“Thank you,” she murmured breathlessly. “I needed that very badly.”
“You may find this hard to believe, but I did too,” he whispered, fighting the urgent need to lift her off her feet and carry her to the bed.
“Malcolm, you need to know—certain manners are ingrained, but after everything I’ve been through I no longer hold to society’s rules. They mean nothing to me. Life is precious. None of us know when we might take our last breath.”
“Connie, what are you saying?”
“Carpe diem,” she murmured. “That’s my rule now.”
“Seize the day.”
“Seize the moment...”
Chapter Eight
It wasn’t just the words Connie had muttered that betrayed her carnal lust. The aching hunger shining from her eyes was impossible to deny. Malcolm had enjoyed many liaisons, even experienced a flutter of feeling for a particular young woman he’d met in the village near where he’d attended university, but nothing could compare to the fire rippling through his body as he gazed down at Connie.
She placed her palms on his chest.
He caught his breath.
“Connie, you mustn’t...”
She didn’t speak, but slid them upward and behind his neck. His cock, now standing at full attention, protested the confines of his trousers, and though he longed to accept her blatant invitation, he hesitated.
“Close your eyes and kiss me again?”
Though she’d whispered, her request reverberated through his being.
“I want to,” he murmured. “I want to more than I can possibly say, but this is not—”
“Not what?” she interrupted softly, placing a finger against his lips. “The time? There is no time, there is only now. This isn’t right? Why not? Does our desire cause harm to others? Were you going to say this attraction isn’t real, but due to the situation? Of course it’s real. What we feel is the call of our hearts.”
“You speak so eloquently, and I cannot argue with anything you’ve said, but I must step away. Not forever, but for now.”
“I’m terribly sorry,” she suddenly muttered, abruptly covering her face with her hands. “What must you think of me? I’m not a woman who brazenly throws herself at a man. Not at all. I mean, I’ve never, uh, been with anyone.”
“You needn’t apologize,” he said, taking her hands and gently moving them down. “I think I know why you were overcome. You’ve had no real human contact for so long.”
She darted her eyes up to meet his.
“Perhaps. When I first arrived and you held me on the couch I never wanted it to end. I don’t suppose...” she began hesitantly, “never mind, I shouldn’t ask. I’m already frightfully embarrassed.”
“You don’t need to be, and you can ask me anything,” he said, wanting nothing more than to feel her back in his arms, her breasts pressed against his chest, and her cherry lips lingering on his.
“I am very weary, and I do want to lie down for a little while, but, uh, would you stay with me for a few minutes before you leave?”
He paused, but only fleetingly.
“Of course, but I won’t take off my jacket.”
“I don’t mind.”
She perched on the edge of the bed, shifted backwards and stretched out. Pushing off his shoes, he laid beside her, raising his arm as she snuggled into the crook of his shoulder. A warm sensation began rolling through his being. In spite of his craving to make love to her, he was relaxing too, and having her resting against him felt as natural as breathing.
Closing his eyes and letting out a sigh, he wondered what the future held. He had pulled her from the depths of despair, and promised to uncover the evil man who had sent her there, but the reality of her predicament loomed large. He had to keep her hidden while following any clues, assuming there were any, and even if he did find the culprit, how could he possibly prove her innocence?
The image of the rushing river abruptly floated through his head.
“Please don’t do it, boy,” his father had shouted, trying to be heard over the sound of the wind lashing the trees and the raging rapids. “It’s impossible. You’ll both drown.”
But yanking off his boots and trousers, Malcolm had jumped into the water.
His eyes popped open.
Am I jumping into the river all over again? he thought. Yes, I am, and I must.
The sound of Connie’s deep, even breathing told him she was dead to the world. Gently sliding his arm from beneath her neck, he slipped from the bed. She didn’t stir.
“My sleeping beauty,” he said softly.
Leaning over her, he softly kissed her, picked up his shoes, and crept from the room.
* * *
With his umbrella popped open and wearing his heavy raincoat, Malcolm strode down the street. Connie’s former home was a ten-minute walk, far enough to have taken a carriage, but in spite of the wet weather, he wanted the cold air and exercise to help clear his head.
The desire rolling through him when he’d kissed her had made his heart thump, and an urgent need to sweep her up had pumped through his blood. Then there was his wish to help her. It was profound.
You’ve always been like one of King Arthur’s fearless knights.
The recall of Edith’s comparison made him smile, but it also made him wonder. Was it Connie’s plight that had him spellbound?
But he knew it wasn’t so. In his charity work he’d crossed paths with many young women in trouble, and there hadn’t been a single one he’d long to wrap in his arms and kiss with endless passion. The unexpected feelings he held in his heart had nothing to do with her dire circumstances.
His mind flashed back to a recent celebration with two of his close friends who had recently become engaged. After downing a couple of drinks at the club, with a faraway look in their eyes, they’d talked about the magic of love. A wry grin crossed Malcolm’s lips. He was beginning to understand, but a gentleman walking toward him snapped him from his thoughts. The man was tall, had a long stride, and carried a cane. Opening a gate, he trotted up the steps and disappeared into a house.
A deep frown carved Malcolm’s brow.
Though the grand country estates of the aristocracy and landed gentry were scattered across the map, in London, the upper echelons of society lived in close proximity to one another. Any of the homes in the area could be the murderer’s lair. The very man he’d just seen could be the evil Monty. Malcolm grimaced. The task he’d set himself suddenly seemed impossible, but he quickly reminded himself impossible was the word his father had used on that fateful day as he’d stood on the riverbank.
Reaching the corner that would lead him to Connie’s family home, Malcolm paused to take a deep breath. The street was empty. Not surprising considering the cold day and endless drizzle. Striding quickly forward, he stopped at the fence and studied the exterior. It appeared well cared for. Except for the boarded-up windows and For Sale sign, the home was as stately as any of its neighbors. There was certainly no evidence of its grisly history, but then, he reasoned, why would there be? The dreadful incident had taken place well inside its walls.
“Excuse me, sir.”
The mature, male voice almost made him jump, and turning his head he spied a butler standing on the top step of the adjacent home.
“Yes?” Malcolm replied.
“Did you wish to inquire about that house?”
“I do, as it happens.”
“The agent is out of town for a while and asked me to keep an eye out. He left me the key if anyone stopped by and wanted to see it. If you have any questions you’ll have to send a letter to his office and wait for his return.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Did you wish to view the property, Mr....?”
“Mead. Malcolm Mead.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Mead. My name is Kendrick.”
“Thank you, Kendrick,” Malcolm replied, pleased to meet the man who had helped Connie. “Yes, I would like to take a look if
it wouldn’t be inconvenient.”
“My pleasure, sir. I shall fetch the key.”
As the butler disappeared, Malcolm strolled through the gate and up the few steps, then stood on the porch amazed at his good fortune. Sending his eyes to the gray sky, he muttered a thank you.
“Sir, I’m terribly sorry,” the butler said earnestly as he reappeared and hurried to join him. “I should have asked you in out of the rain. Things have been a bit hectic this morning.”
“That’s all right, Kendrick. Drizzle is nature’s shower.”
“Quite,” he nodded with a smile as he slid the key in the lock and opened the door. “I should accompany you, but as I mentioned there is rather a lot going on today. Would you mind very much if I left you to it?”
“Not at all, and thank you. You’ve been most obliging.”
“My pleasure. Here is the agent’s card in case you wish you contact him. Good day, Mr. Mead.”
“Good day, Kendrick.”
Though the furniture was covered with white sheets and the walls were void of paintings, the home’s former glory was easy to see. Ambling into the front salon, he shook his head, and a grim expression crossed his face. The once happy home stood stark and empty, but setting his mind back to the task at hand, he began his search for the drawing room.
Moving down the hallway and opening the doors, he finally found it, but the moment he stepped inside, he stopped short. Though there was no evidence of the bloody scene, a chill pricked his skin.
His eyes darted to the fireplace.
There was not a poker, a brush, or a shovel. He continued to scan his surroundings. Spying what appeared to be a roll-top desk under a dustcover, he moved across the room and lifted off the sheet.
“Well, well,” he muttered as he studied the twin pedestal gentleman’s desk. “What secrets might you contain?”
Opening the drawers and checking the cubbyholes one by one, he found it completely empty, but he was well aware such desks often held hidden compartments. Running his fingers along the sides, then beneath the narrow, elevated shelves, he felt an indent in the wood. As he gently pressed it, a tiny drawer shot out from the back. His pulse ticking up, he leaned forward and looked inside.
His heart sank.
There was nothing to see.
Pushing it back into place, he let out a heavy breath and stared around the room. The house was large. It would take him an entire day to search it thoroughly, possibly longer, and he didn’t even know what he was looking for.
“Maybe I should check the master suite,” he muttered, but as he idly stared out the French doors, he spotted the shed at the far end of the garden.
Suddenly it hit him.
If he wanted to hide something, that’s where he’d put it.
The key was still in the lock. Turning it, and giving the door a shove to get it open, he marched across the muddy lawn and entered the small shack. Several packing blankets were lying on the floor. He cringed. Connie’s makeshift bed. Pushing the unseemly thought from his mind, he began rummaging through several boxes piled on a wooden bench. Most contained various supplies, one held several small paintings and few knickknacks, then he noticed a touching photograph in a glossy silver frame. It showed Connie as a young girl sitting on a couch next to her mother, and her father standing behind them. Quite sure Connie would love to have it, he dropped it into his pocket. But he found nothing else of interest.
Disappointed, he turned to leave.
The floorboard creaked.
He paused.
Stepping back, he noticed a plank wasn’t quite flush with the floor. Grabbing a screwdriver and dropping to his knees, he slid it into the crack. The board lifted easily. Heart racing, he stared into the dark space.
He caught his breath.
Chapter Nine
A black velvet drawstring pouch gaped slightly open exposing its contents. Malcolm was sure he was staring down at gold. His heart racing, he reached under the floorboards, wrapped his fingers firmly around whatever the pouch contained, and lifted it out. The heavy weight confirmed his belief. Panting with anticipation, he placed it on the floor, slid down the smooth fabric, and stared in wonder at the stunning object. Though he was no expert, he guessed it to be an Egyptian relic.
His thoughts raced.
A priceless antiquity was motivation enough for a man to kill, and hidden away as it was, the gold statue was probably stolen. His first impulse was to put it back and contact the police, but he quickly changed his mind. If the treasure was the motive behind the murders, he could use it to smoke out the evil people responsible.
Taking a moment to come to grips with the startling discovery, he wondered why Connie’s father had secreted it away instead of turning it over to the authorities, but abruptly caught himself. He had to keep an open mind. It was entirely possible Connie’s parents may not have known the magnificent item had been hidden in their shed. The late hour of the meeting in the drawing room suggested otherwise, but he wasn’t ready to make any conclusions.
Running his fingertips across the glossy, precious metal, a wave of tingling warmth moved through his body. On such a cold, damp day, he welcomed it, and decided it was the shock of finding such an incredible antiquity.
Connie had been sleeping right next to it!
The realization hit him, and he suddenly felt the need to leave as quickly as possible.
“How the blazes am I going to get it out of here and not be seen?” he muttered, pulling the drawstring bag closed. “Kendrick is sure to be watching.”
Deciding to secure it beneath his coat, he looked around the shed. When he spotted a length of thin rope, he let out a subdued but triumphant cry.
Growing up as a groundskeeper’s son, he knew how to tie strong, effective knots. The glowing statuette—a unification of man and beast—could be lashed around his waist. Years of practice as a youth came to the fore, and he was soon buttoning his coat and leaving the shed.
Marching back to the house, he wiped his feet as best he could on the drenched mat in front of the French doors. Walking inside and locking them behind him, he started across the room, but abruptly stopped and stared toward the fireplace. Lifting the photograph from his pocket, he dropped his gaze to the handsome man standing behind the smiling woman and happy little girl sitting on the couch.
“I will find the devil who ripped you from your lives, and almost destroyed your precious daughter,” he murmured, a wave of heat radiating through the back of his throat. “I swear it, and I will restore this house to the loving home it once was.”
The journey back to his house was wet, but uneventful, and as he approached his front door he prepared himself to sweep past Corbin. The butler would be expecting to remove Malcolm’s coat. Stepping into the foyer, he was relieved to find it empty, and began hurrying up the stairs.
“Sir? Do you not want me to take your coat?”
Already halfway to the landing, Malcolm called back over his shoulder.
“No, but send Baker up with tea.”
“Are you sure, sir?”
“Very sure. Please, just do as I ask.”
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”
Reaching his dressing room, Malcolm hastily unfastened the buttons, tore off the dripping coat, and tossed it in a corner. Quickly unknotting the rope from his waist, he carried the black velvet pouch into his bedroom and strode across to a tall urn positioned on a pedestal by the window. Still tied with the cord, Malcolm carefully lowered it down, then let the tail hang over the back of the tall vase. The hiding place would be enough for the moment, but he needed to think of a much safer place.
* * *
A quick, but hot bath had taken the chill from Malcolm’s bones and the tension from his mind and body. Discovering the golden artifact had shaken him, but dried and dressed he felt ready to face the unknown. The first order of business was to ask Connie if her parents had been interested in Egyptology.
The aristocracy’s fascination with t
he pharaohs and ancient Egypt had been rampant for decades, and many of the great homes boasted valuable relics. Tales of curses made for spooky storytelling at dinner parties, and the luxuriant lifestyles of the wealthy in the ancient civilization enthralled many in the nobility. It wouldn’t be at all surprising if Connie’s parents were just as enamored, and socialized with those who shared their enthusiasm.
Walking briskly down the hall to her room, he gently knocked. Not hearing a response, he pushed it open and peeked inside. Lying still and quiet, she didn’t stir. He’d called her ‘sleeping beauty’ when he’d left, and the name floated through his head. Unable to stop himself, he walked in, closed the door, and moved softly across to the bed.
Her breathing was deep, and watching the rise and fall of her breasts, he longed to slowly peel down the bodice of her dress and feast his eyes on their loveliness. Her head was tilted to the side, and he imagined sliding his fingers into her hair, gripping it tightly, and sucking on her sweet, naked neck. He’d whisper wicked words in her ear, then travel his mouth to her lips and kiss her, gently at first, then surrender to the fervent passion he knew would sweep through them both.
His imaginings brought his cock to life.
He was about to return to his bathroom for speedy relief when her eyelids fluttered open, and she stared up at him with a sleepy gaze.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I’m so happy you’re here,” she murmured. “I was just dreaming about you.”
“Pleasant dreams, I hope.”
“Very. I’d like to go back to them.”
“You can. There’s no reason for you to get up. Nap some more.”
“Do you mind? It must be near lunchtime, but I’d rather rest than eat.”
“Then please do.”
“Did you come in because you wanted to speak with me?”
Rough Gentleman Page 7
