Roughly, he raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m also a man, Vivian.”
She exhaled loudly before she replied, “I’m fully aware of that.”
“Are you?”
She stilled, watching him.
Will chose that moment to make contact. Gingerly, he raised his hand and placed it over hers, covering the pearl, laying warm skin on warm skin, relishing the jolt that sliced through him when he felt the quickening of her heartbeat beneath the rise and fall of her breasts.
“You know I’m going to make love to you,” he said, his voice husky and low.
She sucked in a shaky breath but didn’t back down, which he found infinitely gratifying.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He drew his thumb across her hot skin, softly pushing it under the edge of her gown as he pressed close to her nipple, his eyes never leaving the shadows of her face.
“But how awkward and sad it would be,” he continued, his own breathing becoming unstable, “if when I take you in passion, you do not cry out my name, but my title instead.”
She trembled now; he could feel a shudder course through her body. Enough of the foreplay. He’d well made his point.
Still clasping her hand with his against her breasts, Will leaned over and took her mouth with his, more forcefully than he had the first time they’d so touched. She made a soft mewing sound in her throat at first contact, but she didn’t pull away.
Such shyness without reluctance, such tenderness underlying what had to be trepidation on her part, made him come alive inside. It had been so hard to hold back, so hard not to feel, and for now, Will allowed himself to wallow in the pleasure of being with a woman who so obviously desired him in spite of his past.
Alone in the garden, encircled by a soft sea breeze and the sweet scent of flowers, he pressed for more, wanting her to open for him and accept the beginning of the ecstasy to come. He reached behind her back, splaying his large hand across her spine, and pulled her toward him.
His mouth teased without force and she followed his lead, gradually opening for him as he gently pried. He moaned as she flicked his upper lip with the tip of her tongue, holding back the urge to lift her, hoops and all, and carry her to his bed chamber or down the path toward the sandy beach below.
Suddenly he felt her arm wrap around his neck as she gave more of herself to the moment. His tongue sought hers, grasping it faintly and sucking the edge as she whimpered and pushed herself closer into his palm at her breast.
She needed him now, wanted him fully, and as he was vaguely aware that she ran her fingers through his hair, he lowered his hand over her gown to cover her, squeezing minutely, teasing the nipple he couldn’t feel but managed to imagine stood erect and sensitive in all its beauty.
Her breathing had grown as shallow as his; her urging at his mouth made him increasingly hard as he longed to push himself inside her sweet softness. He pressed her against him as tightly as possible, cursing the layers of clothes that kept the heat of her skin from scorching his own. She continued to allow him his delicate pursuit, her luscious lips assaulting his now in delicious form, in a fever of yearning she could no longer control.
He ran the edge of his thumb back and forth over the tip of her covered breast, causing her to gasp softly against his mouth as she shuddered in his arms, pulling herself against him now in growing hunger. But as she began to trace his upper lip with her tongue, he knew he could take no more from her without completion. It had been too long.
Groaning as much with frustration as passion, Will lifted his lips from hers, only a little at first to allow her to understand that he was ending the kiss, the embrace, in an attempt to tame the fire within before it consumed him and ignited what remained of his control.
She didn’t want to let him go, and for several seconds after he pulled back she continued to press little kisses against his lips and chin, the side of his face.
“Vivian…” he whispered, grasping her shoulders, thoroughly warmed from the openness she conveyed in her sweet caress.
For a moment or two she didn’t seem to hear him. And then suddenly she lowered her head and took a wavering step back, raising her hand to cover her mouth.
They stood apart for minutes as their breathing calmed, their rationality returned, listening to the cool night air rustle the leaves around them. He didn’t know what to say exactly, but he refused to let her go without comment.
“When?” she finally murmured, her fingers still covering her lips.
He understood what she asked even as it surprised him that she’d spoken first. But if it had never mattered before, with this woman timing was everything.
He bit down hard to subdue what was left of his desire. “When I’m ready.”
Her head jerked up as she gazed to what she could see of his face.
“When—when you are ready?” she repeated, confusion threading her tone.
He inhaled a surprisingly steady breath, then said with conviction, “When I agreed to trade the manuscript for companionship, Vivian, I meant it all. I have missed having a woman in my life for years.” He reached out and touched his fingertips to her cheek, immensely pleased that she didn’t jerk away from him. “I hope you didn’t think I pursued you for a romp. You are more to me than the temporary enjoyment of one short bedding.”
He heard her gasp faintly from the sincerity of his words, felt her shake her head minutely as if trying to comprehend the depth of his implication. And then finally she closed her arms over her stomach and took a step away from him.
He dropped his hands to his sides, a sinking feeling weighing in his gut as he waited for her to deny him.
At last she turned her head and gazed out toward the ocean. “When would you like me to return?”
The relief he experienced at that moment was utterly palpable. Trying not to grin, he replied, “I’ll send word.”
Seconds later, she nodded, then shook herself and lowered her arms to stand elegantly erect once more. “It’s getting late, sir.”
“Indeed,” he returned without inflection. “I’ll have my driver see you home.”
He expected her to turn and walk away from him then, but she didn’t. Instead, she took a step or two in his direction, pausing in front of him before she placed her palm on his shirtfront, over his heart.
Gazing up into his eyes, she whispered, “Will…”
And then she lifted her skirts and left him standing in amazement, alone in his huge, darkened garden.
Chapter 8
“Clement Hastings is here, your grace. He says it’s important.”
Will had been writing at his desk for what seemed like hours, and this unexpected interruption came at a most convenient time. He needed the break. And since it had been a week without news, he found himself suddenly anxious.
“Send him in at once, Wilson,” he ordered, leaning back in his chair for a long stretch, then standing abruptly to receive his guest.
Moments later the investigator appeared before him wearing burgundy and plum striped pants and, oddly enough for him, a plain white silk shirt. He did cover it with a plaid waistcoat in an unfortunate shade of green, however. Will tried to ignore it. The man had remarkable taste. If one could call it taste.
“Good afternoon, your grace.” Hastings greeted him with a standard smile and formal bow.
“Hastings.” Will motioned for him to take a seat in his usual chair of choice, which the man did. Will chose to remain standing, feeling a bit confined and anxious under the circumstances. It had been a week since Vivian had visited for dinner, kissing him with her luscious warm lips, and since that time, he’d learned nothing of value from his investigator. He was now more than ready to move forward as he wanted a bit more assurance of her intentions before he seduced her even further.
Hastings adjusted his waistcoat and reached into the pocket for his notes—a thin, black bound book the size of his palm. Opening it, he began without ceremony.
“Gilb
ert Montague, aside from his work on the stage, is a rather boring character, no pun intended of course.” He laughed at himself, adjusting his thick legs under the tea table before continuing. “For several years he worked as an actor on the Continent and most people believe him to be fairly talented. The productions he’s been part of in Penzance, and before here, Truro, have made a little money, and his company of actors, regardless of their… sort have been well-received. I have yet to find information regarding his past, where he was raised, contacts, friends, or any schooling as a youth, though I’ve got two men working on it from the home office in London. It is entirely possible that he changed his name at some point, which I consider likely, as Montague the man, according to the few facts we’ve discovered thus far, simply appeared from nowhere to enter the acting circuit about seven years ago.”
Hastings paused for a moment, apparently to give Will time to digest this most recent news. Will stared at the floor, fighting the urge to pace, leaning his hip on his desk as he consciously decided to draw no conclusions at this point.
The investigator cleared his throat forcefully and scratched the back of his head. “There’s a bit more, your grace.”
Will raised his brows and glanced at the man, who suddenly appeared hesitant. “Go on then,” he urged.
Hastings pursed his lips and nodded. “One thing I did discover that I thought was rather curious, sir, and of course could mean absolutely nothing, was the fact that he left for the Continent a mere five days after the end of your… er… trial, and returned one year ago, moving very quickly into the acting circles that only toured in Cornwall. As an actor of such high esteem, the London stage would be a more likely choice, I should think, which makes the timing and his questionable employment seem somewhat peculiar, even coincidental. Again, it probably has no bearing on you, but I thought you should know.”
Will felt a tremor of coldness slice through him at the mention of his trial, memories he attempted to push from his thoughts with every waking moment. Hearing a notion that this actor, Vivian, and the signed manuscript might somehow be connected to his past—even remotely so—stirred the inner self-hatred he still fought to suppress even as it ignited the remembrance of the horror he experienced during those dark days and freezing nights of what now seemed so long ago.
God, what he would give to make it all go away…
“Your grace?”
Will jerked his head up, looking at his agent of inquiry with the realization that he’d missed something. “Hastings. Sorry.” He wiped a palm across his face, then stood erect, tense, arms at his sides as he walked toward the bookcases to his left. “You were saying?”
“Yes,” the man repeated, “I saved the interesting news for last.”
“Interesting news?” Frowning, he turned his attention back to his guest. There was more to this bloody nightmare?
“Yes, sir, one more thing of note,” Hastings replied gravely as if reading his thoughts. “I’ve had the man followed every night after leaving the theater and every night for the last few days his routine has been more or less the same. He usually frequents a pub on New Street, near the harbor, called The Jolly Knights, with a K, where he apparently gets his fill of drink and food and sometimes… uh… lewd woman, after which he retreats to his rented room at the Regent Hotel. Last night, however, was different.”
Will narrowed his eyes. “He met someone.”
Hastings’s brows shot up as if he hadn’t thought the duke could make such a deduction on his own. “As a matter of record, yes. That’s primarily what I came to share with you, sir. I wasn’t there to witness it, of course, but my man thought the meeting was highly unusual.”
Slowly, Will began to walk to the opposite chair. “Unusual? Why?”
Hastings paused to turn a page in his book, “Montague sat in the same place he always does, toward the back of the room, for approximately… forty-five minutes, when he was approached by a lady.”
“A lady? Not a common woman?”
“Yes, sir, a very small, and we believe very blond lady of some wealth who came in looking specifically for him. She wore a black, hooded pelisse— fur-trimmed, very well made—and clothing of the highest quality. Carried herself with prestige.”
Will sat heavily in his chair, noting how the leather comfortably conformed to his weight. This was news. “Have you learned who she is?”
Hastings shook his head, his forehead creased into several deep wrinkles that well reflected his age. “No, not yet. I wanted to try and get some information on her to give you but so far we have nothing. My man wasn’t able to follow her when she left, though she did appear to have her own driver.” Smiling wryly, he added, “But the short conversation she held with the actor, and his reaction to her, seemed to be quite interesting. I thought, even lacking her identity, you would want to know.”
Fascinated, Will leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What was said?”
“Well, we don’t know exactly, your grace. They generally spoke in whispers and nobody could get close enough to hear, but they did talk as if they knew each other well and, oddly enough, for only five minutes or so. At one point Montague said or did something she didn’t like and the woman stood abruptly, with enough irritation to force her chair back a foot or so. They talked for another moment or two and then she left.”
“Did your man get a good look at her?”
Hastings rubbed his jowls, shaking his head in the negative. “Unfortunately, no. He couldn’t see much of her face, although he said she did appear attractive and fairly young, probably less than thirty years of age. The intriguing thing, of course, was that she obviously didn’t belong in a place like The Jolly Knights, meaning, I suppose, that she appeared to be a lady of breeding. She took great risk in entering the pub alone to see anyone, which in turn makes the meeting all the more significant.”
Indeed it did. “Is that all?”
“For now, your grace.”
Will sat in silence for several long moments, contemplating these new pieces to the puzzle that less than two short weeks ago had altered the grim reality of what had been the banal routine of his life. A puzzle that had brought him the beautiful Widow Rael-Lamont.
Abruptly he stood again, no longer able to control his desire to pace. Now more than ever he wanted to get to the bottom of things, for he was getting restless, impatient. He was also starting to worry and he didn’t like to worry. Things were moving far too slowly for his taste. Turning back toward Hastings who sat quietly in his chair waiting for instructions as he always did, the duke regarded the floor in thought.
“How many men are on this?” he asked, his gaze still fixed on the plush carpet beneath his shoes.
“Four, your grace.”
“I’ll make it worth your while if you can double that number,” he remarked, looking Hastings in the eye again.
“I can do that, sir, but I really don’t want to scare the man off. I believe he thinks he’s being watched—”
“What makes you think that?” Will cut in, his voice edged with concern.
Hastings sighed and slumped into his colorful waistcoat, closing his notebook and returning it to his pocket. “I don’t know exactly. Ifs more of a gut feeling I have really. He isn’t nervous and he hasn’t changed his daily habits at all. In many ways I think he’s… expecting it.” He cocked his head, thinking shrewdly. “I almost get the impression that he wants to be noticed, that he’s waiting for something to happen. The most interesting thing of all was his reaction to the woman. Upon seeing her, he looked around nervously as if afraid that someone would see the two of them conversing.” Expelling a long breath, he concluded, “I suppose I could reasonably assume they’re working together, though if that’s the case, she’s acting with stupidity and Montague knows it. I don’t think we’ll see them together again.”
Will nodded his agreement. “It’s possible she’s using him, or paying him, to get the manuscript herself.”
“Possible,
yes.”
“Then, Hastings, the woman is the key. She may have more answers than the actor, supposing you can find her. I want you to put four additional men on the search for her starting today.”
“Certainly, your grace. A good course of action, and we’ll start with the pelisse. It was quite unusual looking and very good quality. Expensive. Very few makers of clothing would get orders like that to fill. I believe we’ll find that she’s someone with a great deal of money, perhaps even a member of the nobility, although what a member of the social class would have in common with a lowly actor, I couldn’t guess.” Hastings stood at last and pulled down on his waistcoat. “I’ll be in touch, your grace, as soon as we have something to report.”
Will nodded in response as the investigator bowed appropriately and walked to the door of the library. There he paused, glancing back.
“Your grace, if I may be so bold?”
Surprised, Will looked at him. “Yes, what is it?”
Hastings hesitated. “Your grace, this man is very clever, and I believe he’s an exceptional planner and thinker. I do not believe he’s aware he’s being followed right now, but I wouldn’t be so quick to assume the man hasn’t thought you might hire someone to watch him. If that is the case, he could very well lead us to false ends. I’d watch my step if I were you, sir, and remember one last thing, this man makes a living on pretense.”
A living on pretense.
“Thank you, Hastings. Keep me informed.”
With that, the investigator took his leave.
In deep thought, Will walked to the windows, gazing out across the far-reaching ocean without seeing.
Every time someone mentioned a small, blond woman he was overcome with images of Elizabeth, making his heart ache and his mood darken with despair. Someday he hoped her tragic death could be remembered without the bitterness of lies. Someday he hoped to move on.
Suddenly Vivian’s serene, mature beauty came to mind, and he smiled.
Someday…
Chapter 9
Duke of Sin Page 8
