“Name is Sassoon. Take care of her, pastor. She is a special lady.”
Ian smiled, unable to hide his love. “That she is.” Keeping his arm around her, he withdrew his wallet from his pocket. “Mr. Sassoon, what I owe you I cannot repay, but you have been taking care of Mariel.”
Taking his pipe from his mouth, the old man waved it. “Don’t want your money, Reverend. Man of your persuasion saved my life in India. I see as this makes us even.”
“India? You are retired army?”
“Regimental sergeant for her majesty. Forty years I spent in that hellish country. Got there just in time for the Sepoy Mutiny in ’57.”
Ian glanced around the bare room. “Forty years? Don’t you get a pension, Sergeant?”
He shrugged. “Used to. It doesn’t come any longer. I figure Victoria is too busy. What with her jubilee and all.”
With a smile, Ian asked the man for his full name and former regiment. Storing the information in the back of his head, he vowed to call on his good friend Colonel Hoppe as soon as things were settled with Mariel. The colonel still had many connections in the cabinet. He would find someone to help this man.
He thanked Mr. Sassoon again. Turning Mariel toward the door, he was not surprised when she pulled from his arms and rushed across the narrow room. The old man smiled as he embraced her.
“Can I come to visit you again?” she asked tearfully. She tried to smile. “I promise I will not stay such a long time, next time.”
“Come as often as you wish, Mariel.” He drew her fingers to his face, allowing her to do what he had seen her try with Cap. “Now you will recognize this ugly old man.”
“Thank you,” she whispered as she hugged him again. “If it had not been for you …”
“You would have survived,” he finished. “As I said, you would have made a damn good soldier.”
Mariel went with Ian out of the bare room and down the rickety stairs. When he handed her into the carriage, she asked, “Do you think you can help him?”
“You were listening?”
“I can cry and listen at the same time,” she retorted with a bit of her normal acerbity.
Taking her hands, he drew her closer on the seat. “That you can, my darling.” He tilted her face so he could kiss her. The lingering caress left them both breathless. As he was bending to kiss her again, he heard a rap on the door.
“Pretty lady?” came a familiar voice. Cocky pride filled his voice as Cap stated, “I found him with more than four hours to spare.”
Ian watched as Mariel removed the fabulous pieces of jewelry from her ears and neck and handed them to the lad who balanced on the running board of the carriage. She folded his fingers over it.
“Thank you, Cap. Will you accept a word of advice with your winnings?”
“I know what ye be thinking, pretty lady.”
“Listen anyhow. You are a smart boy. Too smart to end up in prison, or dead from a rival’s knife. Get yourself apprenticed somewhere. If you sell that jewelry, you will have enough to convince someone in the trades to teach you a skill.” She smiled. “With your brains, you will own the company within five years.”
He opened the door and leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. “Pardon me, parson.” He tipped his cap and disappeared into the crowd, which had gathered to regard the strange sight of such a magnificent carriage on such a poor street.
Ian rapped on the roof to signal the coachman to drive them home. When Mariel sighed, he said, “He may listen to you.”
“Probably not. Cap can make a living easily by robbery and extortion. He can’t imagine why he should work harder to make less money and have to report to a boss.” She smiled. “I should not have doubted he would find you when I offered him such a reward.”
He stroked the delicate profile of her face as he asked, “Who was it?”
Mariel knew exactly what he meant. Her brief happiness faded. “The Muirs.”
“Both of them?”
She nodded. “They took me from in front of the house where I was enjoying the sun. They threw me out about five or six blocks from here. I don’t know exactly. I got confused. After I ran away from Kitty’s house, I—”
“Kitty?”
With a shiver, she nestled against his strength. “Not now, Ian. Just let me be happy to be back with you.”
“Happy? I don’t think I have seen you truly happy in over a month.”
She brought his face to look at hers and grinned idiotically. When he laughed, she joined him. “Is that happy enough for you?”
He squeezed her. Whatever the doctor might say during the appointment he had rescheduled daily in the hopes of finding her, he thought Mariel had come to accept her infirmity. He wondered if she knew how he had feared for her. He should have known that no matter where she landed, Mariel Wythe would emerge alive.
Most of the servants in his house met them at the door. Some of them were crying. Others just stood silently as their grins swelled across their faces. They watched while Rosie welcomed Mariel home.
After a hug, which nearly strangled Mariel, the child stated emphatically, “You stink!”
Mariel laughed. “Not as bad as some of the places I visited. Let me get clean, and I will tell you all about it, Rosie.” She could entertain the child with the least depraved parts of her adventures.
Phipps pushed through the crowd to throw her arms around Mariel. “My lady, I feared you were gone forever.”
“Never.” Mariel laughed with unfettered joy to be back where she belonged. This was her world. To hold her daughter again. To be with the man she loved and share the things that made up his life.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The aroma of freshly baked bread mingled with that of the oil used to clean the furniture. It was a homey smell and welcomed her. Overhead the prisms hanging from the gaslight tinkled in the breeze from the open door. She was home.
Phipps silenced the questions of the rest of the staff and swept Mariel up the stairs. Cooing over her as if she was a child, the older woman ordered water run in her lady’s bath. She hushed Mariel’s attempts to explain what had happened. “Later, my lady. First we must get you into clean things.”
When the bath was ready, Phipps collected the ruined clothes and told her lady she would bring Rosie later to listen to the full tale of her adventures. The older woman scurried away to find salve for her lady’s scratches and order a dinner tray for her.
Mariel sank into the tub with a happy sigh. She had not bathed in a week. Every inch of her body was covered with dirt. The warm water soaked away the filth of the slum. Ducking her head under the water, she soaped her hair. When she reached for the bucket, which had been drawn and left for her to rinse, she frowned.
“Is this what you want, honey?”
She gasped as the water cascaded over her head. Sputtering with laughter and wiping soapsuds from her face, she whispered, “Ian, you should not be here. Phipps will be back. Rosie will be with her.”
“They can’t get in when the door is locked.”
“Locked?”
“Here.” He took the soap and washcloth. Rubbing them together, he gently cleaned her back. “Hmm. You smell better.”
Enjoying the soft stroke of his hand against her, she said dreamily, “I think so, too. I hated being so dirty.”
His hands moved along her slick body as he murmured in her ear, “I never saw you looking more beautiful than when I saw you standing at that old man’s table. I feared you were dead, Mariel. No one I contacted in the government or at Scotland Yard could find a trace of you.”
She put her fingers over his. “Ian, you should leave.”
“Not until I kiss every inch of you, my love.” He drew her back against the slanted side of the tub. Leaning over her, he pressed his lips to hers.
Water ran along her arms as she lifted them to wrap around his neck. When he urged her to stand, she stepped from the tub to stand beside him. Only when he pulled her close to h
im did she realize he was as naked as she was.
She laughed. “You are very sure of yourself, Ian Beckwith-Carter!”
“You traded your family heirlooms to find your way back to me. I figure you have been yearning for me as desperately I have yearned for you.”
His hands moved along her skin. He sighed into her soaked hair. He had forgotten how silken soft she felt. She leaned against him, savoring the sweetness of his touch. His strength revived hers and, at the same time, allowed her to yield to his love.
“This is insane.” Her murmur vanished into a gasp of delight as his fingers found the sensitive surface of her breast. She became lost in the bewitchment of his intriguing touch.
Fiery kisses seared her neck as he bent to taste her skin, which glowed warm in the sunlight. “Is it insane to want you so much I would commit any crime to possess you?”
She laughed softly. “I think that is the definition of insanity, Ian.”
When he drew her back into the bedroom, she did not hesitate. Reclining on the bed, she held out her arms to him. Her eyes closed in unspoken delight as his fingers moved along her, reawakening the loving response she could share only with him.
True to his promise, he attempted not to miss an inch of her. His tongue etched a trail of rapture along her body, pausing to drive her to the edge of madness as he tasted her most sensitive place. Her soft laughs became sighs as she struggled to contain the longing, which grew to swallow her in its ecstasy.
Seeing she could control her passion no longer, he drew her to him to share their love. With her arms locked around his neck, she felt his rapid breath on her face. All senses dimmed as they merged into the boundless crystal ocean. Even their silent vows never to part again vanished as they became one for an eternal second of perfection.
Chapter Eighteen
Portia Muir glanced up from her needlework as the butler announced guests. She put her full-lipped smile securely in place. Smoothing the scarlet satin of her morning gown, she tugged on the leg-of-mutton sleeves to make them fuller. She was sure they would emphasize her slender waist.
She rose to greet the men walking into the room. Immediately, she dismissed the second man as she seductively offered her hand to his companion. “Why, Ian, what a wonderful surprise. After what you said at—never mind. It is so charming of you to call.”
“Is your brother in?” he asked, ignoring her outstretched hand.
She drew it back when he made it clear he did not intend to touch her. Dressed in his dark suit with the clerical collar bright at his neck, he did not seem like the Ian she longed to entice into her arms. In a cooler tone, she asked, “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your handsome friend?”
Ian hid his disgust with her simpering as he turned to his companion. “Portia, this is Scott Nelson, a friend of mine here in London. Scott, Portia Muir.” His brows drew a furrow across his forehead. “Where is your brother?”
“One moment.” She tugged on an embroidered bellpull. When a maid peeked nervously into the elaborately decorated drawing room, she ordered, “Fetch Mr. Muir. He is in the library.”
“Library?” asked Ian sarcastically. “I did not imagine your brother as the type to spend a rainy afternoon in quiet contemplation. I figured him to be the type to waste his time harassing the household maids.”
She said with cold hauteur, “Those are strange words for a clergyman.”
“We are talking about how your brother has never changed from his adolescent pursuits. Not about me, Portia.”
Seeing she would not entice Ian easily this afternoon, she turned her attention to the silent man by his side. “My dear Mr. Nelson, you must think me remiss as a hostess. Please sit down.”
“I’d just as soon stand, Miss Muir,” he stated gruffly.
Not accustomed to failing with two men in such quick succession, she said only, “As you wish.” When she heard footsteps in the hallway, she smiled. Let her brother deal with these cold men. “Here is Rupert.”
“Portia, why did you—oh, Beckwith-Carter.” A snide expression oozed across his face. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
Ian smiled. “I heard about your black eye, and I wanted to see for myself if it was as grand as the gossips stated.” He paused dramatically, then laughed. “As green as it is now, it must have been at least that puffy and dark.”
Muir flushed, dimming the contusion on his face. That a crippled preacher had bested him in fisticuffs was something he would not be allowed to forget. He recalled his revenge and knew that despite Beckwith-Carter’s tone, he must be suffering the loss of his blind heiress.
“If that is why you came here, why don’t you and your buddy leave?”
His smile vanished as Ian said, “Not without you telling me what you did with Mariel’s ring.”
“Ring?” he gasped. He had been prepared to deny knowing anything about the woman. This question about a ring was something else altogether. He did not know what to say.
“Yes. A small gold band with two emeralds and a diamond. She wears it on her right hand. Her mother’s wedding ring, I believe.”
“Grandmother’s.”
Portia and Rupert spun to see Lady Mariel Wythe standing in the arch framed by the wine portieres which matched her stylish gown. She held the arm of a man they did not recognize. Instantly, Muir whirled to snarl, “You can’t blame us for her abduction.”
“Abduction, Mr. Muir?” Nelson pounced on the words. “I am surprised to hear you use that term. No one else has mentioned it before now.”
“Rupert, be quiet!” cried Portia when he started to retort. She glared at the men and the woman she despised. “If my brother speaks of that, he is only repeating the gossip we have heard. I suggest you leave immediately, or I shall be forced to summon the police.”
Ian grinned triumphantly as he drew Mariel to stand next to him. “No need to do that, Portia. I must have failed to fully introduce Detective Nelson and his partner Detective Rohm. Scotland Yard.”
With perfect aplomb, Detective Nelson tipped his head in their direction. “I assume we will have your total cooperation during the investigation of this heinous crime. We will, of course, wish to search your carriage, where Lady Mariel assures us she left her ring. Later we will go to the Yard for the interrogation.”
“It was all her idea!” spat Muir, pointing to his sister. “She wanted to get rid of the Wythe woman so she could have her parson back.”
“Shut up!” Portia’s pale face was a caricature of its normal beauty. “You were the one who suggested leaving her in Southwark. I only wanted to scare her. You left her to be murdered.”
Muir spun to race toward the door, but halted as the burly Detective Rohm blocked his way. The policeman said politely, “Please wait with your sister, sir.”
Ian asked softly, “Scott, do you need us any longer? Mariel has an appointment within the hour for which she has already waited too long.”
“Go ahead.” He smiled. “I shall stop by later for a statement from you.” He lifted Mariel’s fingers to his lips.
“At tea,” urged Mariel. She smiled at the police officer. “Thank you again, Detective Nelson.” Her tone remained friendly as she added, “It has been a true pleasure to visit your lovely home, Miss Muir, Mr. Muir. I hope you enjoy your future one as much.”
Portia stared at her, then her face fell as she realized what her jealousy would cost her. She waited for Ian to say something, but he turned to walk past her without speaking.
“Ian!” she cried.
“Good day,” he replied. He did not look back at her. As they left the room, Mariel heard Detective Nelson say, “Now, Miss Muir, if you will tell me exactly …” His voice vanished as Ian shut the mahogany door to the street.
Mariel’s hand held tightly to Ian’s as they sat in the coach. Her reticule was twisted in her other hand. She stared straight ahead. When Ian spoke to her, she started, so deep had she been in her thoughts.
“Mariel, before
we get to the doctor’s house, there is something I want to ask you.”
Hastily, she said, “I know the news may be less than what we hope. I understand that. It doesn’t matter so much any more.” She laughed tightly. “That is a lie. I would love to see again. I miss seeing the way your mouth quirks when you are irritated with me.”
“That is not what I meant.”
“Then what?”
He put his hand on her shoulder. “Look at me. I want to see your pretty face when I speak to you.” Her fingers rose to relearn the lines of his face. “Mariel, I love you. I told you that for the first time months ago.”
“Yes,” she whispered. She remembered the night he first held her; she had thought her life would be perfect. So much had changed since then. One thing remained constant. The joy they could bring one another. Only her stubborn self-pity had kept them apart. “I love you, too, Ian.”
“Then marry me. Don’t marry me because you need me or because I understand the difficulties you face. Marry me because you love me and I love you. Tell me you will marry me before we hear what the doctor has to say.”
“If it is bad news—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he finished for her. “Don’t you understand, Mariel Wythe? I loved you as you were before the accident. I love you as you are now. Why? Because the part of you that calls out to my heart has not changed.” He placed his hand in the center of her chest. “The part of you in here is the same.”
Her hand covered his as his fingers moved along the gentle swell of her breast. The fire that had come to life again last night from the ashes of her sorrow burst forth once more. As her other hand stroked the breadth of his shoulders, she held up her lips for his kiss. He pressed her close as he tasted the luscious interior of her mouth.
He raised his lips slightly. “Mariel?”
“Yes, Ian,” she whispered. “As soon as Uncle Wilford comes home, I will marry you.”
With a joyous laugh, he drew her back into his arms. A shower of kisses delighted her until she was giggling as happily as Rosie did with a new toy. Only when the carriage rolled to a stop before an unprepossing door did he release her. He smiled as he told her they had arrived. This rapture would not end. They would spend their lives together savoring it.
Mariel Page 31
