Love, Lies and Murder

by Catherine Winchester

  “We will see what Clarence has to say about that.”

  “Clarence has no power here, Mother, I am the Duke and this is my home.”

  “Not yet!” she said, narrowing her eyes. “I will write to your uncle immediately.”

  “The Trust comes to me on my 30 birthday so by all means, write to Charles but in nine days, I will have complete autonomy.”

  He sat down and picked up his letters again, effectively dismissing his mother and after a few moments, she left.

  ***

  Their ride wasn’t very long this afternoon as Jules wanted to see his father but when they got back, Helen excused herself and went to see Mrs Watson, who wasn’t hiding from her for a change.

  “Ma’am,” she curtseyed. “His Grace has informed me that you are taking over household duties, so I must apologise for a my insolence earlier, I-”

  “Please, Mrs Watson, think nothing of it. Her Grace is a formidable woman and I don’t blame you, especially when your job was under threat. Please let me assure you that only the most serious of infractions would ever cause me to fire someone and even then, only as a last resort.”

  Mrs Watson nodded.

  “Now, I actually came to… well this is slightly embarrassing, but to see if you know what Alex enjoys once he gets home?”

  “Enjoys, Ma’am?” She sounded confused.

  “Yes. As uncomfortable as it makes me to say this, I don’t actually know my husband very well yet; we have only shared a house for a few nights and I want to do something nice for him, to welcome him home but, I don’t know what that might be. You have probably known him since he was a boy, so I thought you might have some ideas.”

  “You came to the right person.” Mrs Watson actually smiled. “He usually dines with the family, as is his duty; however, in my experience, the thing the master would most like is to relax with a hot bath and a light supper in his room.”

  Helen smiled. “Then I wonder if I might arrange for a tub to be brought to his dressing room and filled?”

  “Of course, Ma’am. After that, might I suggest a supper of sandwiches and cake?”

  “That sounds lovely,” Helen smiled. “And please inform the family that neither Alex nor I will be at dinner this evening.”

  “Of course, Ma’am.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  After spending time with his sons, Alex returned to his rooms just before seven o’clock to change for dinner, but instead found Helen waiting for him in a chair by his fire, reading a book. She had changed out of her riding habit but was now dressed in a simple morning dress, rather than for dinner. He smiled as she looked up and saw him.

  “Did you have fun?” she asked.

  “I did, although I was hoping that you would be there too. And why haven’t you changed for dinner?”

  “Because we are not going to dinner this evening. Instead I have a lovely hot bath waiting for you, and a simple supper coming later.”

  “I have to go down,” he sighed. “Mother-”

  “Will survive another evening without you,” she interrupted. “Besides, I have already asked for the family to be told.”

  Alex let out a long sigh and his posture relaxed. “You, my dear, are an Angel.”

  “The bath is ready and waiting, in your dressing room. In case you were a while we made it scalding hot but there are plenty of jugs of cool water. Dinner should be here in an hour.”

  “Won’t you join me?” he asked, holding his hand out towards her.

  “I-” Helen blushed. “I hadn’t thought.”

  Alex stepped up to her chair. “I’d like it if you did.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Helen placed her hand in his and got to her feet. “I’ll go and fetch a nightgown.”

  Alex desperately wanted to kiss her and if he just pulled on the hand he still held, she would fall into his embrace but he knew that if he did that, he wouldn’t want to let her go. This might not be new to him but Helen was inexperienced and needed gentle treatment, at least the first time. Reluctantly, he let go of her hand and stepped away.

  While she was gone, he removed his cravat, frockcoat and waistcoat, then headed into the dressing room, where he checked the temperature of the bath and added a little cool water to it. He wished the tub was larger so that they might share the experience but it was probably better this way, so that he wouldn’t become too excited.

  By the time Helen returned, he had removed his shirt and she averted her gaze when she saw him, so Alex took her in his arms and kissed her until she could hardly remember her name, let alone register that he was half naked. She looked quite flustered as he released her, removed the rest of his clothes and stepped into the bath tub.

  She watched his every movement and he saw her eyes widen as she noticed his erection. He sat down in the water, partially hiding his member. The water was almost too hot but it didn’t take him long to adjust, and he sat back against the end of the tub with a contented sigh and closed his eyes.

  Helen hadn’t moved from the doorway.

  “Come and talk to me?” he asked, pleased when he heard her soft footfalls and the rustle of her dress as she sat next to the tub. He opened his eyes just enough to take her hand, then relaxed again.

  “So what did I miss while I was away?” he asked.

  “Oh, not much.”

  “You don’t want to complain about the litany of injustices that were heaped upon you while I was gone?”

  “Not particularly.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “I had hoped that this would relax you, and my complaints will hardly help that.”

  “No,” he agreed with a warm smile as he opened his eyes and sat up. He took the washcloth from the edge of the tub and held it out to her. “Will you scrub my back for me?”

  Her cheeks turned red but she took the cloth from him, dipped it in the water and rubbed the soap on it. Alex sat forward and Helen began to rub the cloth over his back, using firm but not harsh strokes.

  Alex closed his eyes and let out a contented moan. When she was finished with his back, she moved onto his shoulders and neck, then down his chest, gradually going lower and lower.

  The atmosphere was thick with tension and Alex sat rigidly, afraid that any sudden movements on his part might frighten her away.

  When the cloth went below the water level and the back of her hand brushed his length, she snatched her hand back, as if she’d been scalded.

  He waited with bated breath to see what she would do but rather than run, she shuffled down on her knees and began washing his legs from ankle to thigh, using gentle circular motions.

  When she got close to his penis, she changed to the other leg, slowly making her way up to his thigh.

  He wondered if she knew how badly she was fuelling his desire.

  When she reached his upper thigh again, her hand stilled but she didn’t remove it from the water.

  “You can touch it,” he said softly.

  Helen looked up at him through her lashes as she gathered her courage and a few moments later, her fist closed around his length. He almost spilled his seed there and then, especially as her hand began to explore the length of his member.

  Finally, unable to bear the exquisite torture any longer, he wrapped his hand around hers and began to manoeuvre her fist up and down his length. Her gaze lowered to the water when he closed his eyes and seconds later, he came.

  “Is it supposed to do that?” she asked innocently, which made him smile.

  “Yes, and it’s probably a good thing, otherwise I wouldn’t have lasted very long, our first time.”

  She looked satisfied with that explanation and smiled tentatively at him.

  “Your turn,” he told her with a cheeky smile.

  “My turn?” She sounded confused.

  “For a bath,” he answered, getting to his feet and grabbing the towel that sat beside the tub.

  Despite her nerves, Helen began to disrobe. Although desperate to see her, Alex kept his back turned s
o that she at least had the illusion of privacy. When he heard her step into the water, he pulled his robe on and turned around.

  She sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, seemingly terrified but Alex knew it was just first time nerves. He had kissed a few women in his time but none of them reacted with the same passion as Helen had. If he wasn’t very much mistaken, she was a born lover.

  He felt around in the water until he found the wash cloth and after soaping it up, began to rub her back. He could literally feel as she relaxed under his touch; her shoulders lowering, her head lolled a little and she began to release a series of breathy sighs and appreciative murmurs.

  He dropped the wash cloth, preferring to use his soapy hands, and began to massage the tension from her shoulders and neck. Her legs slowly relaxed and her knees lowered.

  He moved to the side of the tub and saw that her eyes were closed and her lips slightly parted. He rubbed the soap between his hands to lather them up, then ran his hands down from her shoulders and over her breasts, feeling their texture and weight. At the same time, his thumbs ran over her nipples and they quickly turned as hard as pebbles under his touch.

  Helen began to moan and he left one hand to work on her breasts as the other caressed her stomach, moving ever lower until he could feel the curls of her sex. She pressed her thighs together but he continued to caress her until she relaxed once again. With one finger, he parted the lips of her sex and sought her pleasure bud, gently caressing it with slow strokes.

  Her moans were almost constant now and he began to press harder on her clit, driving her to new heights of ecstasy. Her sighs and moans were slowly turning into whimpers and cries. He brought both hands to her core and caressed her clit with one hand, as two fingers of the other entered her womanhood, until the barrier of her virginity stopped him. He gently thrust his fingers in and out, while his other hand steadily built her to the peak of passion.

  Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling with each inhalation and with a few final, quick movements, he felt the muscles in her sheath contract as her orgasm hit, and he plunged his fingers deeper into her, tearing her virginity away.

  She didn’t seem to have noticed the pain and as she came down from her high, he caressed her slick channel, washing the traces of blood away.

  She lay back in the tub, breathing heavily. “Oh my.”

  Alex leaned over and kissed her lips, making her open her eyes in surprise.

  “I take it you liked that?”

  “I did,” she nodded, a languorous smile spreading over her features.

  “It gets better,” he assured her, his own smile rather cocky. “Come on.”

  He stood up, grabbed a towel and held it open, inviting her to get out of the tub. She hesitated for a moment, then obviously decided that she didn’t have anything he hadn’t already seen and stood up, allowing him to wrap her in the towel before she stepped out.

  He dried her off, careful not to ignite her desire again; they would both need a rest before resuming their activities. When he had finished, he handed her the edges of the towel to hold together and moved behind her. He began to remove the pins from her hair, until it spilled down her back like a red flame.

  “Beautiful,” he breathed as he fanned it out over her shoulders. “I’ve been wondering what it looked like ever since I met you.”

  He came to stand in front of her again and noticed that she was blushing, her eyes averted.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “My hair is unusual, a mixture of my mother’s blonde hair and my fathers red. My family called it orange, rather than red or ginger.”

  “It’s not orange,” he assured her with a smile. “It reminds me of rose gold. Absolutely stunning.” He ran a strand of her hair through his index and middle fingers, marvelling at the colour and texture in the candlelight.

  She smiled shyly but shivered a moment later and realising that she must be chilled, he dropped her hair and found one of his robes for her, which was thicker than the nightgown she had brought through to wear. It drowned her small frame but after turning the arms up, he took her hand and led her through to the bedroom.

  Their dinner must have been delivered while they were otherwise engaged, as a large tray with covered platters sat on a table by the door. He dropped her hand to retrieve it and brought it over to the bed.

  “You want to eat in bed?” she asked.

  “Over the covers,” he explained. “I don’t think that, dressed as we are, formality is required, do you?”

  She couldn’t argue with that and climbed up beside him. He poured them both a glass of wine then removed the lid from the largest platter, which was laden with sandwiches. Handing her a small plate, he chose a few sandwiches, then shuffled up the bed, so that his back rested against the headboard. He placed his wine on his night table and Helen copied him.

  “So, did you have a good time in Liverpool?” she asked.

  “It was hardly fun but I managed what I needed to.”

  “You don’t like shipping then?”

  “Mostly it’s fine but the import taxes are a headache. Then of course, there are problems with the ships. We have one missing right now, presumed sunk by a storm in the Atlantic.”

  “That must be costly.”

  “I have ample insurance but I would prefer if I didn’t have to use it; not to mention the poor sailors who lost their lives.”

  “Maybe it didn’t sink,” she suggested, disliking the thought of his sailors dying. “Perhaps they just got off course, or met pirates. They might even have run off with the ship.”

  “If they met pirates, the ending is no more pleasant than if it had sunk and if they were pushed off course, they have had ample time to get home. If they have simply taken the ship and cargo, they will turn up soon enough; ports register each ship’s identification. Besides, we have had reports of debris in the water from other ships, so it is most likely lost.”

  Helen had never given much thought to the intricacies of large businesses before, having only known the running of one dress shop.

  “What will happen to their families?”

  “I have a fund for the widows of lost sailors but arranging those payments takes time.” He sighed.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dampen your spirits.”

  “You didn’t,” he assured her. “But since we are already discussing a less than happy topic, I think now would be a good time for those matters I spoke of.”

  “Very well.”

  “How much do you know about my first wife?” he asked, sure that someone must have told her some of the details.

  “That she died in a fall.”

  Alex sighed. “She didn’t just fall, she was murdered.”

  Her gaze snapped to his but he couldn’t tell how she felt about this revelation, so he continued.

  “I knew she had been murdered the moment I saw her body, for there was no fire.”

  “Fire?”

  “The stairs she fell down are dark and windowless; no one would attempt to walk down them at night without an oil lamp, or at least a candle and after such a fall, I would expect the lamp to break or a candle to catch the hall rugs alight. The doctor confirmed my suspicions when he came.”

  “How could he tell?”

  “Are you sure you want to know? It’s a little gruesome.”

  “Tell me,” she urged.

  “Very well. He said that when a person dies, their blood is subject to gravity and pools at the lowest point in the body. Emma was found face down, with her head on the floor and her legs on the stairs but according to the doctor, after she was killed she must have been put into a seated position, as blood was pooled in her feet and thighs.”

  “So why did the inquest find her death accidental?”

  Alex was surprised to learn that she even knew of the inquest but he wasn’t upset.

  “I begged them to find her death a murder, or at least record an open verdict but they refused. They feel
that the aristocracy has to stick together and didn’t want the scandal,” he explained. “I think they were trying to help me.”

  “So who did it?” she asked.

  “I have wondered that many times myself.” Alex sighed and pushed his plate away. “At the time, I felt that no one had a reason to want her dead and nothing to gain from it, although I knew it must be one of them.”

  “And now?” she asked.

  “Now… now I have doubts.”

  “What kind of doubts?”

  He was silent for a while as he considered how much to tell her but finally, he decided that she needed to know everything.

  “My father died when I was just 15 and most of my inheritance was held in Trust until I was 30. At the time it seemed a little overzealous of him, but I reasoned that his brother is a lawyer and probably cautioned him not to give me control too young. Besides, I was still in school and I wanted to attend university, so I was happy for him to run things, for a few years at least. Then three months ago my lawyer contacted me and told me that since my 30 birthday was approaching, the date when the Trust matures, he had re-examined the Will and Trust documents, discovering that I wouldn’t inherit unless I was still married when I turned 30.”

  “You didn’t know that before?”

  “I remember it saying something about marriage. My lawyer tells me that the clause was in there, but he swears that the wording said I had to be married ‘by’ that birthday, not ‘on’ it.”

  “And if you don’t inherit, who will run the Trust?” she asked.

  “My uncle is trustee and he would remain in that position,” he said, his tone dark. “I have no proof but over the years, I have come to believe that he’s been stealing money from the Trust to finance his own lifestyle.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I don’t know, not for certain, but a man working as a lawyer should not be able to afford the house he does, especially with the rumours of gambling and debts that follow him around, like a bad smell.”

  “So you think that he might have killed Emma so that your inheritance remained in trust?”