Risking the Detective (The Bluestocking Scandals Book 6)

by Ellie St. Clair

  He had drawn closer to her, and now, finally, she could see into his eyes. They were dark and stormy, full of intrigue. She now wanted nothing more than to solve the mystery of this man, even though he was the investigator.

  “About that, I have no idea,” she said, biting her lip. “I suppose you will have to figure that out for yourself.”

  He dipped his head then, softly pressing his lips against hers, his question this time not in words, but by tasting, retreating, then returning again. She answered him by lifting her hands up around his neck and kissing him back with equal measure, her lips melding against his as though that was what they had been created for, to join with his and complete this puzzle of the two of them together.

  With a primitive grunt he reached over, apparently not particularly pleased by the awkward position the bench placed them in, and lifted her so that she was sitting side-saddle on his lap. She was slightly taller than he now, and she couldn’t help but enjoy the position it placed her in. She twined her fingers in his hair, the coarseness of it somehow also silky soft as it curled around her bare fingers.

  Madeline shifted slightly and when he groaned, she suddenly became very aware of the rigid length of him beneath her bottom.

  She smiled into his mouth and wiggled slightly, causing him to throw back his head with a supplication that echoed out into the night.

  “God help me, Madeline, if you do that again I shall have to lay you back on this bench and take you right here.”

  She laughed in shock at his words, feeling the siren as she stroked the side of his face.

  “What a promise,” she said, this sultry side of her she never knew existed filling her with power that strengthened her with an indescribable headiness.

  “Who are you?” he asked on a loud whisper as he took her lips once more, and the truth was, she had no idea. She was only just finding that out for herself, but she had to admit, she kind of liked this woman she was discovering, this woman who had been hiding for so long, between all that was expected of her and all that she had thought to be true.

  At one point in time she had supposed that she needed a man, especially a man who could better her in society, to make her life worthwhile. When she had been disillusioned about that, she had determined that she needed the business to sustain her worthiness. Now, while she still desperately longed to prove that Castleton Stone could be hers, she was beginning to realize that the business did not define who she was. It was part of her, but it wasn’t her.

  She was a woman in and of herself. A woman she could be proud of.

  A woman who deserved this interlude in the garden with a man who went by the name of Drake and Drake alone.

  It might be a moment of fantasy, but it was one she would take.

  His tongue tangled with hers, and she matched his intensity with a ferocity she didn’t know she had within her. He ran his hands up and down her sides, as though with a bit of force and touch he could magically make her dress disappear, and, for a moment, with the mystique of the night around them, she wondered if he, in fact, could do so. He seemed to be capable of everything else.

  He shifted her now so that she was straddling him, and as he cupped her bottom so that she could feel every glorious inch of him, she wondered just what it would be like to have him deep within her. While the night wasn’t quite magical enough to make her believe it was possible out here in the gardens with but one brick wall between them and the rest of the party, she knew that, perhaps, it could happen at some point, if she would allow it. If he would allow it. If they could both overcome everything that was holding them back and find the promise that could bring them together.

  “You’re amazing,” he murmured as he cupped her breast, her nipple hardening through the fabric of her dress, her shift, and her stays, which he began to find his way below to really feel her, and she arched up into him.

  “Mmm,” was all she could manage as she pushed into his hand, suddenly wishing they were somewhere else, somewhere they could take full advantage of one another. Her breaths came hard and fast, and when his mouth rejoined hers, this time there was nothing soft and sweet about his kiss. He ravaged her with his lips, his tongue, and she wondered about the stark desperation there, until she could wonder no more as her thoughts fled and she acted only on instinct and emotion, matching him with a rawness, a vulnerability that she had never wanted to expose, that she had never done so, even to the man she had thought was her husband.

  But Drake… he was something else. He was someone else. Someone she never wanted to let go of.

  However, everything must come to an end, she realized as he came to his senses first, pulling back away from her. She had no idea how long they had been outside, away from the party. Had they been missed? Likely, but she found she didn’t overly care.

  She wondered how he could have been of enough mind to stop, but he hadn’t forgotten what she needed as he reached out and, with surprisingly gentleness, began to restore her to rights. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch there nearly as erotic as on her breast. He lifted her bodice to ensure that it covered her appropriately, and, finally, set her down in front of him, back on her feet.

  “There,” he said, looking her over from head to toe. “You look the proper woman once again. Not thoroughly ravished.”

  She met his eye. For she was not as thoroughly ravished as she would like to be. Not even close. “Do you think anyone will guess what we have been up to?”

  He gave a low laugh, a laugh filled with promise. “I absolutely do. And I don’t care one bit.”

  Her eyes widened at that. “But they will all think—”

  “Madeline.” He stopped her. “Why do you care so much what they think, or what anyone thinks at that? The only thing that you need to worry about is that customers know that you are trustworthy, and suppliers know that you are loyal. That is what your business is based upon, is it not?”

  “It is,” she said softly.

  “Well, then. Those people in there are your friends. This is what Mrs. Luxington wanted, anyway, is it not?”

  She laughed at that, although in a rueful way, as though she never should have given in to what her friend wanted so badly. “It most certainly is.”

  “Well, then, the worst of it is that you proved her right and you shall never hear the end of this.”

  Madeline sighed. “Of that, you can be certain.”

  Chapter 13

  They were right.

  Alice was in all of her glory.

  The moment Madeline and Drake had returned to the billiards room with the rest of them last night, Alice had been watching her with a wide, smug, knowing smile on her face. Madeline had rolled her eyes at her and waved her away, but Alice hadn’t stopped her persistence until Madeline finally relented and shared a very small bit of what had occurred outside.

  Alice had nearly crowed her triumph.

  It had been the last Madeline had spoken to Drake that evening, however. Before she could ask him about meeting with Powers the next day, he was gone, leaving the dinner so abruptly that half of them hadn’t even known he had left.

  Now, this morning, she had to hope that he would inform her of when and where he was going. Her wish was that if that kiss — well that kiss and more, much more — meant anything, it was that he trusted her now, and would no longer suspect that she had anything to do with Castleton Stone’s problems.

  She stepped onto the cobblestones outside of her factory, looking up at the three-story golden brick building with some pride — this could be hers one day, with her father trusting her with it even today, while he was away.

  It was early, the hour when very few would be within the building, but the dawn light breaking over the thatched roof meant that some of her sculptors would be here, those who found their creativity peaked in the early hours.

  It was when she herself found that her fingers worked best.

  “Good morning, Thomas,” she greeted one of their oldest employe
es, who was sitting near the window, allowing the light to shine on the clay he was beginning to form into a gargoyle mold, which would create many statues that would most assuredly spend their lives sitting high up on a turret, inspecting all before them.

  “Good morning, Miss Castleton,” he replied, taking a quick break to look up at her. “’Tis good to see you. Been some time.”

  “It has,” she agreed. “Far too long.”

  She laid out her tools on the worktable next to him, donning an apron overtop of her dress.

  “Anything in particular that needs to be done today?” she asked.

  “A pair — but not an identical one — to what I’m working on,” he said, “but I’ll do that myself later. There’s a lion that’s just come out of the kiln that needs a firm hand to bring it to life. We’re to incorporate the family crest along with it.”

  “Oh!” she exclaimed. “How intriguing. I would love to take it on.”

  He gave her the size requirements and she began to sculpt, as slowly and surely as she could, perfecting the lion into the life-like beast it was to become.

  As always happened, she became so involved in her task that she forgot everything else around her — the business’ problems, her father’s potential scandal, and, of course, Drake.

  Well, if she was being honest, she did not entirely forget Drake. One could never wholly forget him.

  She just allowed him to fall to the side for a moment as her task took over, and she wished, for a moment, that everything else could come as simply and as naturally as this.

  “Miss Castleton?”

  Madeline looked up with a start, unsure of what time it was, or how long she had been focused. The lion was already looking quite ferocious, however, with the family crest emerging, so she had to guess that it had been a couple of hours, at the very least.

  “Yes, Thomas?”

  “While you were working, a missive came in. It was delivered to me, as I oversee the sculptors, but it should go to you.”

  “Oh?” she said, reaching out a hand to take the letter from him, holding open the crinkled page.

  Her heart sank as she read it. It seemed that Sawyer Jackson, one of her finest sculptors, was leaving Castleton Stone — for Treacle.

  “Oh, no,” she said, looking up at Thomas beseechingly. “Jackson has been with us nearly as long as you have, Thomas. I don’t understand it.”

  Thomas ran a hand over his short hair as he shifted from one foot to the other.

  “I—I cannot say, Miss.”

  She sighed and stood, abandoning the lion — for now. She would come back to it later that evening, when all of the work was finished.

  She laughed to herself silently. Who was she kidding? The work was never finished.

  As she looked around the factory — the premises her father had worked so hard to build — the growing despair in her belly began to take on an edge. An edge of anger.

  Who did Jeremiah Treacle think he was, that he could poach her artists, her stone, her business? He may have made others believe that he was innocent of any wrongdoing, but she knew better. He had to be behind this.

  “Madeline?” Bennett walked into the warehouse, as immaculately dressed as ever. “What’s the matter?”

  “Treacle is now stealing our people, not just our product,” she said, her hands on her hips.

  “They what? What do you mean?”

  “They have hired Jackson away from us. It’s not right. Not at all. I am going to Treacle. They have to understand that they cannot take what is mine.”

  “That’s all well and good, Miss Castleton,” Thomas said, his hands now clasped behind him as he rocked back and forward on his heels uncomfortably, “but before you do…”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, it’s just that, there might be another reason why Jackson left.”

  “Oh?” She could hardly imagine why. Castleton Stone employees were treated better than nearly any others she knew.

  “We didn’t receive our pay last week,” Thomas said, scuffing a toe into the floor.

  Madeline furrowed her brow.

  “You must be mistaken, Thomas,” she said, “for I approved it myself.”

  “We never received it,” Thomas mumbled.

  “But… I don’t see how that is even possible!” Madeline exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “Even if it was so, why would no one tell me?”

  “Well…” Thomas shrugged. “We thought, perhaps, with all of the difficulties the business has been having, and what with your father being gone, we should just wait until Castleton Stone returned to its usual prominence.”

  “Or do you mean perhaps…” Madeline said with a lifted eyebrow, “wait until my father returns?”

  “Yes,” Thomas said, looking down, unable to meet her eye, and Madeline took a breath as she tried to keep from any sort of exclamation. It was not Thomas’ fault. Not in the slightest.

  She turned to regard her cousin. “Bennett,” she said firmly, “did you not pay all of our workers?”

  He looked at her somewhat guiltily. “I do not recall you approving the payments to go out.”

  “Bennett,” she said with exasperation, “I signed everything off myself, then provided it to you. All you had to do was to actually give it to the employees. Did you or did you not do so?”

  “I’m so sorry, Madeline,” he said, looking up at her with supplication, his hands out, palms up, in front of him. “I sincerely didn’t see them. They were not on your desk. And the truth is, I thought the same as Thomas.”

  “Where could they possibly have gone?”

  “Perhaps the same person who stole the product stole the payments.”

  “But why?” she said, having to keep from practically wailing the question. She had to keep hold of any pride she possibly had left.

  “I don’t know, Madeline, and I’m so sorry,” Bennett said, his voice softening. “But perhaps… perhaps it is time to ask your father to come home. Immediately.”

  “And admit my defeat?” she said defiantly, but Bennett shrugged.

  “I understand that you want to prove yourself, Madeline, truly I do,” he said. “And I am well aware that without all of the setbacks, you would have prospered. You are made for this business. But. Sometimes things happen that are beyond our control. As hard as this is to say, I implore you to not allow your pride to come first, over what is best for the business.”

  Madeline took a deep breath as she began to pace back and forth across the earth-packed factory floor, her hands on her hips. She knew Bennett was trying to be helpful, but what could her father do that would be any different from what she would do? The only thing that might change is whoever was after her might stop.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said, and when Bennett began to protest, she held up a hand. “I said I would think about it,” was all that she promised, and then she continued. “First, we need to make sure that everyone gets paid.”

  “Very well, I will—”

  “No,” she shook her head. “I shall do it myself.”

  She realized she was still wearing the smock, and she lifted it over her head as she made for the stairs to where the offices were located.

  “I shall be back, Thomas, you can promise the workers that,” she said. She placed a foot on the stair and a hand on the railing, when she suddenly felt that she was being watched. She looked up to find Drake standing at the top of the stairs, leaning on the railing as she ascended.

  “How long have you been here?” she asked as he watched her without expression, and she wished more than ever that he was freer with his emotions. Had last night meant anything at all to him? Was he here because he wished to be here, or because she was paying him to be here? And had he witnessed another of her failings?

  “Long enough,” he answered her. “You’ve been targeted again.”

  “I have,” she said with a sigh. “But what I just don’t understand is how it happened.”

  She reached h
im and continued on past him, but held the door open for him to follow. He accepted her invitation to join her and they walked toward her office at the back of the corridor. When they reached it, however, she didn’t sit down, but instead, walked over to the window, looking out at the view it offered of the Thames beyond.

  “What am I doing wrong?” she murmured. “Why can I not find my way through this?”

  “I must apologize,” Drake said, surprising her with both the sentiment as well as his proximity, just over her shoulder. “I have not been as helpful as I should be. I have been preoccupied.”

  “With another case?” she asked, turning to look at him.

  “No, not entirely,” he shook his head, his eyes hooded. “Something else. Something personal.”

  “Is it… anything I can help with?” she asked, wanting to know more, but it was yet one more thing he did not seem to deem her important enough to share.

  “No,” he shook his head. “I must take care of it myself.”

  At his inability to trust her and her own inability to encourage him to open up, she lost all fight that was within her.

  “Perhaps Bennett is right,” she said, turning around and leaning her head back against the window. “Perhaps I should just give up and write my father to ask him to come home.”

  Drake studied her, his dark eyes roving over her face, as though he could find every answer he ever sought within.

  “Is that what you want?”

  She stared back at him, wishing he would tell her what to do, that he could solve it all and make all of her problems disappear.

  “I—”

  “This is your business — at least for the moment, Madeline,” he said, using her given name for the first time, and it warmed her right through, telling her, that, perhaps, he did feel something more for her than this arrangement. “This is your life, and your decision. No one can make it for you. Not me, not your cousin, not your father. You.”

  His words struck something deep within her, a chord that vibrated through every bone and muscle of her being.