He reached a decision. He would tell Nora of his suspicions concerning Chad. If need be, she and Jonny could take shelter here.
Planning to go to her, to break down the door between their dressing rooms if necessary in order to speak with her, he turned to descend to his room. The light patter of footsteps, slippers tapping on bare risers, stopped him short.
For what possible reason would she climb those stairs? Surely not to see him. He had played his deceit all too well these past three days. Yet as the sound drew closer, the air that should have occupied his windpipe was replaced by a piercing hope.
The attic door on her side opened, and still he mistrusted what his eyes told him. Surely the graceful shadow hovering on the threshold could only be another ghost come to haunt him.
‘‘I heard you up here.’’ Her whisper sent the breath surging from his lungs, brought tiny pinpoints of light dancing before his eyes.
In two strides he reached her and tugged her into his arms. Real. She was real. In his elation, he wrapped her tight, closing as much of his body as possible around her. ‘‘My paramour. You are here.’’
‘‘I am here.’’
The words brought him to his knees and she with him. There seemed no divisions between them; they were of one breath, one heat, one body joined at the arms and torso and lips.
A single reservation prompted him to ease his cheek from the warmth of hers. He pulled back to gaze into her lovely, infinite eyes. ‘‘I won’t ask you to forgive me. Not yet. But can you, do you—’’
‘‘Yes. I trust you.’’
The gift of that simple statement racked him with relief. He pressed her to him, surrounded himself with her, fought back tears as she folded her love around him.
Clothing came off, peeled away to blanket the floor and the pallet on which they sprawled. His world became the fire in her lips, the satin heat of her breasts, the scorching strength of her thighs squeezing for purchase around his waist.
As her moans filled his mouth, he drove into her, drove with his tongue and his loins and his soul.
‘‘Yours.’’ His whisper rasped in his throat, stinging with urgency. He drew nearly out of her, then plunged deep, deeper. ‘‘I am yours.’’
‘‘Yes. Mine.’’ She pushed up against him, impelling him deeper still. ‘‘As I am yours.’’
With a heave he rolled with her, setting her on top. She smiled down at him with the glory of a goddess and rocked her hips, swaying him toward sheer bliss. Rolling again, he arched above her, moving in and out, sliding, delving, churning their passion to a frenzy until her cries sent the room spinning about his head, and with a roar of redemption he unleashed his passion inside her.
Chapter 25
A triflling thought drifted languidly through him, unable to do more than make his eyelids fllutter.
It must be nearing suppertime.
Then another thought: Chad could damned well eat without them.
Followed by another, one that admittedly spit venom through him. Chad could go to the devil.
But Nora always settled Jonny down to his supper in the schoolroom with Kat before descending to the dining room, and he knew tonight must be no different.
The rain had picked up again, slapped against the little window by gusts of wind. A cloud-ridden twilight lingered beyond the dusty panes, unable to penetrate the eaves. Darkness draped the room.
He didn’t need to see her to know she was there, her scant weight feather soft in his arms, her breathing butterfly delicate against his skin.
How he envied her ability to sleep so peacefully. How he loathed having to disturb her. He drew a long, luxuriating breath as a portion of her tranquillity flowed through him, relaxing him in a way he had not experienced in weeks. Months.
He kissed the crown of her head, nestled in the curve of his neck. ‘‘My paramour. Time to wake up.’’
‘‘Hm.’’ She burrowed deeper against his chest. ‘‘No.’’
‘‘I’m afraid so, my love. Jonny will—’’
She pulled up abruptly. ‘‘Yes, Jonny. He’ll be waiting for me.’’
When she would have pulled to her feet, he caught her wrist and tugged her back into his arms. ‘‘You needn’t run off this instant. Another minute or two shan’t make a difference.’’
After what they had just done, he didn’t have the heart to tell her about Chad. Not yet. What harm in waiting until after supper?
‘‘It’s grown so dark,’’ she said.
‘‘I’ll go downstairs for a lamp.’’ With a sigh he eased out from under her, then dragged his discarded shirt around her. ‘‘This will keep you warm till I get back.’’
He located his trousers and stepped into them.
‘‘Gray, wait. Perhaps there are candles in the escritoire.’’
‘‘Could be, I suppose.’’ In bare feet he shuffled to the little writing cabinet. He opened the drawers and the glass-encased shelves, feeling inside with his hands. ‘‘No, there’s nothing.’’
‘‘Did you check the bottom cabinet?’’
He smoothed his hands down the front of the piece until his palms closed over a pair of knobs. He gave a tug. ‘‘It’s locked.’’ He found his shoes and shoved his feet into them. ‘‘Don’t move. I’ll go down for a lantern.’’
‘‘Do be careful,’’ she called after him as he half felt, half sensed his way by memory down the staircase.
When he returned, the lantern swinging in his hand revealed her sitting up, her slender figure engulfed in the folds of his white linen shirt. Stealing a peek at him, she allowed the garment to slither down one arm. She tossed him a kiss over one exquisitely bared, alabaster shoulder.
‘‘I thought you’d never return.’’
He knelt beside her and kissed her shoulder, running his tongue over its silky smoothness. ‘‘Mmm. You taste good in my shirt. You’d best beware, woman, or Jonny shall have to make do on his own tonight.’’ His lips traveled up her neck and closed around the tip of her ear, making her shiver and laugh and squirm.
He was thinking he must make a point of doing that more often when she swatted him. ‘‘Jonny must not make do on his own.’’ With a sigh she reached for her shift and corset. ‘‘Will you help me? Then I must run down and slip into a fresh gown, or the entire household will suspect the worst of us.’’
‘‘Let them.’’
He swept her hair aside and pressed one last, lingering kiss to her nape while his free hand fondled the curve of her bottom. She released a wistful sigh, but still managed to issue a glared warning over her shoulder. He reluctantly resorted to his best behavior and helped her lace her corset after she tossed her shift over her head.
She helped him on with his shirt, her fingers delving beneath to fondle his pectoral muscle. ‘‘I like this,’’ she murmured. ‘‘Very much.’’
He caught her wrist and yanked her against him, tipping her back in his arms. She lost her balance, and he knew his hold was all that kept her from falling. He leaned in and kissed her until he felt the breath leave her, and couldn’t but admit he enjoyed the sensation of rendering her helpless in his embrace.
It was because she didn’t fight him, because her yielding body communicated nothing but her complete trust in him . . . along with a desire that could not be denied, despite her obligations downstairs.
‘‘I told you to beware, my paramour,’’ he growled. ‘‘Think I was jesting?’’
She looked giddy as he helped her upright.
They gathered their remaining clothing, preparing to descend the separate staircases to their bedchambers. When he raised her chin for a final kiss, her gaze slid beyond his shoulder.
‘‘Why is it locked?’’
He drew back. ‘‘Why is what locked?’’
‘‘That.’’ She gestured with a flick of her chin. ‘‘The escritoire.’’
‘‘Who knows? May have been locked for decades. Centuries.’’
‘‘No.’’ She moved to it. ‘�
��It isn’t that old.’’ She ran her fingers over the rounded edges, the carved medallions on the drawer fronts. ‘‘Not very old at all. Who used this room?’’
‘‘I don’t know for certain. Perhaps my father. My parents occupied our suites when they were alive. Tom and I didn’t know this place existed until he inherited the house.’’
She straightened and faced him, her expression somber. ‘‘Did Thomas begin using the room then?’’
He couldn’t help smiling. ‘‘I teased him about it, saying he secreted his doxies up here. He denied it so vehemently we nearly fell to fisticuffs.’’ His heart gave a painful squeeze. ‘‘Charlotte was all he ever needed. All he wanted. After she died, he did take occasional lovers, but he never brought them into this house.’’
‘‘In memory of her.’’ Nora’s voice wavered with emotion.
‘‘Yes, and because this was his son’s home.’’
‘‘But your brother knew the room existed.’’
‘‘Well, yes, but what are you . . .’’ His throat ran dry. ‘‘My God.’’
She moved aside as he fell to a crouch in front of the desk.
‘‘Damn it. Why didn’t I think of it?’’ He gripped the wooden knobs and gave the doors a futile tug. ‘‘It only makes sense. This is the one place he could hide things where no one would ever stumble upon them.’’
‘‘Perhaps the key is in one of the drawers?’’
He had already opened the drawers during his search for candles and had found nothing. He checked again. ‘‘They’re empty.’’
‘‘Perhaps on one of Mrs. Dorn’s key rings.’’
‘‘Hardly likely.’’ He thought a moment. ‘‘Do you have a hairpin?’’
Her fingers made a quick search through her hair. ‘‘I believe they’ve all fallen out, thanks to you. Check the floor.’’
They both crouched, palms sweeping the floor-boards. ‘‘Here.’’ She handed him one.
‘‘Learned this little trick just the other day.’’ He inserted the pin into the cabinet’s lock and twisted. Twisted again. Pulled it out and tried once more. His fist rammed the door. ‘‘Confound it. She made it look like child’s play.’’
Nora lifted his hand to her lips, kissing the raw knuckles. ‘‘Who did?’’
‘‘Your maid.’’
‘‘Ah. Like so many of my father’s staff, Kat is a woman of many talents.’’
‘‘Talents I apparently lack. Hang it.’’ He pushed to his feet and backed up. ‘‘There are more direct methods of opening a door. Stand clear, my love.’’
He lifted a foot and swung it dead center at the cabinet doors. The splintering of wood brought a burst of satisfaction. He kicked again, and the doors caved inward with a crash.
Nora stood at his shoulder, and together they stared down into the jagged hole. A quivering energy filled the room. Grayson felt the hair on his neck stand on end, felt Nora shivering beside him.
‘‘I can feel them, Gray. Tom and Charlotte. They’re here, in this room.’’ Her hand groped for his, fingers convulsing around his own.
‘‘I know. I believe they are telling us that the thing we’ve been seeking is inside that cabinet.’’ His pulse points hammered with the certainty of it.
She nodded and released him.
‘‘I suddenly find myself unable to move,’’ he whispered.
‘‘Shall I look?’’
He almost said no. Almost didn’t want the answers—answers with the power to brand him a murderer and his brother a criminal. Or possibly his best friend of both.
But then he thought of Charlotte and Tom, alone and grieving and caught between worlds; and Jonny, fearful and silent in a world of his own; and Nora, a world of hope and joy he had thought never to visit again.
He gave a nod. She knelt and reached inside.
‘‘I’ve got something.’’
He heard a rustle of paper and shut his eyes.
‘‘Gray, I’m sorry. . . . There’s no pocket watch. These appear to be invoices of some sort.’’
She held out the stack of papers to him, but he shook his head and moved the lantern closer. ‘‘You read through them, please. Look for names and places.’’
Brow crinkled in concentration, she shuffled through the sheets. ‘‘This is odd. There are two copies of each, except the directions vary.’’
He peered at the pile in her lap. ‘‘What do you mean?’’
‘‘These are bills of lading for shipments of goods.
Here.’’ She pointed to the top of a page. ‘‘The destination indicates a location in Marseilles, France. Yet on the next page, the exact same list of goods is directed to . . .’’ She inched closer to the lantern. ‘‘To Hadley and Company, London.’’
Bile rose in his throat and for a horrifying moment he feared he’d be ill. He swallowed once, again, hands fisting for want of the appropriate neck to strangle.
‘‘Gray.’’ Her eyes sparked with alarm. ‘‘What is it?’’
"Hadley and Company.’’ His voice shredded, ripped apart.
‘‘You know what it means?’’
He rose and staggered to the window. Gripped the sill and stared out at the wind-whipped trees, stooped and twisted beneath the weight of the storm.
God help him, this was a truth he’d never wanted.
Despite the pain knifing his throat, his chest, everywhere, his voice was eerily calm. ‘‘Those goods made it to neither Marseilles nor London.’’
‘‘How do you know?’’
He turned, meeting her perplexity with infinite bleakness. ‘‘Because they are in that cave on the beach.’’ He turned back to the window. ‘‘And God help me, now I know who put them there.’’
With barely a sound she came up behind him. Her length snuggled against his back and her arms slipped round his waist, cocooning him in warmth, in her gentle compassion. The knife inside him twisted less viciously because of it. Because of her. He turned in her arms and wrapped his own around her.
‘‘Years ago, when Jonny was just learning to speak, he couldn’t quite get his little mouth around the CH in Chad. So he called him Had. Didn’t take long for it to evolve into Hadley.’’ An ironic smile grew. This, at least, was a safe memory. ‘‘Chad fancied the nickname so much he began using it for his business concerns. Like that warehouse on the Thames.’’
‘‘An earl in business?’’
He shook his head. ‘‘When Thoroughbreds pull plows. No, he is the owner of several lucrative enterprises. He employs others to run them for him.’’
She went very still against him. ‘‘What are you saying, then? Surely Chad is not a . . .’’
‘‘A thief? Worse?’’ He cupped her chin, ran his thumb across her lips. ‘‘I wish to God there was some other explanation. I know my brother’s financial straits made him desperate. Somehow he must have involved Chad.’’
‘‘But isn’t Chad enormously wealthy?’’
He opened his mouth to agree, then clamped it shut on a dizzying wave of recollection. His legs wobbled, and Nora’s arms tightened to steady him.
‘‘The Holbein.’’
‘‘What are you talking about?’’
‘‘The Wycliffe Holbein. It is one of the family treasures. Remember the night of our betrothal party? Belinda wanted you to see it, but Chad claimed he’d lent it to an exhibit.’’ He pressed his fingers to his eyes. With his other hand he held fast to Nora. ‘‘He didn’t. He sold it.’’
He watched understanding darken her expression. ‘‘Poor Chad.’’
‘‘Poor Chad?’’ Perhaps she didn’t understand, not at all.
‘‘Yes, to be in such a dire position. To have to . . . good heavens—Uncle Had.’’ The last words slid out as a hoarse whisper. Her fingernails dug into his forearm, threatening to pierce the skin.
‘‘What did you say?’’
‘‘Uncle Had. Kat told me Jonny said that once in his sleep. At the time I thought he might have meant you, that his
uncle had . . . done something.’’
She gazed out the window, tinged to charcoal by the waning twilight. ‘‘He’s been so kind . . .’’ Her face snapped back to his. ‘‘This explains your behavior. You were keeping him away from me. From Jonny too. You were protecting us.’’ She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. ‘‘Oh, you dear, courageous, gallant man! And to think I doubted you.’’
He returned her embrace, lifting her off her feet, and for an instant he felt as though the entire world had just been set to rights. Then he put her down and pressed his lips to her hair. ‘‘Forgive me for bungling it as badly as I did. I thought far better for me to hurt you than for him.’’
‘‘Do you believe he would?’’
‘‘My love, we cannot trust him. I haven’t proof beyond his involvement in theft, but I think . . . that is to say, I believe he . . .’’ Even now, he couldn’t voice it.
‘‘I never once considered . . . Mrs. Dorn, possibly. She’s been so strange, so ill-humored. She seemed to be hiding something. But Chad?’’ She shook her head. ‘‘What do we do?’’
‘‘To keep him at ease, we should maintain our pretense. I’ll be his friend and remain distant toward you, my hurt and confused young bride. I’ve already had Gibbs send for the proper authorities. A magistrate should be arriving within the next day or so. I hope,’’ he could not help adding.
He took the invoices from her and tucked them into the waistband of his trousers.
Nora frowned. ‘‘Do you suspect he knows about this room?’’
‘‘No. If he did he would have devised a way to steal up here and reclaim these records long before this. My guess is he came to search the house and cover his tracks.’’
‘‘Why now?’’
‘‘Because I’m here now. After Tom’s death I left Blackheath Grange. I returned only rarely and stayed as briefly as possible. Chad had no reason to visit an empty house. It would have looked suspicious if he had.’’
Her eyes opened wide. ‘‘I just remembered something. The other night . . . I might have inadvertently caught him searching the library. He’d been combing through the books, and he appeared startled when I entered the room. He said he wanted something to read, but he didn’t bother taking a book with him when he left.’’
Dark Obsession Page 30
