is but a short way from here. You cannot come any closer to the manor, or my father’s men will catch you. Already you are risking too much walking me this far.”
“What if the killer is near? What will I do then? How will I live without you?”
Angelica snuggled close to his chest. “Tell me, wolf, do you sense it? Do you feel anything strange on the air?”
“I do not, my love,” he admitted, “but I haven’t proven yet that what I felt during the storm had anything to do with Sender’s murder.”
“I believe you have a sixth sense. If you sense nothing around us, I know we are safe. Believe in yourself, Patrick. You are more than you think.”
Standing on her tiptoes, Angelica’s kissed him and then ran off into the darkness of the orchard. Leaves covered the trees now, and Patrick lost sight of her the moment she entered between the rows.
Stealthily skirting the property, he waited at the boundary fence until he saw Angelica light the candle in her window to let him know she made it to her room.
Only then did he leave Ashford Farm, but he did not return to the boat shed. Whenever he was not with Angelica, he was trying to piece together clues about the killings.
Lord Alaric had taken it into upon himself to organise the citizens of Ashford into units of hunters. In the beginning, the mayor had tried to keep the matter quiet and employed only people involved with the mayoral committee, and the board. Now, Lord Alaric had made it public that anyone who could handle a weapon or pitchfork would be welcome to join the hunt for the killer. A bounty had been set, and the town of Ashford was in an uproar.
Dorien Lowell and Richard Wolfden led their own hunting parties; each with selected, trusted men. All other parties were Alaric’s men; paid to collect the bounty. There was one other man who rode with Dorien that Patrick had never seen before. On more than one occasion, Patrick thought the man had spotted him following them, but then the man glanced over his hiding place as if he had seen nothing.
With the revelation that Sender had killed rich folk in London, Patrick had an inkling of what the motives for the killings could be.
Edgar Abbott had sexually abused his youngest daughter. Alexander Smythe had physically abused his son. James Sender had killed people. All three were sinners.
As much as Patrick abhorred the idea, he now made his way to the church. He had known the priest all his life, but several other people worked at the church, and in its grounds, and they could all be suspects.
At this hour of the night, the church grounds were in darkness. Even the cottages of the priest and the groundskeeper were unlit. Patrick kept to the shadows of the trees, avoiding the light of the full moon as he neared the stone church. Its spire rose high into the sky; a dark tower against the glittering backdrop.
Testing the front door, Patrick found it unlocked. For as long as he could remember, the priest had never locked the church, allowing his flock entrance at whatever time they might need guidance.
Opening the thick, oaken door, Patrick noticed two oil lanterns burning near the first row of pews. Their weak light did not spread far but was enough to guide any pilgrim to their seats.
Silently, Patrick circled the pews, keeping to the walls. He had no desire to pray and headed directly for the narrow door behind the altar that led to the priest’s private room. He didn’t know what he hoped to find there, but he would never know unless he looked. If the church was involved in this, there had to be clues somewhere.
When he reached the door, Patrick halted. The wooden rafters of the church creaked above, and the wind whistled beyond the windows. Common sounds. They were not what had made him stop.
Frozen with his hand over the knob of the door, he listened, his wolf senses on high alert. There was movement behind the door, coming towards him.
Patrick weighed his options. He could run; no one would ever know he had been here. He could remain and confront whoever was behind that door. His sense of smell told him it was the priest. His mind made him suspicious as to why the priest would be awake and working at this hour.
Dropping his hand from the doorknob, Patrick straightened, just as the priest opened the door.
“Master Patrick.” The old man greeted him without any trace of surprise in his voice. “I have been e
xpecting you. Please, come in.”
Chapter 9
Patrick stepped into the dimly lit room; the priest’s presence behind him raising the hairs on his neck. A metallic click told Patrick the priest had locked the door, and he saw the old man slip the key into the sleeve of his cassock.
“Why are you here, Patrick? I know it is not to confess your sins.”
Peter Smith sat down at his desk. He had been Ashford’s priest for over five decades and knew more about the town and its people than anyone else.
“I am not?”
“No, Patrick. You have never been to confession, and I doubt you will start now. Why are you here?”
“If I am not here for confession, then are you not afraid?”
The old priest shook his head. “I have nothing to fear from you. You have always been a good son of the town, and a good son of your father’s.”
Patrick narrowed his eyes, taking his measure of the priest. What did he know? “You know I am not the killer?”
The priest inclined his greying head. “You are no killer, Patrick, not in that sense of the word. You are other things, that is true, but you did not kill those people.”
“You know what I am?”
“And what your father is.”
“You would use that information against us?”
“The church is sworn to protect its children, Patrick. What gets spoken in confession will remain confidential, always. I bear you no ill-will, as I hope you bear me no ill-will. So, I ask again, why are you here?”
Doubt crept into Patrick’s mind about his suspicions. It seemed unlikely that the old priest had anything to do with the murders. If anyone from the church were responsible, they would have acted without the old man’s knowledge.
“I am sorry, Father,” Patrick finally said, “for breaking into your church. Given the situation, I am trying to prove my innocence. I have been following the investigation from afar and making my assumptions. One of those has led me here, to the church.”
Playing With Fire Page 55
