Banishing his unease, he stripped off his clothes with a grin. Blake got into bed beside her, sitting on the mattress facing her. He held up on index finger in front of him, and licked it.
"Darling, what on earth are you doing? There's no draft. All the windows are shut."
"You once said to me I could set you on fire with only one finger. So thought it might be fun to try."
She giggled happily and reclined on the bed in her most seductive pose.
"You must have been raised in a harem."
"No, I grew up in your bed though. I became a woman."
"Technically it was your bed, but forever after, it shall be ours. Now just lie back and see if I succeed."
"Only if you let me try afterwards."
"Whatever you want, my darling, so long as you're happy."
"I am."
"Please God you stay that way."
She gazed at his close-off expression, the granite one having suddenly reappeared with their return to Jerome Manor. "You're not still worried about your meeting at Horse Guards, are you?"
"Of course I am. I couldn't bear being parted from you now," he said, the pain evident in his tone.
She grasped his thigh and squeezed. "You mustn't let your morbid fears get the better of you. It will all be fine."
"You're always the light in my darkness," he said as he trailed his single finger along each nipple, then down to her navel.
"As you are mine. It'll be fine, I promise, Blake. No one and nothing will ever separate us, not even death. Our love can endure anything. Trust to it, and the gods."
"I wish I could, Arabella. I love you more than life itself. It's just the rest of the world I don't trust."
She reached for him then, and all his worries flew away in the face of their whirlwind passion.
Adam had been thinking quickly ever since Blake had walked in with his wife. He had beaten Arabella, but no mention had been made of the assault.
She was looking well, and the Jeromes had no notion that anything was amiss. So what had happened that night after he had attacked and beaten her? He could only guess.
Blake was a logical man. He would have acted logically. Blake would have had to take her to an inn in a large town, Bristol or Bath. And Leonore said she had seen him shopping for his wife in Bath. So Bath it must have been.
His agile mind came up with yet another scheme to rid himself of Blake and the two women he had come to loathe because they knew his secret.
Rosalie more than enjoyed his bag of tricks, but lately Leonore had been insisting that they were made for each other, and he suspected that she had told a couple of people in the area about her interesting if unusual young lover.
She was also expecting money from him, and he and Oliver had gone as deeply as they dared without getting a definite undertaking to rescue their material circumstances in order to avoid debtor's prison.
Ellen would turn seventeen shortly; he had already asked for her hand, and been told he would have to wait until then.
Oliver was about to give up on Georgina on the grounds that both of them could not afford to cut a dash unless the sisters could somehow convince their Papa that they really ought to have a double wedding.
The only other loose end was Molly the maid. The rest of the women he had used to satisfy his need to hurt and maim had all been taken care of, though he was rapidly running out of his interesting drugs.
He would save his remaining supply for a special occasion. Neither Rosalie nor Leonore needed any. They were already so immoderate in their desires that to give them any would be gilding the lily.
His mind racing, he said goodnight to the Jeromes and headed home with his brother, who was happily unaware of the monstrous thoughts running through his head.
Adam had one more pair of stolen cufflinks of Blake's that he had rather fancied for himself, and a couple of other items. They would have an interesting use or two, he was sure. With a quick stop at the house, he told Oliver he was going on the prowl for whores, and said good night.
Oliver watched him stroll down the street and hail a cab. He shook his head. No. Now that he had a chance of someone decent like Georgina Jerome, he was ashamed of himself for his previous excesses.
Women were not just pieces of meat to be bought and sold. He could sow his wild oats once or twice more before he put his head in the noose, but Georgina was a pretty and fun little thing, who had let him have quite a few liberties already, and was obviously a passionate woman. If only he waited a bit longer, he could have everything he ever dreamed of, and not have anything more to do with his brother and his bizarre behaviour any longer.
Adam whistled as he ambled down Cheap Street and gave his usual quiet little knock. As usual, he was welcomed with open arms, and legs.
Leonore didn't put up much of a struggle. She was in the throes of an orgasm when he squeezed the life out of her. Her final gasp was indistinguishable from the noises of passion she usually made. Adam dropped the cufflink in the bed, and left without a backward glance.
The following afternoon, Adam got rid of Molly, taking her far enough away from the Jerome household not to run the risk of her being found for a time. He brought her to the brink of delight, and snapped her neck like a pullet's.
He pulled an embroidered handkerchief with the initials ‘BDS' out of his pocket and crumpled it, then dropped it a short distance away from the body.
Adam swung back into the saddle and returned to the Jerome household with tales of his pleasant ride with his brother, who looked puzzled, but took off his riding gloves, set down his crop, and said nothing.
On the third night, Adam paid his final visit to Rosalie, and never had he enjoyed her more. She had begged for sex first, begged for her life when she had eventually understood how much he had always loathed her. He tossed the second of the cufflinks into the bed beside her and declared, "Good riddance to bad rubbish."
Now he had to wait for the local magistrate Geoffrey Branson and his son Malcolm to find Molly and start asking questions, as would the police in Bath when they found the dead women and the matching cufflinks.
Adam watched and waited. As did the police. For once the murdered women were found, it was only logical to assume the same man had been involved. The scenes of the crimes were identical in nearly every respect.
Sadly, so were the women, in the sense that they had been most immoderate in their number of lovers. But a tall, dark-haired man was soon mentioned, and had even been linked to some assaults in a nearby village, Millcote.
A dead body had turned up there as well, and a handkerchief with initials. Further inquiries eventually led them to a house guest of the Jeromes, Dr. Blake David Sanderson.
He had known the two murdered women of quality, had in fact had a lengthy past history with them. He worked at a clinic in the East End of London for fallen women. A clinic which had treated quite a number of assaulted and strangled women. Women who had been poisoned with some very strange substance.
From there they had traced the pattern of the deaths from London to Bath. Though he seemed to be a respectable doctor with a devoted wife, it appeared he had fled London precipitately after several run-ins with the two dead women.
Moreover, the lovely young girl whom he had married had been his ward. They had suddenly married. Then he had turned up with her at The King's Arms in Bath, beaten to a pulp, according to the landlord. Never mind that he had tenderly nursed her back to health.
Malcolm Branson and his father had met Blake on a number of occasions, and could not believe it. Yet there seemed to be such a chain of evidence all leading to him.
If it were true, then poor young Arabella was in dreadful danger. They had been keeping an eye on him, had not seen him acting in any suspicious way. But who knew what was going on behind closed doors?
At last, about a fortnight after they had begun investigating, they received word from a small tavern outside of Reading, The Bishop's Mitre, that Blake had been passing himsel
f off as married man, sharing a room with a lovely dark-haired woman who had fled from him.
She had apparently disappeared off to London with a kind apothecary from Bristol, Mr. Samuels, who was most concerned when he tried to seek her at the lodgings he had set her down at, and had had no luck.
Malcolm sighed as his father wrote out the warrant for Blake's arrest. They mustered their deputies to go fetch their suspect, by force if need be.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Blake and Arabella had never been happier the fortnight they spent at the Jeromes. As each day had passed, with nothing untoward or worrisome occurring, Blake had eventually relaxed and been delighted that Arabella seemed so much better.
She went out riding with her husband, the Jerome girls and her cousins every day, and they began to make plans for the new house they would begin to build as soon as they settled on exactly the right spot on the estate.
The only cloud on Blake's horizon was that his valet Timothy couldn't find a few of his personal items, some cufflinks, a ring, his old watch. A search had turned up Arabella's seed-pearl reticule with a couple of the items in it, though she had no recollection of how they had come to be there.
When Molly the maid disappeared, along with some cash from the housekeeping money, the other servants guessed she had got herself into trouble with the wealthy gent she had boasted was going to take her away from her life of menial servitude, and thought nothing more of it.
When she turned up dead, they guessed that the group of highwaymen which had plagued the district a couple of years before were back on the roads again.
Vanessa Stone's half-brother Gerald had been the insane mastermind behind the criminal gang. Though the Bransons had done their best to bring the men responsible to justice, there was no telling if they had got everyone in the group.
Martin Jerome, as Arabella discovered to her horror, had been one of their victims, beaten to a pulp, strung up in a tree and left for dead.
Blake began to grow uneasy once more, though he felt chagrined for ever having suspected Adam or Oliver, who seemed to make young Ellen and Georgina very happy. So happy that their fond Papa agreed to a double wedding, to take place in June.
"I don't think you should go out riding so often, all of you, not until the highwaymen are caught," Blake complained to Arabella one morning as she donned her riding habit.
"You're coming with me, aren't you?"
"Yes, of course."
"Then I shall be perfectly safe."
She planted a kiss on his cheek, and sauntered out the door, her little hat perched at a jaunty angle, her split skirt swinging with every long stride. He watched her go with a mixture of breathless admiration and a sudden fit of nerves. He tried to tell himself he was being silly. Nothing could happen in broad daylight.
No, it was Philip Marshall's fault, for he had got a note from him that morning saying he looked forward to seeing him in London soon, and to look after Arabella.
Was it he who had attacked her? It just didn't make sense.
His musing left Blake distracted, so much so that when the skies darkened with storm clouds he should have insisted they go back.
"I'll race you to the end of the lane," Arabella said with a laugh. Before he could stop her she was galloping off full tilt.
A hare springing out of the hedgerows which edged each side of the lane startled her horse. Before she could even cling to his mane, the gelding had thrown her onto the leaf-strewn ground.
"Arabella! Oh, God, Arabella!" Blake shouted. He flung himself out of the saddle and knelt beside her. "Speak to me."
She pulled his head down and kissed him resoundingly on the lips.
"Oh, Lord, you scared the wits out of me. Don't ever, ever do that again."
He cradled her in his arms for a moment, before examining her all over and helping her get to her feet.
"It's all right," she said, smiling at him until she saw his white face, saw his hands shaking. "It's all right. I'm fine." She took his hands to steady them in her own.
"I'm sorry. It's that note of Philip's. It has me all on edge. Is it a threat, or a sign he's trying to help?"
"He wouldn't ask to see us in London if he were trying to threaten us. I know I don't remember everything, but I know he never tried to hurt or take advantage of me. You mention his name and I have only warm feelings towards him."
He scowled as he thought of the kisses that she had shared with him. Warm indeed. But she was his now, now and forever. "Come on, love, let's get you back home and into a hot bath."
He cupped his hands and swung her back up into the saddle, and took hold of her bridle. "We need to go quickly, but sedately. That storm is about to hit. The last thing we need is for our mounts to be spooked."
They got back to the Manor just as the storm began to pelt the slate roof unmercifully.
"Are Ellen and Georgina back safely?" Blake asked, suddenly feeling a shudder of unease as he heard the crinkle of Philip's note in his pocket.
"Yes, sir," the butler replied.
"My wife fell from her horse. Tell them to prepare a tray for her in her room, if you please, and make our apologies for dinner to the others."
"Yes, sir."
He lifted Arabella despite her protests. Once they were upstairs in their chamber he stripped her off to check for bruises while the tub filled. He shook his head at the marks on her back.
"All I can say is it's a dashed good thing you married a doctor. You've saved yourself a small fortune not having to pay for my services."
Her eyes sparkled wickedly. "I can think of a few ways of repaying you."
He ignored her sultry look and placed her in the steaming water to soak while he got out clean clothes for her.
But the last thing she wanted was to be dressed and put to bed like a sick patient. As soon as she got out of the tub, she began to strip off his cravat and waistcoat, planting kisses all over the flesh she gradually bared.
"But darling, we can't. Your fall. You might be injured."
"Only if you reject me, Blake. I have an entirely different kind of riding and tumbling in mind."
"You're a bad girl."
"I know, but you love me anyway, don't you?" she said with a grin.
His eye bored into her, his expression so intense it almost frightened her. "I love you all ways. And always, forever. I don't know what would ever do without the joy you bring me. I've come so close to losing you…"
"No, darling, this is forever. I don't care if I never remember everything. The past doesn't matter, only our bright and happy future."
He held her tightly. Soon her soothing fingers became red hot pokers prodding on his desires to a fever pitch. He could barely get on a protector, his hands shook so badly with suppressed desire.
As Blake entered Arabella's lush welcoming body with a hoarse cry of need and longing, he thought he could never get enough of her. That even as he made love with her there was still so much more deep within for them to share, for him to know.
Then she moved her hips against him. "It's all here, love, all of me. Nothing hidden. Can't you see my love for you?"
At last he could see it. As he climaxed again and again inside of her, caught in a storm of passion over which he had no control, he realised he didn't wish to have control any longer.
He simply had to love Arabella heart and soul, and trust to his fate. For surely to try harness and curb their love as he had done was to deny himself, and to attempt to rein in the wind or the tides.
He went rising up and crashing down on the ebb and flow of their passion. With one final plunge and groan as she called out his name, he collapsed upon her, clutching her fiercely to him.
The indigo sky gave way to blackest night, and overwhelmed, he slept.
The young girl was sprawled on the bed, her legs wide, begging for help. Oliver shook his head. He should never have agreed to this.
He had told himself it would be one final time before he settled down to be a dec
ent husband to Georgina, for Mr. Jerome had caved in and said both sisters could marry in June. He could hardly wait.
Georgina had given herself to him so ardently the night before that he got the most rampaging horn just thinking about it. He was bulging with desperate need.
If he couldn't be with her tonight, he just had to find an outlet. Had to discover if any other woman could make him feel like this, or if Georgina really was special to him, as he had come to suspect.
What had started out as a quest for her fortune had become head over heels lust, if not love. He burned with desire, but not as much as the young whore before him.
The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2 Page 97
