Romance: Detective Romance: A Vicious Affair (Victorian Regency Intrigue 19th England Romance) (Historical Mystery Detective Romance)

by Lisa Andersen

  And so, for that matter, did her mind. As an ardent Jacob continued to massage her lips with his, all of Lillibet’s ties and commitments dissolved from her mind as she lost herself in his kiss; her arms enfolding his muscled shoulders as she leaned into his tall hard frame.

  For just a moment, she was not John’s wife but Jacob’s lover, and at this moment in time, as his kiss and touch seized hold of her heart and made it pound at a feverish rhythm, that was all she wanted to be.

  The feeling was fleeting.

  “What is the meaning of this?”

  The couple jumped apart as they were now joined by an unexpected visitor; one whose face shone all too familiar to the woman who now called out his name.

  “John!” she exclaimed, recognizing all too quickly the thick dark hair and wide brown eyes of her handsome—if frequently absent—husband. “You told me that you would be spending this night camping out on the range!”

  John shook his head.

  “You told me that you would love and be faithful only to me,” he countered, voice barely above a whisper.

  Jumping to his feet, a stone-faced Jacob pulled back the fabrics of his gold mohair coat and grabbed the pearled handle of his ivory revolver; hoping against hope that he wouldn’t have to use it, right now and in his own defense.

  He gasped, amazed moments later, as his rival pulled out a far more powerful weapon, one that he never would expect to see wielded by a man.

  Tears.

  Raising his hand to his face, Jacob let loose with a torrent of emotion that made his broad shoulders shake with the weight of his feeling, accenting his sobs with loud, intense wails that further conveyed the true depth of his heartbreak.

  “You’re my wife, Lillibet,” he sobbed, adding as he sank down in a rocking chair that flanked their front door, “how could you do this to me?”

  Racing to his side, a repentant Lillibet wrapped a comforting arm around her husband’s shoulders and bent her head against his; herself shedding tears of intense guilt as she shut her eyes tight.

  “Lillibet,” Jacob spoke finally, his voice lacking its usual loudness and air of robust authority.

  Stealing a quick hard glance in the direction of her lover, Lillibet waved him with a dismissive hand in the direction of the door.

  “You have done enough damage here,” she told him finally, adding as she glared outright in his direction, “Please just go.”

  *****

  An hour later, Jacob found himself back in the secluded confines of his ranch house; a modest but well-kept home that came complete with hand-carved wooden furniture and rawhide wall hangings.

  Sidling up to the mahogany bar that formed a far corner of his sitting room, Jacob poured himself a glass of stiff whiskey and took a long drink; the burning liquid doing little to comfort him as he contemplated the events of the last few moments.

  Since sparking his heated affair with Lillibet—and, indeed, all of the times that he had chosen to dally with women who wore rings on their fingers—Jacob had told himself that he was doing a good thing; assuaging his own loneliness as well as hers as they both made one another very happy.

  Now he realized, however, that the motive behind their involvement had been purely selfish in nature. So entranced by Lillibet’s beauty—not to mention burdened by the solitude of his lonesome existence as a lone rancher on the Texas plains—he had put his own needs well above the sense of propriety and convention that had ruled the first 20 years of his life.

  “Then I turn 21 last year,” he mused with a sigh, “and I decide to celebrate by becoming a complete and total cotton pickin’ scoundrel.”

  Raised from infancy to believe and abide by the word of the Holy Bible, Jacob realized now that he had abandoned the good teachings of his upbringing and ruined the outright stellar reputation that his family—headed by veteran ranchers Ray and Annabelle Clayton, recently deceased—had worked so hard to build and maintain.

  “And all because I was lonely,” he released on a long hard breath, adding as he shook his head, “Can my parents up in Heaven ever forgive me for strayin’ down this sinful path? Can John and Lillibet?”

  “Can God?”

  This last question hung heavy over Jacob’s heart, causing him to bury his head in his hands as he asked himself, “What have I done?”

  Suddenly his head came up, and he squared his sturdy shoulders and stood upright as he came to a decision.

  “I have to change my ways,” he decided, adding as he slammed his small glass tumbler hard down on the bar before him, “I have to put down the bottle and pick up the Bible. I have to get back to church—back to myself, the very person that God and my parents intended me to become. A man of honor and virtue, with a high moral code.”

  He also knew, of course, that even the softest cover Bible would do little to keep him warm at night. He still needed a woman, to be sure; but he wanted this woman to be his wife, not someone else’s. More than that, he wanted a woman whose strong convictions and firm moral code would help set him back on the right path.

  “With all of the hours I spend on the ranch, though, I’m not at all certain as to when or where I’ll be able to find a bride,” he mused, adding as he cocked his head in a show of intense thought, “now my good buddy, Tim Neil, found a mighty nice gal by placin’ a newspaper ad—an aid for a mail order bride.” He paused here, adding with a shrug, “Desperate times call for desperate measures. First thing tomorrow mornin’ I’m headed to the newspaper office. First thing Sunday mornin’, I’m headed to church.” He paused here, adding as he shook his head, “Now I have no idea as to whether or not this grand plan will have any earthly chance of workin’—I just know I gotta give it my best shot.”

  These words echoed in his mind Sunday next. Dressed in a long black duster coat with matching pants and a bolo tie, he headed off to the Methodist church built a few years ago at the edge of his ranch; a small but beautiful ivory white chapel lined with a sparkling bank of rainbow patterned stained glass windows.

  Passing through the brass handled double doors that fronted Willowbrook Methodist Church, Jacob took a seat near the back of the chapel and directed his gaze forward.

  This proved a bad move, as he found himself face to face with something of an angry mob, or, at the very least, a group of people as angry and mob like as one can get while ensconced in the confines of a right proper church.

  Since venturing into the dangerous waters that flowed free and rampant through the life of a sinner, he often found himself on the receiving end of any number of angry stares—many of them aimed by elders of the town who obviously disapproved of his lifestyle.

  “And they apparently do not make a habit of forgettin’ easy,” he mused now, tipping his wide brimmed ivory hat politely in their direction.

  His fellow churchgoers met this gesture with a defined angel’s chorus of “Harrumph!” except, of course, for one young lady who truly did assume the likeness of an angel.

  Although not a stunning beauty, the slender young blonde boasted wide blue eyes and a lovely smile, one she aimed in his direction from her place at the front of the church.

  Returning her smile in full, Jacob once again tipped his hat as their gazes caught and held, brimming with both warmth and keen curiosity as the air around them suddenly resounded with the gleeful notes of a nearby church organ.

  As the church’s mustached, silver-haired pastor took the podium at the altar of the chapel, Jacob somehow found it difficult to concentrate on his opening words until, that was, his lovely angel took her own place at the head of the church.

  “Our own Lorelei Harris would like to speak to the young people of our congregation about her wonderful new riding club here at Willowbrook,” the pastor announced, joining the now smiling congregation in applauding the young lady wh
o now took the stage.

  “So I guess these folks do like somebody, after all,” Jacob mused, even as he joined in the round of applause that filled the air around them. “Consider yourself lucky, girl.”

  Soon, his troubled meditation was disrupted by the sound of a soft, sonorous voice; one that soothed his addled nerves as its bearer faced the crowd.

  The lass came dressed in a full length calico dress of sweet cornflower blue, one trimmed down the front and at the cuffs with lustrous lines of sweet ivory lace.

  “It’s so odd,” he reasoned in silence, “this girl and her gown do not rival the glamour of the woman I left behind earlier this week. Yet somehow, in some way, she transfixes me far more.”

  He seemed, in fact, to hang on her every word as she opened her pearl pink lips to speak.

  “Howdy, all,” she greeted the congregation, meeting their applause with a deep dramatic bow that drew laughter from those gathered. “Well, as you know, I am Lorelei Harris, equestrian extraordinaire—that is to say I roughly can tell the front end of a horse from its back end, and also happen to know a few folks who take pride in actin’ like the back end.”

  Her angelic grin turned downright devilish as the crowd chortled loud in response to her words.

  “Sorry, Pastor,” she told the abiding reverend, adding as she spread her hands out wide before her, “well, like Pastor said, I have indeed started a riding club at this here church—one open to just about anyone who is either young or young at heart. Bring your own horse and a picnic lunch, and feel free to meet us this afternoon at 4 p.m. sharp,” she declared, finishing off her spiel with a hearty, “Yee-haw!”

  “Yee-haw!” Jacob responded, whipping his tall white hat clean off his head and waving it high in the air above them. “I shall be there with bells, you had better believe it!”

  *****

  That afternoon, Lorelei once again found herself riding astride her prized ivory mare, reins held firmly in hand as she and Daffodil coursed the length of the meadow.

  Having exchanged her church dress for a long black riding skirt and a practical button down denim shirt, the enthused rider brought her horse to a smooth cantor as she greeted the arrival of one of her loyal club members: a prim, petite brunette named Norma Grey.

  Appearing as usual rather petrified to be riding the back of a large and rather ungainly beast, Norma nonetheless managed a faint smile as she approached her best friend from finishing school.

  “I am the first to arrive for the club today, as is customary,” she announced in a tone that expressed the belief that someone would actually place any value and importance on this fact.

  Lorelei grinned.

  “Hey Norma,” she greeted her friend, adding with a sharp nod, “you are indeed the first to show today, but we have to wait for at least four or five others—including the very handsome newcomer we saw at church today.”

  Norma shook her head.

  “I am sorry to tell you this, my dear, but we must be very wary of that gentleman,” she advised her friend, adding as she inclined her head sharp in Lorelei’s direction, “in point of fact, I am not even certain that we should allow him admittance into our club.” She paused here, adding as she tilted her pert chin to high and haughty effect, “We are, after all, a Christian organization.”

  Lorelei had heard enough.

  “We are indeed a Christian club,” she affirmed, adding with an affirming nod, “and as such, we must be accepting and loving of all who wish to come into our flock. This is how we would want it, and this is how the good Lord would want it.”

  Norma sniffed.

  “Why don’t you ask Mr. Jacob exactly what he wants,” she countered, adding in a confidential, most scandalized tone, “his answer is likely to run along the lines of, ‘married women.’”

  Lorelei froze.

  “What are you tryin’ to say, Norma?” she asked her friend, her own voice lowered to a concerned whisper.

  Norma sighed.

  “Do I have to draw ya a picture, my friend?” she asked Lorelei, pursing her lips in a show of blatant sarcasm.

  Lorelei shook her head.

  “Actually, I prefer that you not,” she told her friend, cheeks flushing bright red at the very thought.

  Completely and totally ignoring this rather pointed directive, Norma bellowed out in the loudest tone possible, “He ruined Lillibet Townsend!”

  Lorelei blinked.

  “Lillibet Townsend is married,” she reasoned. “How in the blazes can you ruin a woman who has already been,” she paused here, striving to find the most appropriate word for something totally inappropriate, “married?”

  Norma shook her head.

  “Lillibet betrayed her husband with this immoral demon!” she declared, adding as she pointed an authoritative finger straight in the direction of her gaping friend, “and it is for this reason that we cannot admit him into our group. We cannot permit him to taint our holy pool of sanctity with his evil ways.”

  Lorelei pursed her lips.

  “Lillibet is a grown woman, is she not?”

  Norma nodded.

  “She is,” she admitted, tone slow and begrudging.

  “She is,” Lorelei repeated, adding with a shrug, “and unless Mr. Jacob forced himself on her, which I take it he did not, then what we have here are two adults who have sinned—as we all have, at some point in our lives.”

  “You, my lady, are a very bright woman—one I’d surely like to get to know better.”

  Biting her lip as she realized too late that she and Norma were not alone, Lorelei lifted her head to regard the subject of their conversation, one currently mounted on a sleek ebony charger as he rode across the meadow straight in their direction.

  Jacob Clayton, she just had to note, looked even more handsome in the light of the sun; his honey blond hair and sky blue eyes shining in the scope of its ebullient rays.

  He also happened to cut a handsome figure atop his stately charger, his muscular frame the very picture of stateliness and regality as he trotted with regal grace in her direction.

  Only this gent is no white knight, she reminded herself, adding aloud, “Welcome to our club, Mr. Clayton.”

  She relaxed a bit as he met these words with a devastating white toothed smile, one that came accented by the charming tip of his tall, ivory white hat.

  “It’s Jacob,” he corrected her gently, adding as he inclined his head in her direction, “And I thank you kindly, Ma’am.”

  After waiting for other members of the club to join them in the meadow, the leader of the riding club led her enthused minions in a steady procession along the side of a brook; steady, at least until her newest recruit challenged her to a race.

  “Come on, Ms. Lorelei,” Jacob invited her, digging his heels into the sides of his mount as he rode up alongside her, “let’s ride with the wind!”

  Never one to pass up a challenge, Lorelei soon found herself flying on horseback, soaring once again as her horse galloped at a frantic pace—her hooves barely touching the grasses beneath her as the two floated together in radiant tandem.

  This time, though, they did not fly alone.

  At one point, Jacob and Lorelei turned to one another as their gazes collided between them, also sharing a secret smile as their horses ran neck and neck.

  Suddenly, they found themselves sharing a divine and almost ethereal experience; reveling in the ride as their horses carried them into the realm of heavenly paradise.

  Their gazes held as they ran together in search of a certain goal; yet instead of racing proper, passing one another with breakneck speed, each seemed to hold back a bit so as not to pass the other.

  Then, as they reached the end of the meadow, Jacob and Lorelei shocked and totally sca
ndalized the riding club by holding hands between them.

  Crossing what seemed to be an imaginary finish line moments later, the couple laughed in spite of themselves as they came to a dead stop at the center of the meadow.

  “Let’s call it a draw, sweet Lorelei,” Jacob told her, squeezing her fingers between his own as they finally dismounted.

  Within moments, they joined their fellow and sister club members for a picnic by the brook; balmy breezes blowing their hair as they enjoyed a spread of ham and cheese sandwiches, sweetest hominy, fresh buttered yeast rolls, and creamy refreshing goat’s milk.

  Seated close together on a crisp checkerboard picnic cloth, the couple talked of their lifelong love of horses, as well as the duties and responsibilities that both bore out on the range.

  “I have always wanted to know what it was like to tend my own ranch,” Lorelei told Jacob, adding with a shrug, “now, of course, I love helping out my parents as they sow and tend their land. Still and all, I would love someday to claim some land that is only mine—something of my own.”

  Jacob nodded.

  “Well, do allow me to assure you, Lorelei, that there is indeed nothing quite like the experience of culling your own land, growing your own crops, having a ranch that belongs only to you,” he assured her, adding as he made a broad gesture across the gem green meadow before them, “I lose myself sometimes in all that natural beauty—all the flowers and trees. I feel as though I have my own personal haven, one situated well away from all the noise and bother I find in town.”

  Lorelei smiled.

  “Sounds wonderful,” she praised, adding as she cast a contemplative look in the direction of the azure sky, “you know something, Jacob? I never did want to be a farmer’s wife, as much as I wanted to be a farmer. I want to be out in the fields and the great outdoors, not hidden away in the kitchen.”

  Jacob nodded.

  “Well, you can do both, you know,” he reasoned with a shrug, adding with a meaningful look aimed straight in her direction, “some gents might rightly favor a wife who can lend a helping hand out on the ranch, showing a real sense of adventure while bringing her own special ideas and perspective to the mix.”