by Amanda Quick
“Yes.” She sank her nails into the muscles of his broad shoulders. “Yes.”
He lifted her, cradling her in his arms, and carried her the short distance to the bed. He set her down on top of the blanket and straightened long enough to strip off his trousers and drawers.
The rigid length of his erection fascinated her even as it made her wary. She remembered how uncomfortable it had been to take him inside her that first time in the stable. She reassured herself that it would be easier this time.
“We will go slowly tonight,” he promised.
He put one knee on the bed, testing to make sure it would take his weight. Her nerves were in such a jangled state that she actually giggled.
“The bed seems sturdy enough,” she said. “I don’t think you will send us crashing to the floor.”
He smiled in the shadows. “I hope you are right.”
Cautiously he lowered himself along the length of her, cloaking her in the heat of his body. He braced himself on his elbows to keep from crushing her into the mattress and bent his head to kiss her.
Everything inside her quickened. She gave herself up to the embrace. The sense of urgency coiled and tightened into a demanding ache. Impulsively she lifted her hips against the rigid thrust of Benedict’s erection.
He wrenched his mouth away from hers and kissed her throat.
“I love the smell of you,” he whispered.
She gripped his shoulders. He caught hold of the hem of her chemise and pushed the garment up to her waist. He slipped one hand inside the open center seam of her drawers and found the part of her that was melting.
“So warm,” he said. “And so ready.” He kissed her breast through the fabric of the chemise. “For me.”
“Yes,” she managed, her throat constricting with the sheer, overwhelming force of the whirlwind threatening to sweep her away. “For you.”
He kissed her mouth again—not in a sensual manner this time but rather as if sealing a solemn vow. She was still struggling to comprehend the meaning of the kiss when he eased two fingers inside her.
She flinched, but not from pain. Instinctively she tightened herself around his gently probing fingers. She was so sensitive now that every touch sent little shocks through her.
Benedict stilled and raised his head. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” She pulled him back to her. “No, please. Whatever you do, don’t stop.”
“I have to stop.”
“Why?”
“Because your sister warned me that if I got you pregnant she would have my head on a platter.”
“What? Penny said that? I don’t believe it.”
“Those may not have been her exact words, but as I recall it was something along those lines. The point was to make certain that I used a condom.” He paused. “But given your lack of experience, you may not understand what I am talking about.”
“I may lack experience, but I do not lack medical knowledge,” she said primly. “My father explained the use of condoms to me.”
“Of course he did.” Benedict sounded torn between amusement and chagrin. “I don’t suppose you carry a spare in one of the pockets of your cloak?”
She flushed. “Now you are teasing me.”
“Yes, I am.” He shifted his weight. “Hold on. I’ll be right back.”
He got up off the bed and went to where his overcoat hung on the wall. She levered herself up on one elbow to see what he was doing. In the firelight she watched him take a small leather case out of one pocket.
“Do you mean to say that you brought one with you?” she asked, dumbfounded. “On a journey to investigate a murder?”
He froze, evidently uncertain of the correct answer.
“Ah,” he said. He stopped and then came to a decision. “I have been carrying it everywhere since I bought it.”
“That would have been when, precisely?”
“Shortly after your sister gave me the lecture.”
“Good heavens.” She realized that she was not sure what to say. After a moment’s reflection, she smiled slowly. “It would appear that I am not the only one who travels prepared for any eventuality.”
He laughed—a husky rumble that was clearly fueled by relief—and came back to the bed. He opened the leather case and took out the condom. Amity watched, fascinated, as he sheathed himself in the little sack.
He leaned down to kiss her.
“This time you will enjoy the experience, I promise,” he said against her mouth.
“I believe you.”
He did not enter her immediately. Instead, he stroked her until she was once again throbbing and desperate. He found the exquisitely sensitive place just inside her and the nubbin at the top of her sex. He focused his attentions on those regions until she could not think of anything else.
When her release pulsed through her, she gasped, cried out and gripped Benedict’s shoulders tightly.
He pushed into her slowly, deliberately, riding the hot currents of her climax. There was no pain this time but the too-full, too-tight sensation set off another series of rippling little pulses. She was utterly breathless now.
She heard his hoarse groan. His back was a solid wall of muscle beneath her hands.
He reached down between their bodies. She realized that he was using one hand to secure the condom while he thrust into her. At the last possible instant he pulled out of her. She held him close while he spent himself into the condom.
He shuddered and collapsed beside her.
Thirty-three
A long time later Benedict stirred and sat up on the side of the cot. He removed the condom and dropped it into the chamber pot under the bed. The things were so expensive many men rinsed them out and reused them. Fortunately, he could afford the luxury of a fresh device each time one was required.
He looked at Amity. In the fading light of the fire, she looked soft and warm and delicious. He realized he was getting hard again. He reminded himself that he had just discarded the only condom he had brought with him.
“You did not use the device as it was intended,” she said. “Even though you wore it you still pulled away at the last moment, just as you did the first time in the barn.”
“Neither the skin nor the rubber version are entirely reliable,” he said. He leaned down and kissed her. “It’s best to take extra precautions.”
She stretched like a cat. “Always planning for disaster.”
“I have been told that I am rather boring,” he said before he could give himself time to think about the wisdom of bringing up the subject.
She blinked, startled. Then she laughed. “That’s absolutely ridiculous. Since I met you my life has been anything but dull. Indeed, it seems to me that we have gone from one adventure to another with very little time to relax in between.”
“Yes, but that is because things have been quite extraordinary lately. Under ordinary conditions, life might prove quite monotonous with a man of my temperament.”
She smiled a slow, provocative smile. “I sincerely doubt that. However, should boredom ever threaten, we can always resort to the sort of experiment that we just carried out a short time ago.”
The tension inside him eased.
“I believe you likened the first experience to the sensation of riding a camel,” he said.
“It was much better this time,” she said. “Rather like riding a wild stallion into a storm. Somewhat dangerous, perhaps, but that is no doubt part of the lure. It was all quite exhilarating.”
For a moment he allowed himself to simply enjoy the sight of her in the firelight. She almost glowed, he decided. No, he was quite certain that she actually did glow. There was a luminous quality about her that riveted his senses.
“Rest assured that I stand ready to relieve any tedium in your life with such methods at any time, Miss Don
caster,” he said.
“Very kind of you to offer, sir.”
He got to his feet, pulled on his drawers and crossed the room to throw another log on the fire.
When the flames leaped high again he turned back toward the bed. Amity watched him, waiting for him. A rush of satisfaction crashed through him. She was waiting for him.
And just like that, the missing piece of the puzzle fell into place.
He stopped in the center of the room.
“It’s all connected,” he said.
Amity sat up slowly on the edge of the bed. “What are you talking about?”
“Everything. We’ve been dealing with Virgil Warwick’s attack on you as if it were a separate issue from the theft of Foxcroft’s notebook. But there is a link between them. There must be.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The explosion at Hawthorne Hall.” He crossed the room to where his coat hung on the peg. He took his small notebook out of the pocket and flipped it open. “Don’t you see? It clarifies a number of things.”
“Such as?”
“Such as the fact that Virgil Warwick most likely did not murder Mrs. Dunning.”
Thirty-four
Explain,” Amity said.
Benedict’s cool, controlled energy was contagious. A moment ago she had been drowsy and more than ready to slip into sleep. But now she was wide awake and very curious.
She got up from the bed and tugged the blanket around her shoulders. She could feel the chill of the floorboards through her stockings but she ignored the sensation.
“Whoever set that trap for us today is skilled in the rather arcane art of explosive devices,” Benedict said. He sat down at the table and opened the small notebook. “Do you remember what Charlotte Warwick said about her son’s personal inclinations?”
“She described him as having an artistic temperament and said that he had seemed to find his métier in photography.”
“Precisely. She gave us no indication that he was ever interested in engineering or scientific matters. It is highly unlikely that he would know how to construct a complicated mechanism for an explosive device, let alone put it together at the scene of the murder without blowing himself up in the process.”
“But Mrs. Dunning’s throat was cut with a sharp blade. She died just like Dr. Norcott and those poor brides.”
“Everyone who has been following the news of the crimes in the press—that would be most of London—knows how the killer committed the murders. It would be no great trick to duplicate the technique.”
Amity shuddered. “Assuming one didn’t mind the blood.”
“Assuming that,” Benedict said. He returned to his notes.
Amity watched him.
“Do you think someone other than Virgil Warwick murdered Dr. Norcott as well?” she asked after a moment or two.
“No. I can’t be certain, but that murder has some twisted logic behind it.”
“Yes, I know. You said that it made sense that Warwick got rid of the one man who knew how dangerous he was. He was afraid that Norcott might go to the police.”
“Right. But the killer also took Norcott’s medical satchel. That feels like something Virgil would do. However, even if he did know about his half sister and the fact that Mrs. Dunning was blackmailing his mother, it is very difficult to believe that he learned how to wire that explosive device and set it to go off when someone stepped on the carpet. That requires training and experience.”
“But who else would want to murder Mrs. Dunning?” Amity asked.
Benedict put down the pencil and sat back in his chair. The flames were reflected in his eyes. “The same person who tried to murder me on St. Clare and then arranged to make you the target of a crazed killer. When those plans failed, that individual went to Hawthorne Hall and murdered Mrs. Dunning because she knew too much about the Warwicks’ personal history.”
Amity tightened her grip on the quilt. “You’re saying Virgil Warwick is involved with the plot to steal Foxcroft’s notebook? But he seems far too unstable to be a successful spy.”
“I agree,” Benedict said patiently. “And I don’t think that he is the spy. But I believe that he is somehow connected to the person who took the Foxcroft notebook.”
“The person who tried to murder you on St. Clare.”
“Yes. That person knew Virgil Warwick well enough to try to use him the way one would a weapon. She aimed him at you but things did not go as planned.”
“She?”
“I think we are looking for a woman, after all.”
“Dear heaven.” Amity tried to stitch the pieces together in her head. “If you’re right when you say that she deliberately set Warwick on me, that means she knows what kind of monster he is and how to play to his obsession. Who except Mrs. Dunning and Virgil’s mother would know that?”
“The sister who was raised in an orphanage,” Benedict said very softly.
Amity absorbed that logic. “Yes, of course, the sister.”
“We will take another look at the guest list from the Channing ball when we return to London,” Benedict said. “But there is only one woman on it who is the right age to have been fathered by Warwick and who also possesses a motive for sending a killer after you.”
Amity took deep breath. “Lady Penhurst?”
“I think so.”
“But why would she want me dead?”
Benedict looked at her. “You are the first woman in whom I have displayed any serious interest since I ended my association with Leona two years ago.”
“Oh, dear,” Amity said. “Of course. A woman scorned.”
Thirty-five
Welcome home, Miss Doncaster.” Mrs. Houston held the door wide. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Stanbridge. I must tell you that Mrs. Marsden was quite alarmed when you did not return on the train last night. Inspector Logan made inquiries of the police in the village and was told there had been reports of a fire at Hawthorne Hall and that no one had seen either of you afterward.”
“You got my telegram this morning?” Benedict said.
“Yes, indeed, and it arrived none too soon. Mrs. Marsden and Inspector Logan were preparing to set out for the village.”
Rapid footsteps sounded in the hall. Penny appeared. Relief blazed in her face. Logan was directly behind her.
“Amity,” Penny said. She rushed forward. “Oh, thank heavens.”
Amity hugged her. “It’s all right, Penny. We’re fine. I’m so sorry you were concerned. There was no way to send word until shortly after dawn when we found a farmer who drove us into the village.”
Penny stepped back. “I understand. It’s just that I’ve been so worried. The morning papers carried the news of the fire at the Hall. I knew you were all right because we got your telegram very early, but you were not at all explicit about what had occurred.”
Logan looked at Benedict. “What the devil did happen?”
“It’s a long story,” Benedict said.
Mrs. Houston smiled. “I’ll just go and put the kettle on.”
Sometime later Benedict concluded his tale. Amity could feel the tension in the atmosphere. Logan looked grim.
“From the sound of things, it is going to be next to impossible to prove anything against Lady Penhurst,” he said.
“We must leave her to Uncle Cornelius,” Benedict said. “He will deal with her. Meanwhile, none of this changes the situation with regard to Virgil Warwick. He must be found and stopped before he kills again.”
“I agree.” Logan got to his feet and went to stand at the window. “He is out there, somewhere. He cannot remain in hiding forever. We will find him.”
Amity cleared her throat. “If I might make a suggestion?”
They all looked at her. But it was Benedict who understood before everyone else.
“No,” he said.
“What is it?” Logan asked.
“Lady Penhurst may have tried to use her brother as if he were a weapon, but I doubt that she can control him now that he has been launched in my direction,” Amity said. “I am his target. He is an obsessed man. Why not set a trap?”
Penny’s eyes widened in alarm. “With you as bait?”
“Yes, exactly,” Amity said. “I could leave the house by myself as if I was going shopping. The police could follow me at some distance—”
“No,” Benedict said again.
“No,” Penny said.
“Absolutely not,” Logan said.
Amity sighed. “I don’t understand why you are all so set against the idea.”
Benedict fixed her with a stern look. “Give it some thought. I’m sure the answer will come to you.”
“For heaven’s sake,” Amity said. “It seemed a perfectly good plan to me.”
“Fortunately, for my own peace of mind, I have a better one,” Benedict said.
Thirty-six
You may be right about Lady Penhurst,” Cornelius said. He propped his legs on a hassock and toyed with his unlit pipe. “But she has vanished. I sent young Draper, my secretary, around to her address this morning after you told me what had transpired at Hawthorne Hall. Lord Penhurst has no idea where his wife is at the moment. The household staff seems to believe that she is on a trip to Scotland.”
Amity looked at Benedict, who was sprawled in a chair near the window. He raised his brows.
“There appears to be a lot of people traveling to Scotland this summer,” he said.
“Yes, indeed.” Amity drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. “First you were told that Virgil Warwick was on his way to a hunting lodge there and now we learn that his sister may be headed to the same destination.”
“And we mustn’t forget that Dr. Norcott possessed a train ticket to Scotland,” Benedict said. “Although in his case it was the truth. Evidently he actually did plan to seek safety there.”
