Randolph cleared his throat. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this conversation, Miss Goodwin?”
“I was curious if you’d received any further information on the body part found near the river?”
Taken aback that she would have such knowledge, he was surprised even more by how easily she spoke of it. “I wasn’t aware that any details of the investigation had been released to the public.”
Her brow rose. “That is very true. They haven’t. Moreover, by your omission, you’ve confirmed that what I heard spoken in the crowd as conjecture is, in fact, truth. You found only a body part?”
He was still pondering the first question when the second was volleyed his way. Not only pretty, but smart and shrewd as well. He could be just as shrewd. “And as I’m sure you understand, I am not at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation. With anyone,” he added for good measure, hoping to avert an argument.
“Then you have no suspects yet?”
He rubbed his fingers over his chin. “We are following a few leads.” He regarded her, nearly able to see the gears turning in her head. Tenacious wasn’t strong enough of a word to describe her. Such a woman driven by a strong will would be a delightful, challenging lover. He toyed only briefly with that thought, doubtful she’d appreciate him musing on the matter. “Forgive me, Miss Goodwin, but you brought me out here to simply discuss this case?”
She rendered him a pointed look, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Why, yes. I did, sir. What other possible reason would I have to speak with you in private?”
He felt rather foolish given how coy she’d been with the older magician. Clearly, he’d underestimated her determination. She would stop at nothing to gain what she wanted. The idea held a certain appeal. Still, the fact that she didn’t respond as other women would intrigued him even more. But he would show her his contrite side. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I apologize. I did not mean to imply that you had ulterior motives of a personal nature when you asked to speak with me.”
Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “Why is it that a man assumes that is all a woman ever wants?”
He shrugged. “You must have pity on us, miss. We’re but pitiful, primitive beasts.” He offered a humble grin. “It is in our nature, I suppose, that when a beautiful woman shows interest—”
“That she is ready to hop into bed with you?” she blurted, fisting her hands in her lap.
That stopped him short. Yes, Jonesy had definitely underestimated this woman. “No, Miss Goodwin, that’s not what I thought. And, in fact, I anticipated that your natural curiosity about the case might well be the reason for this meeting.”
A curious glint sparkled in her large blue eyes. “Really? And, pray tell, how do you presume to know what my nature is, inspector?”
As much as he considered helping her discover that her dogged attitude was but a mere step to unbelievable passion, he tamped down his thoughts. Though he found it boring, he was practiced in the art of light banter—flirtations, if you will. But each time their eyes met, it was like flint striking sparks, waiting for the flame to ignite. But she was not yet prepared to face that truth, though he was certain she felt the tension just as much. “It’s a logical conclusion, Miss Goodwin. Few, if any, women would stand and watch the recovery at a murder scene,” he commented casually. “Much less be interested in the gruesome details.”
“Then, this was no accident?”
He rubbed his hand along his jaw, realizing he hadn’t shaved in a few days. He’d have to stay alert with this one. She put the nosy bastards at Lloyd’s to shame. “You are persistent.”
“I can be, inspector. When it’s something I want.”
He regarded her with newfound appreciation and a guarded respect that this woman would stop at little to get what she wanted. However, he was not interested in being the object of her battering ram of questions. He was not about to allow her—or any other reporter—to twist his words, or jeopardize his investigation. “Beg your pardon, Miss Goodwin. I’m going to have to take leave. I have a pressing engagement that I’m afraid I must attend to.”
She eyed him sharply, making him feel as though she could see right through his façade. “I hope to see you soon, inspector. Thank you for your time, and best of luck in your investigation.” She stood and held out her hand with a friendly smile. While she was dismissing him, he felt strongly that she was not yet satisfied with the answers he’d given. Her hand was warm. He toyed with bringing it to his lips as he’d seen Kerchov do, but he feared that one taste of her skin would never be enough. He smiled at the firm resolve in her handshake. It would have been wise to let their conversation rest, but he was compelled to be clear on one final point. “Miss Goodwin, may I speak candidly?”
She stopped to face him, folding her hands in front of her. “Of course.”
Her attempt to show meekness amused him. The woman was a firestorm in lavender and lace. He bit back a smile, preparing to make his point. “Scotland Yard does not need an aspiring journalist poking around London looking for a story. Even if the journalist happens to be as lovely as you.”
“Meaning…that I am a woman and therefore not capable of reporting on such a gruesome topic?” Her brow crooked in query.
“Meaning, Miss Goodwin, I would prefer you leave the investigation to the proper authorities. With all due respect, it could be dangerous and unwise for anyone untrained to become involved. Whomever is the master of this heinous crime, it is obvious that he is dangerous. Do we have an understanding?”
Her expression softened. At least, perhaps, he hadn’t offended her pride.
“I understand perfectly, Inspector Mansfield. Though you can rest assured that I will not hesitate to be curious as to the progress of your investigation.”
Randolph smiled easily. “Understandable, and a mystery that I am anxious to resolve. However, I would advise that should you happen to obtain any information that may be helpful in this case—no matter how small—you’ll please bring them directly to my attention.”
“Though you most likely won’t be at liberty to discuss it, correct?” she returned with a pleasant smile. “Or answer any questions?”
“That depends entirely on the question, Miss Goodwin.” He found her bullheaded, American persistence oddly tantalizing.
“Then you present me with a challenge, inspector.” She opened the door instead of waiting for him to do so.
“What is that, exactly, Miss Goodwin?” He could have spent several more hours with her, engaging in this delightful verbal dance. It was like foreplay of the mind.
“How, exactly, to go about getting what I want from you.”
He stared after her, barely dodging the door slamming on his hand.
***
Journal entry, June 1887
It is a shame that the bitch called me a monster. I could have perhaps forgiven any other stones she might have cast. But once started, I had no choice but to silence her ranting. I heard they found an arm. An unfortunate mistake, but one of little consequence since the rest of her is long out to sea by now. And what do those buffoons at the Yard know, anyway? They will never find me. My cloak is sufficient, blending well into the rest of London’s perverted society. I am immortal; my perversions sustain me, as does the sweet blood of my lovers.
Chapter Six
The conversation with the inspector left Jane unsettled. She felt the undertow of attraction shrouded by a bullheaded behavior that she was all too familiar with. How many times had Aunt Corny told her she was as stubborn as her father?
She’d spent the week perusing the library in the parlor of Hampton House, had lunch with Wesley—increasingly aware that he took his duties as an escort very seriously. Rarely did she take a step from the front door without Wesley at her side. He was sweet, attentive, charming, and eager to please. He was easy to like, and it had not taken them long to become friends.
Most days, the house was a flurry of activity. From sunup to sundown, women
used the house for research, for penning articles on women’s suffrage or the dissatisfaction with parliament. Others dabbled in more creative pursuits—poetry, prose—finding a private place to call their own away from the critical eyes of husbands who found the exercise a waste of time.
Today was one of those rare afternoons when the house was quiet. A letter from her aunt brought news that Frederick had a new fiancé, and that the Reynolds’s young housemaid had been dismissed with—it was rumored—a sizable fee and contractual agreement that she would make no trouble for the family with the illegitimate child she would soon bear. Residual questions—ones that Jane would never have answers for—crept into her brain as she ascended the stairs to her room. It was silly to let it bother her. With a quiet sigh, she folded the letter and slipped it into her skirt pocket.
“Don’t be silly. She’s not as beautiful as you.”
Jane paused at the top of the stairs, hearing the conversation between two women. It was coming from one of the old bedrooms used mainly for storage. Recognizing the voices as belonging to Clarice and Jonesy, her curiosity moved her quietly closer to the partially open door.
“You’ve no reason to be jealous, my love. Men like the inspector and that Russian bloke, Vladimir, they see a pretty new face and fall over themselves trying to impress her.”
“You don’t think she has her eye on Randolph, do you?” Clarice asked.
Jane waited, knowing that it was wrong to eavesdrop, but since she was the topic, it seemed to justify her actions. She was aware that the two had hovered around the inspector like bees to a honeycomb. What were they protecting?
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about Mansfield. He’s by far capable of handling her overzealous American nature.” Jonesy’s voice lowered. “Why would you even care, my little flower? We have each other, isn’t that all we need?”
A soft giggle followed and then a quiet moan. Curious, Jane peered through the hinges of the door. She placed her hand over her mouth, stifling a gasp at the view before her. She was not a virgin to the ways of passion, and yet this was the first time she’d seen two women in the throes of intimacy. Clarice was eased back on a reading chaise, her silk gown open, her small body fully exposed. She lay with her arms over her face, lost in Jonesy’s carnal exploration. On one level, it disturbed Jane—not for their relationship, but for her aroused reaction. Fascination held her mesmerized, unable to move, to look away, even as their lovemaking progressed. The gentle caresses, the soft murmurings of love fanned something deep inside her. Her feet were frozen in place, and she was unable to tear her gaze away from Jonesy’s delicate fingers stroking and touching Clarice. Why couldn’t she look away? Was it the inability to imagine two women enjoying such a relationship? Or could her interest be nature’s subtle way of telling her that this was the reason she’d not had success with men? It was a surreal picture in the deepening shadows of the day—Clarice holding Jonesy’s eager mouth against her breast, her hips rolling slowly against her lover’s ministrations.
“Jane? Oh, Jane. There you are.” Wesley tromped up the stairs at a fast clip, his face flushed from his haste. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”
Embarrassed to be caught spying, Jane turned on her heel, grabbed his hand, and whirled him into her bedroom. She eased the door partially shut as she clutched his arm, her heart fiercely pounding. She lifted a finger to his lips to quiet him when he started to speak.
Pleasured moans drifted across the hall. His eyes widened as he realized what was going on.
Jane listened, her cheeks flushed, the image stamped in her brain. She licked her dry lips and met Wesley’s curious grin.
“You were spying,” he whispered.
“Oh, oh, yes…yes,” Clarice gasped, her soft voice wafting across the hall.
“I...it was an accident,” Jane lied. In truth, watching them had resurfaced so many things she’d tried to bury—Frederick, even the incident between her and Clarice. All of those intimate experiences melded with Vladimir’s suggestion that she try to embrace the passion inside of her.
Wesley touched her cheek, his fingers splayed along the pulse at the curve of her neck.
“You’re trembling.”
“There’s my girl,” Jonesy’s voice filtered through the breathy moans. “Almost there.”
Jane’s eyes met Wesley’s and desire, unplanned, caused her to lean forward and press her closed mouth to his in a chaste kiss. Immediately contrite, she stepped back, shocked by her behavior. But he grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her against him, crushing his mouth to hers. His arms snaked around her, his fingers digging at the back of her skirt, clutching her bottom.
“Jane, oh, Jane.” Wesley’s voice was raspy. He dug his fingers into her hair, disrupting her coif, causing her hair to fall around her shoulders. Her body reveled in the attention, her breasts tightened. A familiar smoke curled deep in her core. The pleasure was drugging, satisfying the nagging fear that she’d never truly been desirable to anyone.
“Oh, Jane, I’ve wanted to do this ever since I saw you that first day. Tell me you feel the same.” His mouth came down hard on hers, his tongue seeking entrance. Her mind whirled in a haze of confusion. No, it wasn’t Wesley she’d thought about like this—it was the mysterious inspector who’d made his way into her dreams as of late. She slid her hands to his chest and gently pushed away.
“We can’t.” The words stumbled out helplessly through her parched throat.
“What do you mean?” He narrowed his eyes. “You were the one who kissed me.”
“I know,” she said, averting her eyes from the disappointment etched on his face. “It was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
“A mis—a mistake? Jane, I may be younger than you, but I am certain that was no mistake.” He took a step toward her. She held him at bay with one hand.
“It isn’t you, Wesley. It’s me. I am the one to blame. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“That’s not how it felt, Jane. In fact, I believe you wanted a great deal more to happen between us.”
She met his earnest expression and instant shame assaulted her. “No, you don’t understand. I am quite fond of you, sincerely. But, I was …frightened.”
“Frightened?” His expression changed. Here was her protector. “By who? What?”
Jane covered her face and sighed. “By my own insecurity. I don’t know how to explain it to you.” She left him there and moved to her vanity chair, where she began the task of pinning up her hair.
A moment later, she heard him walk up behind her. His hands slipped over her shoulders to caress away the tension. “I see no reason you should be insecure, Jane. But I like you too much to force what I feel could be right between us.”
“Wesley, you are three years my junior.” Jane smiled at his reflection in the mirror. He leaned down until his face was even with hers.
“That may be, but I know the kiss of a passionate woman. I am no child.” He turned his face to the warm spot beneath her ear, nuzzling until her eyes fluttered closed. Scattered by what occurred, needing his embrace, she considered the thought of having a torrid summer affair with this young man. She raised her hand, pressing her fingers to his lips to stop his affections.
“You came looking for me. Was there a reason?” she asked.
“After this, any reason pales in comparison.” He drew in a deep breath. “But there is.” He shoved his hand in his jacket and pulled out rectangular stubs. “I have tickets to see Vladimir’s show at the Royal Pavilion on Thursday evening. He sent them to Aunt Isabella this morning. I thought you might be interested in going.”
Jane turned in her seat, reticent to deny his request, not wanting to offend him further. Though Vladimir’s performance was not her first choice in entertainment, this would at least appease his insistence that she see one of his shows. “I would enjoy that very much. Please, I beg of you. I don’t wish for our friendship to be tainted by what happened here today.”
He chuckled and
rubbed his hand across his mouth. “No need for apologies. Is that not why I’m here, to assist your every need?”
Glad he understood, she chuckled softly. “I sincerely doubt that’s what your aunt had in mind.”
“Still,” he said with a wicked grin. “Should you have any other spontaneous bursts of carnal lust—”
“I won’t,” Jane insisted, still trembling from the brief episode.
He picked up her hand and grazed her knuckles with a brief kiss. “I’m available, and can be very discreet. I just want you to know.” He grinned, his smile friendly and charming. She wished she’d met him before Frederick poisoned her romantic notions.
“I’ll call for you at seven on Thursday, then?”
“Yes, and Wesley?”
He opened the door and glanced over his shoulder.
“You’re a decent man.”
“Please don’t place me too high on that pedestal, Jane. I rather enjoy the idea that you find me the opposite. It’s so much more interesting.” He pulled open the door just as Clarice and Jonesy came out of the room across the hall. A look of surprise showed on their faces as they saw Wesley leaving Jane’s bedroom.
“Ladies,” Wesley gave the pair a two-finger salute to the brow. “Pleasure as always, Jane,” he tossed over his shoulder. “See you on Thursday.”
***
Jane was pensive on the carriage ride to the theater. Clarice and Jonesy had been relentless in teasing her with sly looks, as though she and Wesley were having a secret affair. She looked over at her companion for the evening, who appeared as easy-going and pleasant as always.
“You mustn’t let them get to you, you know.” He slid her a glance.
The carriage rocked along the cobbled street. “What do you mean?” She peeled off her gloves as a distraction to the fact that her nerves were on edge, and stared at the passing view.
“Clarice and Jonesy,” he clarified.
Jane watched as a fine white mist began to swirl around the legs of those out for an evening stroll.
The Dark Seduction of Miss Jane Page 6
