Signs of Love and Deliverance

by Tracy Kay

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “The swatches!” Madeline yelled out in revelation.

  “What?” Confused, Damon met her wide, green eyes with his, pausing in his homage to Madeline’s abundant breasts of which he could not get enough. His body was pressed against hers with one hand tangled in her long, blond hair and the other was caressing her taunt nipple with his thumb.

  “The swatches in Marshall’s study.” After several weeks, she had finally put together what bothered her about the room.

  Damon shifted to support his weight with his elbows, pushing his hips tight against hers and forcing her thighs open to accommodate him. “Madeline, what are you talking about?” Damon asked in exasperation, a puzzled expression on his face.

  “When I found Marshall Nevell, there were swatches on the floor.” She was relieved that she had solved the nagging problem, but she supposed she shouldn’t have blurted out her revelation to him until after they were finished lovemaking.

  “You are thinking about a dead man while I am making love to you.” Damon was a little offended by Madeline’s lack of ardor. He met her eyes with intensity and disapproval. When she tried to wiggle out from under him, he pressed the weight of his hips tighter against hers, his erection thick and heavy, and ready to enter her. He wanted his displeasure with her made clear.

  She gasped at his strength. She had never refused him before and his response made her apprehensive and contrite. The moonlight that washed over them, darkening the room with a soft, romantic glow, now glinted in Damon’s predatory, amber stare. She was suddenly uncertain of herself and him. “Oh, Damon, I am so sorry.” Madeline ran a hand through his hair distractedly. She hadn’t meant to disturb him with her wayward thoughts at such an inappropriate time. “The revelation came to me out of nowhere. Please, finish what you were doing,” she said shyly. She bit her lip and averted her eyes, stealing herself for his penetration.

  “I think not,” he snorted, displeased with her for her sudden fear of him and with himself for making her feel that fear. He would never force her. He loved her too much for that, and in any case, it wasn’t in his nature to hurt a woman, particularly his wife.

  “Please, Damon, don’t let me interrupt you.” Madeline didn’t exactly want him to continue. She wanted to talk about her discovery and what it meant, but she loved Damon and she would not deny him his pleasure. She could wait, and if he wanted to take her forcefully to punish her for disrupting his lovemaking, she would endure it, even if it was painful.

  “Interrupt me?” Damon tilted his head in disbelief. “Honey, I am not going to make love to you when you are somewhere else and not ready for me.” Damon rolled off her, put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. After a moment of silence, he sighed, turned on his side, and brushed her hair back off her face. “Tell me about it.”

  “I am sorry, Damon. I didn’t mean . . .” Madeline rolled onto her side and placed her hand on his chest, biting down hard on her lip. She blinked away tears of relief and remorse. Now that he was no longer overpowering her, she was becoming worried that she had disappointed him.

  “Madeline.” Damon cupped the side of her face and caught the stray tear that rolled down her cheek with his thumb. “It is all right, baby. I will never take you when you aren’t ready for me.” He lightly rubbed her lower lip, easing the sting of pain her biting created. He knew biting her lip was an emotional affectation, and he hoped that once she became more comfortable with him, she would stop this habit of harming herself. If not, he would have to correct her of the behavior. “And baby, please stop biting your lip,” he admonished, brushing the hair off her face. “I don’t want you hurting yourself.” He kissed her softly on the lips, comforting her. “There is no reason to be upset and there is nothing for you to be sorry about, honey. This is obviously bothering you so we will talk about it. Tell me about Marshall Nevell.”

  Relieved, Madeline sat up, pulling the sheet with her and began speaking in a rush of excitement. “When I found Marshall in his study hanging from the chandelier, there was something wrong, but I didn’t know what. It was more a feeling at the time than anything else, but now, I know it was the swatches that troubled me and the two glasses.”

  “What swatches?” Damon drew her back down beside him, rolled onto his back, and gently pressed her head onto his chest.

  “And the glasses,” Madeline murmured, snuggling against him and draping her leg over his.

  “Go on,” Damon urged and stroked her hair soothingly.

  “There were swatches of material scattered around and under one of the leather chairs. And there were two glasses on the desk, one empty and the other full. Also there was the silk mask in between the rungs of the chair he used.” Madeline played with the hair on Damon’s chest as she explained. “At the time, I didn’t piece it together, but Marshall was always very neat in his appearance and his manners. He was the same with his house. He took such pride in it and he always bragged about it so much. If he was going to hang himself, he would never have left swatches on the floor, a mask, or any other clutter lying around. There was no masquerade ball or event before or after his death, I checked. So why was there a mask? Damon, I know he didn’t kill himself. I am sure of it.” She rested her chin on his chest and gazed into his amber eyes.

  “I don’t know, Madeline.” Damon was skeptical. He didn’t find anything extraordinary about the swatches, the mask, or the glasses. Many men tended to drop things on the floor or leave things about, forgetting them until someone else picked them up or until they were needed. Damon was one of those men. That was until Madeline arrived in his life. Since marrying her, he had been a bit neater and considerate of her and her maid. He couldn’t get used to having servants and having someone else pick up after him. “Some men do tend to be messy, honey.” He tweaked her nose and smiled at her.

  “Yes, but not Marshall. He was a very orderly man,” she clarified, laid her head back onto his chest and resumed swirling his hair with her fingers. “Another thing that bothered me was the note he left. He didn’t leave it on a table, but he left it on the floor, which was not in his character. How could he put a note on the floor that miraculously ended up directly under his feet? And why on the floor at all and not on his desk, which is the obviously place to leave a note?”

  Damon sat up, now interested. “You are telling me that the note he left was under his feet, not to the side of him or in front of him, and not on his desk or a table?”

  “Yes, the note was directly under his feet.” Madeline scooted up to sit next to him.

  “That is unusual.” Damon was perplexed and tried to work out the puzzle and the possibilities as he absently played with her hair. “Even if he did place the note under the chair, which is ludicrous, it would be unlikely to be under his feet. It would be behind him or in front of him or beside him. It could be coincidence, but the probability of that note being directly beneath him is small.” He leaned against the bed’s headboard, closing his eyes to picture it in his mind.

  “That is what I thought,” she agreed, snuggling against him. “It seemed to me that it was placed there. And Damon, the chair was at an odd angle.”

  “How so?” Damon opened his eyes and tucked a stray, blond hair behind her ear.

  “It was leaning forward on the floor in front of Marshall, not tipped to the side of him or behind him. If he had hung himself, he would have had to jump off the chair or kick it away, which would either leave it standing, fallen to the side, or behind him, not forward. And how did the mask get there? It was between the rungs of the chair. It doesn’t make sense that he would put it there himself.” Madeline put her head on his shoulder and placed her hand innocently on his inner thigh, not realizing what such an intimate touch could do to a man.

  Trying to ignore her hand, Damon went over all the possible combinations and came to the same conclusion. “I think you are on to something, honey. For that chair to fall forward, he needed to swing his feet up over the bac
k of the chair and kick it forward. It doesn’t make sense to do that, even if he could, while he was hanging himself. Then again, it could be coincidence. As for the mask, I can’t fathom why it would be there, unless he dropped it there.” He picked up her hand from his thigh and kissed it. “Honey, did you tell Brandon all this?”

  “I tried, but he wouldn’t listen. He doesn’t usually do that, but he did this time. I guess he was angry at me for leaving the house,” she pouted, vexed that Brandon had dismissed her opinions on the matter.

  “Madeline, he has a lot on his mind right now. He didn’t mean to hurt you deliberately. If he could have given his whole attention to you, he would have listened and came to the same conclusion you and I have.” Damon caressed her cheek and gazed at her with love in his eyes.

  “You believe me?” Madeline was surprised and excited that he believed her. “You believe that Marshall didn’t kill himself?”

  “I believe that there is that possibility and we need to give it some serious consideration, honey. And if he didn’t kill himself, who did?”

  “The same person who killed Roger Cummings, Zachary Parker, and Lady Beatrice.”

  “Farrington,” Damon said with a curse.

  “No, Damon, it wasn’t Farrington,” she disagreed and lifted her head off his shoulder to meet his eyes in the moonlight. “Yes, he does plan ahead, but Farrington is also impulsive, emotional, and he makes mistakes. No, the person who did all these killings planned them very carefully, methodically. He took pride in his killings. To him, they are a piece of art, each one different from the last.” Madeline fully sat up so she could face him, tucked her legs beneath her, and squeezed Damon’s hand.

  Taking a deep breath, Madeline began to explain her theory. “Zachary Parker was shot, making it seem like his gun exploded. Roger Cummings, I think was poisoned so it was made to resemble a heart attack. I searched through some of Brandon’s medical books and there are herbs and roots that give that effect. Lady Beatrice was smothered with her own pillow, giving the effect that she had stopped breathing in the night as the elderly sometimes do. And Marshall was hanged, making people believe he committed suicide because of the guilt he had over the murders. Each murder was made to be like something else: an accident, natural causes, and a suicide.”

  Madeline shook her head and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Farrington would not bother to take such measures. He would have them killed, plain and simple, like when I was shot which I am sure he orchestrated because I am still alive. And when he killed Joselyn, it was unplanned, a whim. Farrington orders others to do his dirty work or he acts on impulse. He doesn’t always think it through. He would not create some elaborate ruse. Whoever did this, planned it all to the smallest detail, and we fell for it.”

  “Not all of us, Madeline. You didn’t.” Damon smiled at her, kissed her hand, guided her back to sit beside him, and tucked her head against his chest. He was beginning to understand that his new wife was a smart lady, and after listening to her reasoning, he was beginning to think she was right. Nevell was murdered, and if it wasn’t Farrington, who did the deed?

  “Who could it be, Damon?” She wrinkled her nose, wishing she knew the answer.

  “If I knew that love, I could solve the problem and bring the man to justice. However, I do think it is someone you know, or at least, you are someone he knows.”

  Madeline gave a shudder at the possibility. “Oh, he could be a friend, someone I trust.”

  Damon stroked her back to soothe her. “He is no friend, honey, but he wants you to think that.”

  “What are we going to do?” She tilted her head and looked up at him.

  “Tell Brandon in the morning and figure this out before anyone else gets hurt. In the meantime, we are going to focus on keeping you safe from Farrington and from any other threat. If you remember, honey, Farrington wants you dead and he will try to accomplish the deed.” Damon pushed her head back under his chin and stroked her hair. “But he is not going to succeed.”

  “I hope not, Damon.” She shivered with apprehension and snuggled closer to him.

  “I won’t let him, baby,” he replied, laying her down with him and pulling her head onto his chest once more. He kissed her brow and cuddled her close. “Go to sleep, Madeline. You are tired and we can talk more about this tomorrow.”

  “Damon?”

  “Yes, Madeline?”

  “I love you.”

  Damon smiled. “And I love you. Go to sleep,” he whispered and kissed her brow.

  “Damon?”

  Damon sighed. “Yes, Madeline?”

  “Could you make love to me like you had started to . . . forcefully?” Madeline asked shyly, hoping the moonlit room hid her blush.

  Damon chuckled with amusement before tucking her beneath him. “Are you sure that is what you want, honey?”

  With Madeline’s timid nod, Damon slid his fingers between her delicate folds to make sure she was ready for him. Satisfied and pleased that she was, he quickly entered her, lifting her hips to meet his slow and powerful thrusts. Each thrust was harder, faster, and deeper than the last, causing Madeline to gasp and hang onto him. When he lifted her legs over his shoulders, driving himself even deeper into her, she cried out in release. After several more hard thrusts that were almost painful, Madeline felt his seed pump deep inside her. Damon rested his sweating brow against hers to catch his breath. He gave one last powerful thrust and slapped her bottom sharply, causing her to gasp with surprise at his male dominance.

  She regarded him uncertainly as he withdrew from her, took her legs off his shoulders, rolled onto his back, and pulled her tight into his arms. “Damon?”

  He gave her a stern look. “Was that forceful enough for you?”

  She blushed and swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  He slapped her bottom again but harder, making her fully aware of his control over her. Spanking her was not something Damon would ever enjoy, but he had no reservations about doing it when he deemed it necessary. “Next time you have something to discuss with me, do not be afraid to do so. I would never hurt you nor ignore you. And if you desire me to be forceful or gentle, you need to let me know. Is that understood?”

  Madeline nodded her head shyly and blushed again, burying her face in his chest. “Damon?” She mumbled.

  “Yes, Madeline?” He asked patiently while he slowly caressed her hip, soothing away the brief pain he had caused her.

  “I . . . I liked you being so . . . powerful,” she answered timidly and blushed again.

  Damon hooted with laughter and squeezed her tight to him. “I will be sure to be powerful more often.”

  “Damon?” She lifted her head to look at him.

  “Yes, Madeline?” He asked with humor in his voice.

  “I love you.”

  Damon chuckled and marveled at how fortunate he was to be married to such a beautiful woman. Life with Madeline would never be dull. “Ah baby, I love you and everything about you.” He pushed her head back down to his chest. “Now, go to sleep,” he ordered and kissed her brow.

  Damon watched his wife pour tea for her friends, Gretchen and Simon. He actually liked Simon and found him easy going. He was surprised at how well he was fitting into Madeline’s life.

  Henry Cummings was sitting quietly, watching the room. He had arrived earlier to visit Madeline, most likely because he knew Gretchen was here. Damon didn’t know why, but something about the man bothered him. He wasn’t jealous by any means. Madeline had no interest in the man, but she did feel she had to be polite to him. Henry had been, after all, a suitor of Joselyn’s, and now, Gretchen’s. Damon didn’t think Henry was suited for Gretchen. There was something decidedly odd about the man. Damon’s attention turned to Brandon as he entered the room. “Brandon, Madeline had a revelation last night that I think you might be interested in. Something about Nevell.”

  “Madeline, not this again. I thought Nevell’s death was all cleared up,” Brandon sighed as he poured himself
a brandy.

  “Maybe for you it was, but for me, it wasn’t,” Madeline replied testily.

  “I think you should hear her out, Brandon. She makes some good points,” Damon insisted.

  Brandon sat down and gestured towards her. “All right, puss. I am listening.”

  Madeline observed the faces around her not wanting to discuss the issue in front of guests, but since she finally had Brandon’s attention on the matter, she wasn’t willing to let the moment pass. “It is the swatches, the mask, and the glasses that first bothered me,” she started.

  Henry interjected, confused, “Swatches?”

  “Yes, swatches,” she said, her eyes flicking in Henry’s direction. “Lord Marshall was planning on redecorating his dining room. The man loved to redecorate. He had told me he had many fabric samples, swatches, from the upholstery company he was using for his redecorating. It is the same company I use so I recognized their samples. In fact, Lord Marshall was the one who introduced me to the company. They have fair prices, but that doesn’t matter at the moment,” she added quickly when she saw Brandon losing interest. “Anyway, when I went into the room, the swatches were scattered on the floor. I know for any other man that is not a big deal. Many men are a bit messy. But Lord Marshall wasn’t. He had always been very neat and particular. He would never have left them lying on the floor,” she explained. “Nor would he have left two glasses on his desk, one being empty, the other full.”

  “What is unusual about that, Madeline? I leave glasses on my desk and never give it another thought,” Simon interjected.

  Madeline frowned at him. “Not Marshall. I remember on one of his visits here, I had placed a glass of sherry on the parlor desk where I had left a letter, and Lord Marshall had insisted on moving it. He told me to be more careful and to never leave a drink on the desk because it could spill and ruin the letters or other papers that might be there. He was very concerned about that glass spilling. I can’t imagine he would be so careless as to leave a full glass on his own desk.”