The Dark Seduction of Miss Jane

by Amanda McIntyre

  She cradled herself in his lap, memorizing his face with her fingers, pleased to see his eyes drift shut beneath her touch. His hands rested on her thighs, caressing gently as he surrendered to her gentle care. “Who takes care of you?” She leaned forward and kissed his brow, his closed lids and chin. He lifted her hips, filling her with his hardened length, tucking her close against him, their bodies fused as one. She held his face, searching his haunted eyes, wanting to believe she could save him.

  “You’ve seduced me completely, Jane.”

  She kissed him then, pouring her body and soul into it, giving herself up to the unexpected release that shattered and surprised her. Her body still quivered with delight as he turned her beneath him and with deep, fervent thrusts brought her up again, teetering on a edge of ecstasy.

  “Look at me, Jane,” he growled through his ragged breathing.

  Her eyes locked with his.

  “Lovely Jane,” he said, looking down at her, the muscles of his jaw straining with his impending release.

  She held his face between her hands, her body accepting him and so, too, her heart. Surprise registered as her body broke free, sending waves of pleasure through her. She smiled up at him. “You are a naughty boy.”

  He broke into an unexpected grin as he pushed deep once, then twice. His body tightened, tumbling over the edge of his own release.

  They dozed off and on throughout the night, pleasuring each another to the point of blessed exhaustion. Jane lay cradled beneath Randolph’s arm, her cheek resting where his heart beat strong and steady. She watched him rest. His hand curled around her shoulder, occasionally stroking her hair. He’d given her no declarations of love, and though she felt the urge to tell him how she truly felt, she did not wish to prompt him for more than he was ready to give. She was more than happy to lay curled warm against his magnificent body. Even now, the thought of this night ending made her eyes well. She steeled herself against becoming maudlin, but her heart twisted in her chest. “The sun will soon be up,” she said quietly, tracing her finger along his firm jaw.

  He released a sigh, though she heard more resignation than contentment

  “Jane, I don’t wish you to have any illusions about what has happened between us,” he began. He opened his eyes and looked at her. “This is all very unexpected and new for me.”

  She rubbed his chest and smiled. It was new for her, too, to have only just discovered the man she’d been searching for all of her life. “I understand—more than you realize,” she said with a shrug. “I have no qualms with taking things slow. This is new to me, as well.” She kissed the warm, hard muscled plane of his chest.

  “There is a matter of grave importance we need to discuss,” he said, propping himself up against the pillows.

  She leaned up, braced on one arm as she pulled the sheet over her exposed body, somehow realizing that the news he had to share wasn’t going to be welcome. “You’re not going to tell me that you’ve a wife secretly tucked away somewhere?” She poked a finger at his chest and smiled, trying to urge a smile from him.

  His dark eyes held hers. There was no mirth, no wicked gleam. He was deadly serious. “No, I’ve never been married. For that matter, I’ve never felt about anyone as I feel about you.”

  “Then you do not deny that you are attracted to me?” she asked.

  “Very much,” he responded.

  Her stomach did a little flip. She bent down to kiss him lightly. “And you can see plainly that I am attracted to you,” she prodded with a raised brow.

  That, at last, garnered a crook to the corner of his mouth. He touched her cheek. “My dearest Jane. I cannot begin to understand what you see in me. I only wish I could save you from such a mistake.”

  She straightened, not caring that the sheet had fallen from her grasp. “What do you mean…a mistake?” A cold feeling crept into her stomach, and pride valiantly tried to shove it aside. Fear, anger bubbled inside her. She closed her eyes, willing him to laugh, to tell her it was nothing more than to get a rise from her.

  “Jane.” He grabbed her arm, forcing her to look at him. “It isn’t that I don’t care for you.” He leaned toward her, the sheets pooling around his waist. “You are the first woman in a long while that I am able to care about.” He smoothed his hand up and down her arm, as though trying to comfort her. “I suspect you know this can’t work between us.”

  She held his steady gaze. “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t it work? Given the proper time for both of us to….” Confusion tugged at her heart, it felt as though he’d slowly squeezed the life from it. She knew she was right for him, and no other man understood her so well. Why give her hope if there was none?

  He closed his eyes and sighed quietly. She gathered from his attitude that he had more to say, and she was not going to like it. “My work is here, Jane. My life is here. It’s all I’ve ever known.”

  “Is that all? Did you think that I would wish to go back to Boston?” A short laugh escaped her. “Of course I can stay here and build my career. There are plenty of opportunities. Boston does not hold the patent on investigative reporting.”

  He shook his head and clasped her hands, placing a lingering kiss on her fingers before he continued. “Jane, you don’t understand. I need you to return to Boston.”

  “But I—”

  He placed his finger on her lips and followed with a quick tender kiss. “The sooner, the better.” He hesitated briefly. “I doubt you’re going to be fond of me after I tell you this, but”—he took a deep breath—“I have taken the liberty of seeing to arrangements of your departure. You leave tonight on the ten o’clock train to catch a ship by morning at Southampton.”

  She stared at him, still processing his words. “And what if I refuse?” she asked crawling off the bed, wrapping the sheet around her. “You cannot force me to leave.”

  “Be reasonable. It isn’t safe for you here any longer. The notes that you showed me….”

  She shook her head. This couldn’t be happening to her again. “Those notes are probably from some lonely middle-aged man. Didn’t you say so yourself?”

  “At first, yes, it’s what I believed. But another woman has disappeared, one who worked here in the kitchen. Madam herself reported it a few days ago. It could be nothing. She said her servants frequently come and go. But it could mean that the killer is getting closer to you.”

  He stood and began to slip into his clothes.

  A kitchen maid? Her memory was jostled. She remembered a young woman, her first night at the manor. She was on her way to the Crimson Suite when she came barreling out of the kitchen. There’d been fear in her eyes. The older servant had taken her away, consoling her. “I remember a young girl. I saw her the first night I was here. She seemed upset, but I couldn’t understand what language she spoke. The head kitchen servant retrieved her. She seemed to calm her down.” She met Randolph’s concerned gaze. “Do you suppose it was her?” Jane grew ill at the thought that she hadn’t taken the time to do more for the girl.

  He’d stopped halfway dressed to listen. “This is even more reason that you should leave. You may be onto something with your theory.”

  “Then you’re beginning to believe my theory that there is a correlation?”

  He tucked his shirt into his pants and knelt before her. “I can’t say. What if you’re right and the notes and murders are somehow related? Until I know for sure, I need to know you are safe.”

  “Then it isn’t because you don’t care for me that you’re asking me to leave?”

  “Jane.” His eyes searched hers. “Much has happened, very quickly.” He stroked her cheek. “I need time to make sense of it, and until this murderer is caught, I can’t lose sight of my focus.”

  “And what about after you catch this person? What then?”

  He closed his eyes, sighing with resignation. “I don’t know. It might take a day, a week, maybe another year. How can I ask you to wait until that happens?”

  “
And what if you never catch him?” she asked, not wanting to hear his answer. “I could stay. I could help you with your investigation.”

  He leaned forward, placing a tender kiss on her lips. “Please don’t make this any more difficult than it already is.”

  “Oh, God forbid that it should be difficult, Randolph. Damn you, it should be tearing you apart. Do you have any idea what you are asking? What you’re just tossing away?” Her voice clogged with emotion. How was it that she’d again been drawn to another man who would so openly betray her trust?

  He rocked back on his heels. “I know that it would be the end of me if anything happened to you.” He stood to finish fastening the buttons of his shirt. “Please get dressed. I will see you home and then I must go to the Yard to check on leads.”

  “So, that’s it then? No discussion, about what I feel is best for me?” She stood and accepted her gown, slipping it over her well-loved body.

  He waited and motioned for her to turn so that he could help with the buttons. “I’m sorry, Jane. I know you must be angry, and that you think that by staying you can help.” He cupped her shoulders, drawing her back to his chest, and kissed her temple. “Please, if you care about me at all, you’ll do this for me.”

  Her heart twisted painfully. “I want to tell you that I loathe you. I find you to be a bully, a bloody stubborn one. But the truth is, I do care about you.” She faced him. “You do realize what you are asking me to do?”

  His mouth formed a thin line as he nodded.

  She sighed resignedly. “All right, then. I will do this for you. Not because you’ve ordered it, but because I understand your need to be focused. But understand one thing, Randolph Mansfield—I can be every bit as bloody stubborn as you.”

  He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “Duly noted.”

  ***

  Journal entry, August 1887

  So this is how it is? She was with him again last night—the little tramp. Didn’t I try to give her everything she asked for? Didn’t I show her what could be hers for the asking? No, it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. My patience wears thin—so, too, my need for her. She doesn’t realize the place of honor she holds among my “special” collection…but soon she will.

  Chapter Twenty

  Randolph and Jane slipped down the back steps, glad that it appeared the patrons of the Manor were still asleep.

  “Master? Aren’t you up before the crow.”

  Madam McFarland emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray with her breakfast. A flicker of surprise grazed her eyes when she saw Jane behind him.

  “No rest for the wicked, as they say, madam. I see you’re up and about early, as well.” He glanced at her tray set with one cup. A plate of biscuits and jam accompanied it. “Is your head servant off today?”

  “A problem at home. She’ll be in later.”

  Her eyes darted again to Jane.

  “I’ll be seeing Lizzy home.”

  Madam’s brow rose. She dipped a finger into the jam and licked it off the tip of her finger. “I trust you had a pleasurable evening, then?” Her gaze was steady.

  “Of course,” Randolph responded. He ushered Jane around him, nudging her down the hall.

  “I’d be happy to see that Lizzy gets home. I’ve never formally seen where she lives.” She glanced over her shoulder at Jane. “We’ve only recently become better acquainted.”

  “Thank you, but that’s quite unnecessary. If you’d be so kind as to summon a carriage?”

  “Of course. As you wish.” She motioned to Jarrod, who’d just turned down the hall from the entry. “A carriage, please, for our guests.”

  Randolph leaned close to Jane. “I’ll be along in a moment. I wish to speak to madam on another matter.”

  Jane glanced at him, clearly not pleased with being dismissed.

  After Jane had gone with Jarrod, Randolph faced the manor’s owner. “Please inform your head kitchen maid that Inspector Mansfield would like a few words with her.”

  “Certainly. You don’t think she has anything to do with Margareta’s disappearance, do you?”

  His mind was preoccupied with getting Jane home, but he narrowed his focus to madam’s question. “We aren’t sure whether the young woman is actually missing or has simply run off. Perhaps your head maid can offer some clue as to what happened.”

  “Well, I spoke to her myself, of course. She didn’t seem to know anything.” Madam picked up her tray and took a sip of her tea.

  “Just the same, I’d like a few moments of her time, if she could come down to the station.” He skirted quickly around her and headed to the back door. He’d cut through the garden to meet the carriage instead of walking out the front door.

  “Was she worth it?”

  Madam’s question stopped him as he turned the knob. Randolph faced her. “Worth it? I don’t quite understand your meaning?”

  “What I meant to say was, did she please you?”

  He swallowed. Heat crept up past his shirt collar. She’d never pried into his affairs before. “Do you interrogate all of your clients in such a fashion?”

  “Oh, why, of course you prefer your privacy, don’t you, inspector? I was merely making sure a new escort was performing up to my standards.”

  He nodded, pretending to understand. “She’s more than adequate.”

  “I’m so pleased.”

  Something in the tone of her voice caused the hairs on the back of his neck to rise. Perhaps it was simply the stress getting to him. “Yes, well, if you’ll excuse me. I have a full day.”

  “So much to do in a day, isn’t there, inspector?” He heard her remark as he departed out the back door.

  After dropping Jane at Writers House, he had the carriage drop him at his home. He took a quick bath and changed his clothes, unsure when he might again get the chance. He intended to go back through every scrap of evidence and make sure he’d left nothing out. He summoned a carriage, requesting a route past Writers House to assure himself that all was well and that Jane was not alone. He noted Lady Hampton seated in the front parlor, her nose in a book. The heat of the afternoon sun bore down on the carriage, heating the black box like a brick oven. Sweat rolled down his back, and his shirt clung to his skin. He couldn’t wait to get to the office and get out of this infernal coat. A glimpse of the Thames through the buildings and warehouses turned his thoughts back to the puzzling case making his life a living hell. The sooner he resolved these murders, the sooner he could get on with his life—and, with any luck, with Jane, if she’d still have him.

  ***

  Randolph sat at his desk, his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows. Even with the windows open, there was no semblance of a breeze, just the bloody annoyance of flies. He swatted at one of the insects and looked down at his desk strewn with notes and reports from the past three months. “What am I missing?” he muttered.

  The sound of someone clearing their throat brought his head up, and he met Willoughby’s concerned gaze.

  “Pardon, inspector. I knocked several times, but you must not have heard me.”

  “No harm, Willoughby. My mind is lost in this whole mess, I’m afraid.” Randolph waved a hand across the array of papers.

  “The Embankment Murders, sir?”

  Randolph glanced up at his assistant with mild surprise. “Is that what they’re calling them?”

  “The papers, sir. They seem to enjoy keeping the pot stirred.”

  “Bloody reporters. They’ll do anything to sell their bloody papers.” He rubbed his eyes and slumped back in his chair, tinged by a hint of guilt that Jane was among those who felt it her civic duty to report the news. Worse, his back was bloody well killing him, sore to the bone, and for a more decadent reason than being hunched over his desk. That, too, caused another bout of guilt. “What have you got for me, Willoughby?”

  “It’s a note, sir. Delivery address to the Criminal Investigations Department, Scotland Yard.” Willoughby’s eyes locked with Randolph’s. “
Attention: Inspector Mansfield.”

  Randolph straightened in his chair and reached for the note. He glanced up at Willoughby, and then began to read in silence.

  Be warned, inspector. I will not stop until I get what I want. Stay out of my way or you will be next to wash ashore.”

  Randolph leapt to his feet, aware of how dim the office had become, how long he must have been pouring over his reports. He stepped to the window, seeing the purplish hue of the evening sky. “Have a coach brought around immediately, Willoughby.”

  “Aye, sir. Shall I call for a few extra men, as well? Where are we off to?”

  “We are not going anywhere, Willoughby. I want you to find out if anyone around here saw who delivered this. I need to get to Writers House.”

  “Aye, sir, but are you sure you wouldn’t like assistance, in case…um, you’re looking a bit peaked, inspector.” Willoughby eyed him warily.

  Randolph stopped and pinned the young man with a stern look. “I have no time for questions, Willoughby. Now, get me that carriage.” Grabbing his jacket, Randolph met the carriage rolling up to the curb. “Writers House, near Fleet street,” he said to the driver. “Move quickly.”

  He arrived a few minutes later, and after telling the driver to wait, hurried up the steps to the door. Lady Hampton had stepped out and was locking the door behind her. She turned before Randolph could speak and jumped back, holding her hand to her heart. “Inspector, you gave me a fright, my heavens.” She fanned herself with her glove.

  He offered her a pleasant smile, hoping to appear more relaxed than he felt. The note, had, in fact, rattled him quite seriously.

  She stared at him in surprise.

  “My apologies, Lady Hampton. I didn’t mean to startle you, but I—”

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you smile, inspector.”

  Dumbfounded, an awkward awareness struck him as it had a number of times since meeting Jane, reminding him how desperately out of touch with life he really was. “I am here on a matter concerning Miss Goodwin. May I see her?” he asked, side-stepping her comment.