by Candace Camp
His fingers slipped inside her as his mouth feasted on her breasts. And she shattered.
Before she could even gather her scattered wits or relax into that deep satisfaction, he was gently stoking her passion again, caressing her sensitized flesh into a renewal of hunger. Limp, exhausted from the storm of her release, she lay in a haze of pleasure, as he coaxed from her still more desire.
His hands went to her hips, lifting her as he slipped between her legs. Slowly he slid into her, filling her, astonishing her yet again with a new pleasure, a deep satisfaction at this final completion that far outran the brief slash of pain as he entered.
His mouth covered hers, his hunger compelling hers, as he began to move inside her. Megan’s hands fisted in his hair, and she moved beneath him, driven to match his rhythm, to meet him passion for passion. This, above all else, was what she wanted, she knew. To be melded to him, to move with him, breath and heart surging as one.
She was his and he hers and, as they flung themselves higher, harder, faster, until they teetered on that last, fierce precipice, then tumbled over in an explosion of release, she knew that whatever else might happen, they would never again be apart. Where it mattered, in the center of them, they were united.
* * *
MEGAN AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING in her own bed. She stretched and lay still for a moment, a smile hovering about her lips, letting herself luxuriate for a little while in the pleasure that permeated her body.
She felt a little sore and bruised, used in a wickedly delightful way. And she had never felt quite such satisfaction and happiness in her life.
Her smile widened to a grin as she stretched and sat up, pulling the sheets up to cover her nakedness. Her nightgown, she noted, was laid across the foot of her bed. Theo must have carried her in here sometime in the night, she thought. She had been so deeply asleep, she had not even known it.
Megan would have liked to have awakened in his bed, cuddled up to his long, hard body. Then they could have held one another as they had last night after they had made love, talking about nothing and everything, lazily caressing one another until the need had overtaken them and they had made love all over again, more slowly and thoroughly this time, but with no less cataclysmic pleasure.
But it wouldn’t have done, she knew, for her to still be in his bed when the rest of the household got up. It would be a tremendous scandal if one of the maids had come in upon them, or if Megan ran into the duchess in the hallway as she made her way back to her room, still clad in her nightgown.
Secrecy, she knew, would have to be a watchword of their relationship, however much it pained her. The fatalist in her knew that Theo was her destiny, that her heart was his for the rest of her life. The realist in her knew that she could be no more than a beloved mistress to a future duke. And if that knowledge ate a little at her happiness, well, that was simply something she would have to overcome, just as she would have to overcome the fierce disapproval of her family.
The important thing was that she had found her love, her life, and she had no intention of letting him go.
She rose and bathed, then dressed, in a quiet hum of happiness. She was late to breakfast, for the twins were long finished and already up in their schoolroom, so she grabbed only a quick bite and a cup of tea before she joined them.
“Miss Henderson! I mean, Mulcahey,” Alex hastily amended. “You look beautiful.”
“Why, thank you, Alex,” Megan replied, her grin springing up again.
“What happened? Did you find out something about your brother?” Con asked, leaning forward, interested.
“A little,” Megan admitted. “But I found out more about myself. And it’s very nice.”
The boys looked puzzled, but shrugged it off and returned to their studies. Megan tried to settle down to their schoolwork, too, but she found her mind wandering off with regularity, hopping from Theo to her future to the Cavendish Museum to speculation of just what had taken place on the day her brother died.
She was afraid she blushed later in the morning when Theo strolled in, and, after one dazzling smile for him, she struggled to keep her distance and an aloof manner.
She realized that she must not have done a very good job of it when, after Theo left, Con asked her bluntly, “Are you in love with Theo?”
“What? Don’t be absurd,” she said repressively.
Con and Alex rolled their eyes at one another, and Con went on, “’Cause he’s silly about you.”
Alex nodded. “Just like Rafe was with Kyria.” He screwed up his face in a puzzled look. “Are grown-ups always like that?”
Megan could not help but laugh. “I’m not sure. Perhaps they are. It’s…fun to be silly about someone.”
Con shook his head, and the boys bent their heads once again to their schoolwork.
She was going to have to be more careful, Megan thought. It would not do to let everyone see how she felt about Theo.
After lunch, when the boys were released for their science lesson, Megan went down to the garden to walk. It had become a habit with her during the time she had been here at Broughton House. Today she found Theo waiting for her.
They walked through the garden, talking and laughing, even sneaking a few heart-stopping kisses in the shadowed secrecy of the rose arbor. And for those few hours, she thought not at all about Julian Coffey or Andrew Barchester or the Cavendish Museum.
It wasn’t until that evening, after the family supper, when the problem of Coffey intruded on her again. As she sat with the rest of the family in the piano room, chatting while Anna played a few popular tunes, Megan saw a young blond man stop outside in the hall. He looked into the room, and when Theo’s head turned in his direction, he raised his eyebrows significantly. Theo rose, turning to look at Megan.
“Miss Mulcahey? I believe we have a matter that concerns you?” he said politely, ignoring the interested glances of the rest of the family.
“Yes, of course.” Megan rose, excusing herself to the duchess and the others, and followed Theo out into the hallway.
“Megan, this is Tom Quick,” Theo introduced her.
“Ah, yes, the man who followed me,” Megan replied tartly. “It’s nice to actually meet you face-to-face.”
Tom Quick shot her an unrepentant grin. “My pleasure.”
“What brings you here, Tom?” Theo went on. He had set Quick to watch the museum after they had followed Andrew Barchester there the day before. “Did you learn something about Coffey?”
“I’m not sure, sir,” Quick told him. “But there is something strange going on over at that museum.”
“What?” Megan asked quickly. “Did Coffey do anything?”
“Not as I’ve seen, miss. I took a tour through the place today and poked about wherever I could without being obvious. Wandered about the grounds a bit. Didn’t see anything untoward. But after it closed, I hung about where I could watch the entrance. Nothing happened. The clerk left, but your Mr. Coffey never did. Then, a little while ago, these two fellows came up to the place and somebody let them inside. Two or three more came, and one of them was that chap Barchester. A couple of them were women.”
“Really? Interesting. What do you suppose they’re doing there at night?” Theo mused.
“It could be nothing more than a meeting of the museum’s trustees,” Megan proffered.
“With women present?’
She shrugged. “I presume Lady Cavendish is one of the trustees.”
“Maybe.” Theo shrugged.
“But I think we ought to take a look,” Megan went on.
Theo grinned at her. “I couldn’t agree more.”
So it was that, a few minutes later, they were sitting in a carriage outside the walls of the museum, gazing at its front door from across the street. There was nothing to indicate that anything was occurring inside—or even that there were any occupants. No lights shone behind the curtained windows. None burned outside.
“Let’s look a little more closely,” T
heo suggested.
They slipped out of the carriage and across the street, melting into the shadows as they moved toward the house. Tom Quick ran lightly up the front steps and tried the door. It was locked. They moved around the house, looking for a chink in a curtain, an open window, an unlocked door. They found none.
“Locked up tight,” Theo concluded as they turned away from the back door. He looked at Tom, who grinned back.
“I could probably get the locks to tumble,” Quick said in answer to Theo’s unspoken question. “Have to improvise. Don’t have any of my tools with me.”
Theo hesitated, glancing at Megan. Her chin went up.
“Don’t back out of this because I’m here,” she told him. “I want to find out what’s going on here as much as—”
She broke off at a noise inside. The three of them glanced at the doorway, then jumped away from it, slipping in behind a flowering bush a few feet from the door. They were silent, barely breathing, waiting.
The back door opened with a crack that made Megan’s stretched nerves jump. There was a low murmur of voices, then the sounds of steps on the flagstone walkway. Several men walked out, followed by a woman. All were dressed in black, with hats pulled low on their heads. The woman was heavily veiled. Megan peered through the branches of the bush.
There was a pause, then a few more people emerged. There was no light from the house, and none of them carried a lantern, moving with the ease of familiarity in the darkened yard. In the dim light, it was difficult to see the faces of the dark figures.
Finally two more people exited the door, closing it behind them. One was a woman, heavily shrouded in a veiled hat. The other Megan recognized, even in the faint light, as Julian Coffey.
The two of them walked close together, her arm linked through his, and there was something about them that spoke to Megan of lovers. She exchanged a glance with Theo. He bent close and whispered in her ear, “I suggest we follow the woman.”
Megan nodded emphatically, and as soon as the couple was out of sight, they slid out from behind the shrubbery and moved around the house after the dark figures. Sticking close to the shadows of trees and shrubbery, they trailed the couple out to the street.
There they paused, looking after the dark figures disappearing along the street in different directions. Tom nodded toward one of the men and took off after him, silent as a wraith. Theo and Megan slipped across the street and into the carriage. After a few whispered instructions to the coachman from Theo, the carriage began to roll slowly down the street.
They stayed well behind the couple, keeping them in sight. Before long, Coffey hailed a passing hansom and handed the woman up into it, kissing her hand before he closed the door.
Theo glanced at Megan. “Follow the woman?”
She nodded. “Yes. I want to find out who she is. Maybe she is a lever we can use against Coffey.”
“I agree.” He pushed aside the curtain and spoke to the coachman.
They followed the hansom, staying a discreet pace behind it. At last the cab came to a stop, and the woman got out. As they watched through a slit in the curtain, she walked up the steps to an elegant white Georgian mansion and entered.
Megan glanced up at Theo. “Any idea who lives there?”
“Oh, yes,” Theo replied. “I do indeed. That is the home of the late Lord Scarle.”
Megan stared. “Lady Scarle? Your Lady Scarle?”
“I must point out, she is not mine,” Theo responded.
“My, my, my. So all the while she has been chasing you, she has had Coffey dangling, too.”
“It would appear. Very interesting.” He looked at Megan, light dancing in his eyes. “I think we shall have a number of calls to make tomorrow.”
They drove home, talking over what they had seen that evening and speculating on what it all meant. When they reached Broughton House, they found it not dark, as they had expected, but with lights blazing.
“What the devil’s going on here?” Theo murmured, and they quickly disembarked from the carriage and hurried inside.
They were met by the butler, looking rather less composed than he usually did. “Lord Raine!” he exclaimed, looking relieved, and strode forward to meet them. “I am so glad you have returned.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m afraid, sir, that someone attempted to break into the house.”
“What?” Theo glanced over at Megan, then back to the butler.
“They were lurking in the rear garden. One of the footmen saw a man peeking in a rear window. He gave chase, setting up a cry, but by the time he and the others got outside, the intruders were gone.” He paused, then added, “I thought it best to wait until you or Lord Reed came home and inform you of the attempt.”
“Yes, that’s good. No point in worrying my father.” Theo politely ignored the fact that his father, far from worrying, probably would have forgotten about the whole matter by morning.
“Quite so.” The butler was equally aware of his father’s propensities. “The intruders did drop something, though. Simms found it beneath the window where he had seen the man peering in. Doubtless he used it to try to pry the window open.”
The man held out his hand, with a slender rectangular object about four inches long held carefully between his forefinger and thumb, as though it might contaminate him.
“Excellent.” Theo reached out for the object, and as he brought it closer, Megan saw that it was a folding pocketknife.
The butler, having accomplished his mission, bowed and left. Theo looked down at the knife, and Megan, watching him, saw the color drain from his face.
“Theo! What is it?” She moved to his side, alarmed.
Theo was staring at the knife as though it had turned into a snake in his hand.
“Are you all right?” Megan asked. “Do you recognize it?”
“Yes. Oh, yes, I recognize it, all right. It belongs to me.” He turned his stunned face to look at her. “But ten years ago I lent it to Dennis.”
CHAPTER 18
A shiver ran down Megan’s back.
“My brother?” she asked. “Dennis had it?”
“Yes. He had lost his, and he was cutting something, and I gave mine to him and told him to keep it till he got another one. But then…”
“This is absurd,” Megan said crisply, dismissing her moment of superstitious fear. “It can’t be the same one. It probably just looks like it.”
“It is,” Theo insisted, holding it out to her. “Turn it over. There are my initials scratched on the back. I did it when I was ten. I got it for Christmas, and Reed got one just like it, and he was forever picking mine up. So I scratched my initials in it. It was a good knife. I carried it for years.”
Megan looked down at the knife, her thumb rubbing absently over the crudely carved TM on the handle.
“Coffey must have taken it from Dennis when he killed him,” Megan said at last. She looked up at Theo. “It is the only thing that makes sense. No doubt Dennis tried to defend himself when Coffey attacked him, and when he killed Dennis, he pocketed the knife. God knows why—it would have given it all away if you had ever seen him with it.”
Theo nodded. “You’re right. Of course. It gave me a turn when I saw it—but of course that is the only way the knife could have gotten here. It must have been Coffey who tried to break in—well, it couldn’t have been Coffey himself. But he must have sent someone to break in here tonight. Do you suppose he left it purposely? As some sort of warning?”
Megan shrugged. “It makes no sense. It only makes it clearer that Coffey killed Dennis.”
“I cannot imagine what sort of game he is playing at,” Theo mused, taking the knife and turning it over in his hand thoughtfully. “What could he hope to gain by breaking into our house?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps, as you said, it is a kind of warning. Mayhap he is threatening to kill you the way he did Dennis.”
“Yes, but usually a threat implies doing harm if one doesn
’t do what someone else wants. But what is it Coffey wants? For us to stop digging into the past? This only makes me want to dig more.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t understand your personality.”
“Or yours,” Theo commented.
“There is something more going on here,” Megan mused. “There has to be. Why were those people at the museum tonight? They were obviously acting in secrecy. They had no lights outside to guide their way, and there were no lights visible in the museum. They dressed all in black, and slipped in and out on foot, not in their carriages or cabs—yet their clothes indicated that they are a well-heeled group, the sort who have their own vehicles. The women were veiled. The men wore their hats low.”
“Yes. They are clearly hiding,” Theo agreed.
“But why? My guess is that whatever is going on, it is in the cellar.”
“Because we could see no lights?” Theo asked. “That is what occurred to me—that they were holding their meeting below ground, where no light could shine through any windows.”
“Exactly. That is also where someone hit me over the head.”
Theo smoothed his hand over her hair. “That is another thing Coffey will have to answer for,” he murmured, as he bent and pressed his lips against her hair.
The stir of his breath, the gentle pressure of his lips, sent a shiver through Megan. Theo had to do very little, she thought, to melt her inside.
She smiled, stepping back from him a little to look up into his face. The soft light in his eyes stirred the flicker of desire into a flame. “You shouldn’t do that here,” she said softly. “Someone might see.”
“Then you should not look at me like that,” he replied. “For now I want only to do even more.”
He slid his hands down the length of her arms and slowly back up. Megan thought about how his fingers would feel on the rest of her body. She swallowed, her eyes darkening.
She glanced uncertainly toward the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. “It—doesn’t seem right—I mean, with all your family—”
