The Deadliest Sin

by Caroline Richards

  After a while the hum of raucous revelry of the common room below faded away. When he moved the heavy curtains guarding the window aside, he saw a sky that hung like a heavy black mantle, offering no indication of the hour. He moved silently over to the bed where Julia slumbered on her side, one leg drawn up over the other, her crumpled skirts heaped around her. Images unspooled in his mind’s eye. Diaphanous blue silk against white skin. Long, slender limbs entangled with his. A tumble of chestnut curls and the most beautiful eyes shut tight against a mindless orgasm.

  Christ. He was holding his breath. The flames of desire burned with an immoderate immediacy, as he took in her elegantly exposed calves dangling over the side of the bed, her skirts twisted around her hips.

  God damn it. He climbed into bed beside her.

  Julia feigned sleep. Under the fringe of her lashes, she watched Strathmore sit down at the edge of the bed and quickly pull off his boots. The muscles in his strong back flexed under the fabric of his jacket, which he quickly unbuttoned before stripping it off in a swift move and tossing it over the bedpost. With restless, abrupt gestures he unbuckled his belt. Twisting his pistol in the leather braid he looped it over the thin headboard.

  She studied him, taking in the taut muscle and lean power, the pulsing strength, and the unsmiling face. His frame seemed larger and sparer than she had remembered and an unsettling sensation simmered in her chest.

  They lay silent, an acre of distance between them. The silence was unnerving. Every moan of a floorboard and rattle of a window pane brought them to a shuddering, intense awareness. Strathmore locked his hands behind his head, his eyes surveying the iron ceiling with its cross-hatched design.

  For once Julia didn’t want to think. She was so weary, so tired of the despair that pulled taut every muscle in her body as she tried to make sense of the chaos her life had become. Grief and vengefulness was threatening to pull her into a vicious vortex. She should be afraid of Strathmore, in whose face she saw the palimpsest of Faron.

  But she wasn’t. Her body relaxed as Strathmore’s arms came around her, cradling her close—demanding nothing, she suddenly realized. The revelation was a shock, the sudden truth so startling she understood at last that she would never exorcize her connection to him. She remembered the first time they had made love when no words and no arguments stood between them and melted into the seductive rhythm of his long fingers smoothing her hair against the curve of her forehead.

  Their breaths found a common cadence, an ebb and flow of silent accord, her head resting against his shoulder, her body encircled by Strathmore’s strong arms. The silence flowed around them, and the embers of anger flared briefly before being extinguished through sheer exhaustion.

  Her whole world lay behind her closed eyes as she concentrated on Strathmore’s hand moving in regular, circular patterns down her back. The small buttons of her bodice gave way, exposing her skin to the cool air. She shivered briefly before he dragged his palm slowly up the curve of her back, his fingers exploring each indentation of her spine. When he reached her nape, he repeated the motion, warm velvet finding its way back down her back with leisurely seductiveness.

  A sigh issued from her throat as her hands delved beneath the thin pillows and she closed her eyes. His hands lingered at the upward slope of her buttocks where the tapes of her dress and remaining underskirts blocked his entry. She bit back a soft moan when his palm moved along the sleek, exposed curve of her back, a familiar warmth pooling in her abdomen.

  Julia didn’t question why she was reluctant to stop him. She didn’t move, aware of the slow rise and fall of her exposed back as Strathmore braced his hands on either side of her, his loins resting against her buttocks. His chest was hard against the soft skin of her back and he pressed his mouth to her cheek, murmuring her name.

  The feel of his lips on her skin was white heat, his hands parting the fabric of her chemise and corset a welcome release. He reached under the silk and cotton to find the swell of her breasts, and cupped them in his hands. They both knew she was already moist between her legs but her twisted skirts and clinging undergarments remained obstacles.

  With her eyes still closed, she put her hands over Strathmore’s, trying to move his palms to her nipples, which ached for his touch. He kissed her on the back of the neck, but instead of responding to her pressure, he avoided it, caressing the swell of her breasts with a teasing leisureliness that was suddenly not enough for her. Maddeningly, he skimmed his hands across her flesh, bringing her closer to his hips. Even through the voluminous fabric, she could feel the rigid swelling in his trousers as he pressed himself into her buttocks.

  Behind her closed eyes she saw only color as her muscles contracted with shimmering sensations, the slick lubricant of desire flowing down her thighs and inundating her body with bone-wrenching pleasure. Julia knew she shouldn’t be responding to Strathmore’s deliberate seduction but as the sensations tore over her, all self-control fled.

  Strathmore was waiting for her, she realized, too flushed with desire to be concerned about her body’s easy acquiescence. It was too simple for him to command her response but she no longer cared. Her own hands slid from under the pillow to wrestle with the tapes and fastenings of her skirt. Unlike his leisurely caresses, her movements were abrupt, her slanting hips communicating what she couldn’t say. Soon her legs, clad only in their cotton stockings, closed around his hand. She raised her hips to follow the sensations of pleasure thrumming through her. She trembled under his ministrations, so close to orgasm she felt as though molten gold were running through her bloodstream.

  Her face still turned away from him, she felt his hands spreading the moisture over her core, smoothing the soft tissue in a heated pattern while she shuddered against the inexpressible urgency building inside her. His fingers slid over her slickness, probing slightly, penetrating gently, then more deeply. She was dissolving into a sea of pleasure, waves of heat flooding over her. He knew exactly—expertly—when to restrain his stroking fingers or move them slower or faster, deeper or not so deep. She arched into his warm hands, but he held her down, his palms pressing into the flesh of her thighs. The heat spread and blossomed between her legs, strong, steady, and burning beneath the wicked skill of his fingers until with a gasping, incoherent cry, she tensed against him, suspended in pure sensation. She released a hot moan into the pillow, her body melting with a flush of completion.

  Every last thought fled her mind. Worries, anxieties, and despair were momentarily cleansed from her being as though she had been washed in a spring rain. Her body and spirit numbed with pleasure, she turned her head back into the pillow and slept.

  Julia tossed in her sleep, tangled in the sheets, her dreams consumed once again with fire. Flames danced, their tips licking at her skin, smoke clogging her throat. The paisley wallpaper with its cheerful collision of yellows and pinks mocked her, whorls of hot mist curling the edges brown, stinging her eyes with acrid ash. If she strained, she could see the top of her sister’s head, the curls tied with pink ribbon, her dark lashes crescents against her cheeks as she slept the sleep of childhood, blameless and deep.

  The flames surrounded the crib, crackling and sparking like chestnuts at Christmas, a ceaseless and ongoing march to consume anything in its wake. Nothing could stop the inexorable hunger, an amoral advance, devouring the innocent and the guilty with equal voraciousness. Bitterness closed Julia’s throat, cutting off her breath.

  The bedclothes enveloped her like a winding sheet, her limbs thrashing in the bed. She was alone in her nightmare, the cloud curling through the darkened room moving toward her. The cloud thickened, coiling like a deadly serpent, a monster on the threshold ready to devour her.

  Julia opened her eyes to strong arms shaking her awake. Over Strathmore’s shoulders she saw flames licking around the door of the room, where the heavy wood had begun to bubble with blisters. It took the shortest moment to realize that she was not trapped in a dreamscape. It was real. And yet…she loo
ked around the room as though the familiar rocking horse, the spinning top, and the white cradle should be there. Hysteria fueling her blood, she allowed Strathmore to pull her from the bed, her hands shaking in his. Pulling away from him, she fumbled with the tapes of her skirts around her waist. Without saying a word, he propelled them both toward the window, wrenching back the curtains and then cursing at the lack of a balcony.

  Julia’s heart throbbed as she surveyed the sheer drop. About fifty feet below, there were the beginnings of a bucket brigade, along with a wagon carrying tubs of water on a runner.

  “No worries.” Strathmore had to shout over the roar of the fire. “We can use the windowsills to climb down.” He took her shoulders, his grip firm but gentle. “Julia. I need you to listen to me now. This is important.”

  His words were coming in waves, difficult to absorb. She looked around again, expecting to see the tiny white cradle and the downy head of a child fast asleep. Smoke seeped through the door and she tried to stem a spasm of coughing, while in the background the fire hissed like a witch, building to a crescendo.

  “Julia.” Strathmore’s voice broke into the space between sleep and wakefulness, past and present, and she shook her head mutely in response. She would not leave without her sister.

  Gripping her shoulders more tightly, he forced her to face him directly. “You can’t stay here. Trust me, I’ll get us out of this,” he said. With the thrust of his booted foot, he broke the window pane, repeating the movement until only a few shards of glass clung to the casement.

  Cold air rushed into the room, fanning the flames around them. Julia remained rooted to the spot, pushing Strathmore away from her as he tried to secure an arm tightly around her waist.

  “I will not leave you here,” he said, his eyes shining with intensity as he took her in his arms, placing one leg out on the narrow windowsill.

  Julia shook her head, her muscles straining against him.

  “What is it, Julia?” Strathmore’s voice called to her.

  The room spun around her as she fought for breath, the sound almost dying in her throat. From somewhere deep inside, the words formed, spilling from her mouth in a rush. “I can’t leave. Not now. Not until I have her.”

  The hard muscles of Strathmore’s arms stilled around her. His eyes roamed her face, looking for something he would not find. “You did everything you could.” His voice held a rough gentleness. She didn’t answer, overwrought, gulping for air while he waited, holding her tightly on the precipice of the window, shards of glass glittering around them.

  The rush of air from the window whipped the flames into an increasing frenzy, surrounding them in a blaze of heat. “I can’t…” she said bleakly, in a hushed voice.

  “I know.” Their faces almost touched. “So I will do it for you,” he said without thinking, working entirely from instinct and need. “Lean on me. Trust me. This once, Julia.”

  “I don’t know if I can,” Julia whispered, afraid to believe in herself or in Strathmore. But it was enough for him. He lifted her in his arms, maneuvering through the broken glass to the cold stone windowsill. He reached out one hand into the darkness to grasp the sash that levered them both onto the wide stone ledge. Julia squeezed her eyes shut, a strange euphoria overtaking her. She would trust him, this man who had invaded her life and who had the power to wrest the truth from her soul. Her arms looped around his neck as they stood precariously on the edge, the air heavy with smoke. She pictured the limestone crenellations above them as she felt Strathmore wedge them both between two corner stones. With one free arm outstretched, he pressed steadily against the wall, his boots catching the rough texture of the masonry beneath their feet. Carefully, he edged them across the ledge until he grasped the smooth metal of a giant copper down-spout.

  With his hand still around her waist and his body covering hers, Julia pressed her face against the coolness of the copper, as the stone beneath her feet gave way. Julia prayed the down-spout would hold their weight as Strathmore eased them down to the lower ledge. They were only several yards away from the ground. Before Julia could protest, Strathmore pulled them away from the wall, prepared to cushion her fall.

  The packed earth beneath them catapulted Julia into sharp awareness.

  Daring to open her eyes and lift her head from Strathmore’s chest, she found herself amidst a cacophony of noise as people raced by, shouting while carrying buckets overflowing with water. Craning her neck to stare at the top floors of the inn, Julia was transfixed by the inferno.

  “Has everyone been led out safely?” she asked hoarsely, her fists opening and closing at her sides. Unaware that Strathmore was still holding her, she took great gulps of air, watching as sparks from the fire shot up into the early morning sky.

  “It hasn’t spread beyond our room as yet, and mercifully the public house was closed.” What Strathmore wasn’t saying was what was clearly being revealed by the tall flames leaping from the room they had just vacated—It was no accident the fire had started there.

  Shaking with cold and shock, Julia was oblivious when a rough blanket was placed over her shoulders. Strathmore gently wiped a streak of soot from her face before lifting her in his arms and carrying her from the conflagration. He murmured into her hair, wrapping her in his strength and in the rough velvet of his voice.

  They were in his carriage in the next instant. “London.” Strathmore gave the sharp order to the coachman, snapping down the window shades.

  Julia’s head shot up as though from a deep sleep, when she was deposited onto the cushions. “I didn’t say that I was going with you.”

  “There’s nowhere else for you to go—other than with me,” he said, his voice a low growl as he pushed her smoke-stained skirt aside with brusque motions. “You see what happened here tonight. It was no accident. The faster we get to my London town house the better.”

  “I have no say in the matter?” she hotly retorted, fighting off his hands and the weight of his body as he lowered himself next to her. She could not explain the power he had over her, the might that could make her nightmares dissolve and give back her voice.

  “You realize that you are speaking, Julia,” he gruffly murmured, smoothing the hair back from her forehead. “That alone should convince you to do what is right, what is necessary, for both of us. Why are we wasting time when we both realize what we need and want?”

  “You can’t possibly want me, damn you!” Julia said in an agonized whisper, pushing at his chest with all her strength. The carriage swayed as the desperate words hung in the air between them. “You don’t understand who I really am. What I am guilty of.” Suddenly she lay quiet beneath him.

  “We can talk about it. We will talk about it. And it won’t make a whit of difference about how I feel.”

  Julia was frightened to ask the question. “How do you feel?”

  Strathmore took her face in his hands. “I want you.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Strathmore’s body was rigid with tension. “I don’t believe it either. But it’s true. There’s nothing else that explains my decisions, my actions, since the first moment we met.” His voice was hushed exasperation, his gray eyes heated and intense, although his smile was one of certainty. The blanket had slipped to the cushioned seat and he eased it back over her bare shoulders. “You believe I have power over you, but see what you have done to me.”

  “You can’t…I won’t let you…” Julia’s voice was hard, her palms pressed against his chest.

  One dark brow rose. “Can’t? Won’t? You are ignoring an irrefutable truth and whether you or I like it is immaterial,” he said with impeccable reasoning. His eyes shut for a moment while he took a deep breath. “The evidence is there if you’d only look.”

  Julia struggled anew against his weight and her own contradictory emotions. “As though we are one of your damnable science experiments or geographical explorations!” She despised his arrogance, his hold on her and, worse yet, the tenderness she
had glimpsed at the inn, which had proved her undoing. Strathmore had the capacity to bring her back to life, to make her feel with a vividness that hurt, and she resented him for it.

  “Wanting is not loving,” she said vehemently, regretting the words the moment they left her lips. Images of their moments in the small bed unspooled in her mind, the memory of the heat, her need, and the searing intimacy. Then, like a fearsome invasion, the image imprinted on the daguerreotype intruded. Strathmore but not Strathmore. Flushing, she reached up to push his hands from her face.

  His hands fell away and he looked down at her for a moment before moving to the seat opposite. “Why do you always fight me?” he asked. His thick black hair was disheveled and he crossed his legs, leaning further into the corner of his seat.

  “Why do you always disappoint me?” she flung back at him. With her hands braced to hold herself balanced while the carriage sped through the early morning, she shrank further into the blanket covering her.

  “What happened back at the inn meant nothing to you? Proved nothing to you?” Strathmore spoke with remarkable softness. “That you were willing, unconsciously at least, to trust me is significant. You can’t deny it.”

  Julia tensed against the supreme confidence. “You are beyond arrogant.” His clothes, soot-stained now, did little to detract from his long powerful legs covered in close-fitting twill, his booted feet so close in the narrow aisle between them, she could have reached out and touched the dusty leather. Struggling to ignore the heated feelings, the familiar combination of desire and anger warming her body, she used his own argument against him. “You yourself pointed out that our feelings are simply the product of animalistic tendencies. No more, no less.”

  “You would use my own words against me. That is desperate.” His voice held a trace of amusement, annoying and provoking. “And you continue to lie to yourself even though it does you more harm than good. Do you think, Julia,” he said, gazing at her for a moment, “that the enforced silences you endure are something you must live with forever? They are the result of dishonesty, with yourself and your past. You must lance the wound or it will not heal.”