by Darcy Burke
Wade went to a table near the bed and poured a glass from the whisky bottle he’d procured after they’d arrived. “You’re certain then that it was murder?”
Only because his gut told him so. He still had no proof that Matthew’s death was anything other than an accident. “Yes, but proving it will be another matter.” Elijah accepted the glass and took a hearty swallow, then proceeded to tell Wade everything Dalby had disclosed.
“What is our next move, my lord?” Wade asked when he was finished.
“Studying the correspondence Crane sent to Dalby. Hopefully there will be some clue as to how we might find him.”
“What of the sword, of Harlech?”
“We’ll leave tomorrow as planned, unless I’m able to discern something useful from the missives.” God, he hoped that would be the case. He despised feeling this helpless. Restlessness drove him to walk to the fireplace and back again.
“You’re in a dudgeon, if I may say so,” Wade said, sounding concerned. “Perhaps dinner will soothe your temper. Shall I prepare your clothes? You have just under an hour.”
The bloody dinner. Where his host and the handful of men visiting would apparently take their meal from atop female flesh. “Do you suppose they lay the women on the table and put the food on their chest or stomach?”
“Either one. Or perhaps both. But what do I know of it?” His brow furrowed. “What about the soup?”
Elijah paused in drinking his whisky, feeling a bit more relaxed with the turn of the conversation to something more . . . absurd. “I can’t imagine they put that on—or in—her.”
Wade grimaced. “Ouch, no.” He flinched before continuing. “So you’re going, then?”
He really should go. The idea of losing himself in a woman, of relinquishing his stress, was incredibly alluring. “I think I’d like a good shag.”
Wade went into the dressing room, but spoke loudly. “It may very well do you some good. It always has in the past.” A more inane statement had never been made. What man didn’t feel better after a satisfying screw? “I’m hopeful my own evening might go in that direction.”
“Grey?”
Wade peered around the corner. “How did you know?”
“I’m not an imbecile.” Elijah sipped his whisky. “Forget I said anything. It’s none of my affair. Best of luck to you.”
“Thank you, my lord. I’m encouraged by her interest.” He disappeared into the dressing room once more. “It all depends on whether she’s comfortable leaving Miss Bowen alone.”
Miss Bowen. Alone. Had there ever been a more alluring picture? Not in his present state of mind. Perhaps he should dine with her instead. That way Wade and Grey could conduct their assignation without concern.
Which would leave him and Miss Bowen to . . . no. He had to stay away from her. He needed a woman, but not her. He needed a woman to drive her out of his mind and body.
He followed Wade into the dressing chamber, intent on joining Stratton and his merry crew.
Chapter 12
Cate pushed her half-eaten dinner away and stood up from the small round table situated in a corner of her chamber. Grey had departed a little while ago to meet Wade, which had left Cate alone, her mind tortured with images of Lord Norris intertwined with a faceless woman.
With a groan, Cate circulated the chamber, wishing she’d thought to take a book or two from Stratton’s library to occupy her evening hours. She glanced down at her dressing gown, regretting her decision to prepare for bed. She didn’t dare leave her chamber in this state, not when the house was potentially teeming with lascivious men.
Though, she wondered if encountering one would be so bad—one in particular, anyway.
Cursing her own foolishness at such thoughts, she flopped down on the bed and stared at the canopy. A pale blue thread dangled from the edge, looking as unfinished as she felt.
Unfinished?
She wasn’t sure how else to describe it. Unfulfilled perhaps. She didn’t particularly wish to marry, but she longed for intimacy. For a feeling she couldn’t yet name.
A knock on the door jerked her to sit straight up. She strained to listen, wondering if she’d misheard. Who would be calling on her at this hour? Had one of Stratton’s guests become lost?
A second knock came, louder and more insistent than the first.
Tentatively, Cate inched off the bed and made her way slowly to the door. The third knock was sharper and accompanied by a male voice.
“Miss Bowen, I wish to speak with you.”
Norris.
Exhaling her relief while at the same time feeling a burst of anticipation, she opened the door. “You’re not at dinner.”
“No. I tried, but I became distracted.”
From the women likely draped across the table? Cate worked to stifle the pleasure that rushed over her. “What happened?”
“May I come in?”
“Of course.” She stood aside as he passed into the chamber and closed the door. This was entirely inappropriate, but she didn’t care. She didn’t live her life by Society’s rules and she didn’t plan to start, well, ever.
“Dalby has disappeared.” He turned to face her. His eyes looked a bit wild, with a glazed sheen.
“That’s awful. I’m sorry you didn’t have a chance to speak with him.”
“I did, actually. Earlier, after I saw you in the library.” Nothing about his demeanor indicated he’d been affected by what she’d said, or if he even recalled it. Whereas she’d relived the moment a hundred times in her head and wished desperately she could take it back. Or see it through. She really couldn’t decide which.
“You did speak with him?” Why, then, was he upset?
“Yes, he told me the name of the man who enlisted him to steal the tapestry at Cosgrove and he bears a striking resemblance to the villain who also recruited this afternoon’s would-be thief.”
She inhaled sharply. “This man is quite committed to obtaining the tapestry.”
“Yes, but not for himself. He has an employer, but Dalby didn’t know his identity. He was to deliver letters written by Crane—the man who hired these thieves—to Wade later tonight, but now that he’s gone, I doubt I’ll ever see them.”
“Why are these letters important?”
“Crane—or perhaps his employer—arranged for this position for Dalby. In exchange, he was to use his continuing relationship with a maid at Cosgrove to share any pertinent information regarding the tapestry.”
“I see. You said he disappeared? He simply left his post?”
He set his hands on his hips. “Yes. Colman said he’d never done anything like this before. I must’ve frightened him off. Damn it, I should have made him fetch those letters right away this afternoon.”
He didn’t frighten her, yet in that moment, under the severity of his stare and the menacing curl of his lip, she believed he could intimidate anyone. She resisted the pull she felt to move toward him. “Are you certain he took the letters with him?”
“Quite. I excused myself from dinner—good Lord, what a ridiculous affair—to find Dalby and ask him to fetch the letters for me.”
His opinion of the dinner pleased Cate inordinately. “That was when you discovered he’d gone?”
“Colman was unable to locate him, so I went directly to his quarters. His room was in disarray and the majority of his belongings were gone. It was clear to me—and later to Colman after I alerted him—that the bounder had fled.”
“Do you think he left because you questioned him?”
He dropped his hand to his side and raised his head. “I do. Everything is bloody connected. I wanted those letters to try to discern the identity of whoever is in charge of this operation to steal the tapestry. Whoever it is was able to procure Dalby’s position here at Stratton Hall. It’s all too convenient.”
Her brain halted and her emotions spun into apprehension. “You think his assignment at Stratton Hall is convenient?”
His hesitation pricked t
he back of her neck. “You have a connection here. You want the sword. The coincidence is disturbing.” He spoke softly, but there was a thread of foreboding lacing his tone.
“You can’t believe I had anything to do with your brother’s death?” Her insides felt hollow.
“I don’t want to, but I don’t know what to believe anymore. All I know is that I was enjoying a perfectly fine existence on the other side of the world and now I find myself encumbered with an earldom, a murdered brother, and a woman who demands far too much of me.”
He’d moved toward her as he spoke, his ire radiated from him, heating the space around her.
She didn’t want to be the cause of his anguish. “I never intended to be demanding. If you’d prefer to part ways, I won’t try to stop you.”
“Of course you won’t,” he whispered harshly. “You know where to find the sword. You have precisely what you want.”
The pain in his voice drew her in, kept her from rising to his anger. She suspected he wasn’t truly upset with her, that he really didn’t think she’d had anything to do with Matthew’s death. But she had to be sure.
She took a step toward him, until they were just a breath apart. “I want this sword more than I’ve ever wanted anything, and I am prepared to do whatever it takes to find it. But I would never, never, sacrifice someone. And I would certainly never be able to look that man’s brother in the eye and tell him that right now the only thing I want more than the sword is him.”
“Miss B—”
“Cate, call me Cate.”
“Cate, you can’t . . . You can’t speak to me like that. Not unless you want to be kissed. And not like that kiss the other night.”
She laid her hand against his chest. “Perhaps you should not have invaded my bedchamber when I’m barely dressed. Not unless you want to be kissed.”
“Hell and the devil,” he breathed as his arm snaked around her waist and drew her against him.
“Please don’t make it like the other night. Make it better.”
His eyes gleaming in the candlelight, he lowered his mouth to hers and snatched her lips in a decadent kiss. One hand held her waist while the other cupped her nape, holding her absolutely hostage to his embrace.
His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming every bit of her that he touched. Cate grasped at his shoulders before curling her arms around his neck. She had to stand on her toes to reach him, which stretched her body against him in a devastating connection, one that was simultaneously overwhelming and not nearly enough.
She angled her head, hoping to deepen the kiss. He answered with a sound in his throat and his fingers digging into her waist, bringing her inexorably closer to his hard frame. Clad in just a nightrail and her dressing gown, Cate felt every contour of his body—and of his clothing.
She shoved her hands beneath his coat and pushed it over his shoulders. Without breaking the kiss, she tugged the arms down until the garment came free and she dropped it to the floor.
His mouth left hers, but traced along her jaw until he threaded his fingers into the back of her hair and tugged, elongating her neck. He kissed and nipped at her flesh, torturing her with his delicious lips and tongue, before reclaiming her mouth.
She tangled her fingers into his cravat and pulled at the silk until it came loose. With a merciless tug, she whipped it from his neck and threw it aside. Her hands dipped into his shirt and found the warm flesh of his collarbones. She clasped him, pulled at him, thrust her tongue deeper into the hot recesses of his mouth.
His hand moved up her spine and then forward until his thumb grazed her breast. Her nipple instantly hardened and again he left her mouth to kiss down her neck.
“Norris,” she pleaded, not entirely certain of what she wanted, but confident that he could give it to her.
“Elijah. Norris is a name I never wanted and can’t bloody stand.” He pushed her dressing gown aside and kissed the flesh above her nightrail, his mouth open and hot against her.
She plunged her fingers into his hair and moaned as he kissed even lower, his lips moving over the linen of her garment. The feel of him through the light fabric was an exquisite tease and she longed to take it off. But to do so would sever the moment, and she couldn’t bear for it to end.
She turned him so that the bed was behind her, her intent crystallizing in her mind. She did want him more than the sword. Her flesh burned where he touched her and smoldered everywhere he didn’t. The ache growing between her thighs was all-encompassing, crowding out all other thought.
Finding the buttons of his waistcoat, she plucked them free until she could push the garment open. She ran her palms up his shirtfront, eager to feel his bare skin.
“Cate.” The word was a strangled whisper against her breast, a plea. “Cate,” he rasped. A curse.
She clutched at his head. “Don’t stop. I don’t want you to. And I know you want me. There’s no reason to deny ourselves.”
He lifted his head and looked at her with lust simmering in his gaze. The pull of that alone was enough to make her knees weaken. “There is every reason. You are not some trollop.”
“Of course I’m not, and you’re not treating me like one.” She pulled his neck until his mouth was near hers. “Please don’t think about propriety or expectation. Just think about this.” She kissed him again, nipping his lower lip before plunging her tongue into his mouth.
His hand moved over her breast, dipping into the top of her night rail. When his fingers came into contact with her bare flesh, heat flooded through her, pushing her desire to an almost unbearable sensation.
The latch on the door sounded like the blast of a cannon. And just like that their spectacularly magnificent interlude came to a crashing and wholly disappointing end.
Elijah jerked away from her and snatched his waistcoat closed. He fumbled with the buttons, keeping his back to the door and whomever had just come inside. He swallowed a groan of frustration. There was no way he could appropriately clothe himself.
Echoing his thoughts, Cate whispered, “Don’t bother. Grey won’t care and it’s not as if you can make this look acceptable. I’m in my dressing gown, for heaven’s sake.”
He glanced down at her attire as she pulled her garments back into place. Blood and bones, what had he nearly done? He’d been a scant moment from bending his head to her breast and suckling her, devouring her, claiming her.
“Good evening, my lord,” Grey said from behind him. “Should I come back later?”
Elijah nearly choked. What the hell sort of chaperone was she? “No.” He finished buttoning his waistcoat as Grey moved past them.
“I’ll just give you a moment or two,” she said, going through the doorway in the corner that likely led to a dressing chamber and her sleeping area, leaving them blessedly alone to compose themselves.
Hell, there was only one way he could rightfully compose himself and he wasn’t about to do it here. He plucked up his coat and cravat, pulling the latter around his neck before donning the former. “That was a near thing,” he said.
“Not near enough,” she murmured, her voice heavy with regret. Her dark eyes lifted to his, and the stark lust shining there almost did him in.
“Stop looking at me like that. And stop saying provocative things. We are business associates until we find this sword and nothing more.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How can you say that now?”
“Because someone has to regain their head. Let us not speak of this again.” Really, if he didn’t put it from his mind, he was going to embarrass himself. He struggled to change the subject to something more suitable. “We’ll be on our way in the morning. Be ready to depart early.” He turned to go, but she touched his arm and he had to clench his fists to keep from snatching her against his chest.
“What about Dalby?”
Damn, he’d completely forgotten why he’d come to see her in the first place. Why had he? To tell her that Dalby had run off. Wade had been busy and Elijah hadn’t wanted to
interrupt him. No, that wasn’t precisely true. The first person he’d thought of seeing when he’d found out had been Cate. And that was a disaster. Elijah strove to find the control he normally employed, but that he’d utterly lost when he’d come into her bedchamber. Her bedchamber. He pulled away from her touch. “What about him? He’s gone.”
“We can go after him.”
“What of the sword?” He couldn’t believe she’d delay her quest even more. She hadn’t even wanted to stop here.
“It will still be there.” She didn’t sound completely certain, but he appreciated her trying to.
“You don’t know that. We’ll leave for Harlech in the morning.”
She made to touch him again, but he backed away and she dropped her hand. “I really do want to find out what happened to Matthew.”
“We’ll need to be careful going forward. I expect Crane to try again—unless he’s too injured to continue.” All of the highwaymen had been injured in some way, but there was no telling which one was Crane since they’d all worn masks covering their faces from hairline to mouth. Presumably, the mystery employer could simply hire more brigands, if he didn’t already have an army of them.
Elijah noted the concern in her dark eyes. He still wanted her away from this danger.
She tipped her head to the side. “Don’t even dare think of abandoning me now,” she said, accurately guessing the direction of his thoughts. “I meant what I said—we’re in this together.”
Together.
In more ways than simply pursuing the sword, he realized. He took in her kiss-reddened lips and the strands of hair that had escaped the simple knot she wore at the back of her head. She was temptation personified and if he didn’t leave now, he sure as hell was going to regret it. Spinning on his heel, he departed without a backward glance.
The corridor was blissfully cool and he finally felt as though his control was returning. He went to his room—it was neither near nor terribly far from hers—and was immediately greeted by Wade.
Elijah handed him his coat and cravat. “You cut your evening short.”
