Cassie played with the new invention, while he unbuttoned her skirt at the waist.
“Keep it low.” He spoke in a quiet undertone, easing the fabric down along her left side. He untied her petticoat and drawers just enough to reveal a tangled web of exquisite, colored calligraphy scrawled artfully across a curve of hip. Each word interwoven brilliantly into the next and executed in the most charming manner front to back. Truth be told? She had never regretted getting it.
She handed the impressive gadget over to him. “The power source, is it—?”
“Experimental dry cell batteries, my dear.”
The small spotlight illuminated the script. “La douleur passe, la beauté reste.” Zeno softly chuckled as he read the words.
“Pierre-Auguste Renoir. The very instructor who so upset me earlier in the day.” Her voice gentled at the memory.
“The pain passes, but the beauty remains.”
Chapter Thirteen
Zeno could not take his eyes off the swirling cursive letters that wandered over the sweet curve of her hip. Mesmerized, he surrendered to the beguiling, bohemian soul of Cassandra St. Cloud.
Without permission, he bowed his head and brushed his lips across artfully drawn words and velvet skin. Her flesh burned hot under his lips. Closing his eyes, he inhaled violet soap and something even more wondrous.
Mysterious female.
He pulled her into his arms and pressed another kiss to her temple. “What a stout little lass you were to trot off to Paris at such an age. I take it your parents had no objections?”
“Oh, Father had plenty, even as Mother pushed me out the door.”
“Ah yes, the original liberated woman in your family.”
She retied her drawers. “The only eyebrow Olivia Erskine ever raised at me was when I accepted Thomas.” Cassie settled against his chest. “Mother thought him an interloper to my aspirations as a painter.”
“I believe your mother is more of a suffragist than you, madam.”
He kept an arm around her. “Mrs. St. Cloud has a tattoo on her hip,” he gently chided. “Has your mother seen it? I daresay she might have chosen a different maxim. Perhaps, ‘Votes for Women Everywhere.’ I believe that is the new war cry, is it not?”
He received a wary, lopsided grin. “Be careful, Zak, my mother is dear friends with Emmeline Pankhurst. You would not want the Women’s Franchise League circling Scotland Yard in placards.”
A hansom cab pulled up alongside their carriage. Zeno peered out the street side window. “It’s Rafe.”
The coach door opened and banged shut as a new passenger jumped in and sat opposite. Zeno rapped on the roof of the coach. “Let’s roll up a bit closer.”
Wisps of hazy fog crept along the cobbled lane as the carriage made a slow circle of the block. They stopped in a different section of a narrow cross street. The faint glow from a distant gas lamp made it difficult to see across the short expanse of the coach’s interior.
“You’re late. I was worried.” Zeno laced his whisper with sarcasm.
“Kiss to you, too, mate. Supper got off to a beastly start. Aggie insisted on retelling the bloody details of her birthing story until we were all off our appetites.
“My dear sister just whelped a new pup.” Rafe pulled out a thin cigar and held it up. “Do you mind?”
Cassie stared wide-eyed at his partner. “Not at all. Enjoy your cigar.” Slowly she raised a brow. “I thought your family hailed from Scotland, Mr. Lewis.”
A flick of his wrist shook out the match. “My sister fell in love. Married an MP, one with serious political ambitions. They live here in London most of the year. And I believe you preferred Raphael, did you not? Because I’m an angel.” His partner swept a long, appreciative gaze over her. “How delightful to meet again, Cassandra.”
“This evening she is Miss Seguret.” Until this moment, Zeno had never given much thought to how winsome the younger man was. It rankled him.
Cassie’s lopsided grin telegraphed a wary amusement. “Ah well, names aren’t really called for in this line of endeavor, at least not real ones.”
“Right you are, miss.” After a flirtatious smile, he returned to Zeno. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing a date, Zak. Anything of interest yet?”
“Deadly dull so far. Not the lady’s company, mind you, but the drop.” Zeno tucked a coarse woolen blanket around Cassie.
Rafe lifted an eyebrow, thoroughly diverted. “Dear me, it appears I have interrupted a charming tryst of some kind.”
Zeno eyeballed him. “Mr. Lewis. This was supposed to be your night, along with Flynn and Kitty.” He gave a nod to Cassie. “Miss Seguret was kind enough to volunteer for duty.”
Rafe shrugged. “Difficult for Kitty to break away some nights, and I suspect Mr. Rhys has been spending time with the green fairy.”
Zeno grunted. “I need Rhys off the absinthe and away from Limehouse if he’s going to be any help to us.”
“He’s not back in opium dens, if that makes—”
Cassie shushed them both and put a finger to her lips. Zeno and Rafe exchanged a grin and hunkered down quietly. A freight lorry, burdened with a heavy load, pulled up suspiciously close to the old boardinghouse.
“Where exactly is this drop located?” Her gaze swept the building across the street.
“A flat, abovestairs.” Zeno nodded upward.
She pointed from the wagon on the street to the second floor. They all noted an indistinct shape travel past an upstairs window. “It’s a woman,” she whispered.
Zeno spoke softly in her ear. “How do you know?”
She answered without taking her eyes off the scene. “Not sure exactly. The window must be open, or I could not have seen a thing.”
Zeno dipped his head to have a look at the row of glass frames. “How so?”
She scanned the upper floor. “Note the dark square at the end of the row. There’s no glare or reflection from the streetlamp directly opposite. Therefore, the window must be open.”
Rafe Lewis grinned. “And would that be based on science or art, miss?”
Cassie thought a moment. “An impressionist’s observation, based on the shifting effects of light and color.”
Zeno donned a tweed cap. “Ready to go to work, ma fille de joie?”
He helped her out of the carriage and they made a quick run around the corner to come up behind the parked lorry in the alley.
“I take it Mr. Lewis was assigned to Margaret Fayette’s soiree to spy on me?” Her eyes flashed silver sparks. Hard to tell if she was just annoyed or truly furious.
“He was assigned to spy on Delamere.” Zeno pulled her into a narrow niche at the side of the building. “And protect you.”
“From now on you’re not to spy on me unless …”
“And when would that be, love?” Zeno needled her in character. Nostrils flaring, eyes flashing, she was angry, all right. He opened the buttons to her coat.
“Stop that.” She slapped his hands away. “What are you doing?”
“Put your hands around my neck and lift your knee.” He could feel her heart pound as he grabbed hold of her waist and lifted her up against the rough brick exterior. Zeno moved his hands under her bottom for support and encouraged her to wrap her legs around him.
“Throw a leg up, love, and let’s play smashbox.” Zeno spoke loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. Cassie moaned and then giggled uncontrollably. Out of fright—hysteria? Whatever caused her reaction, it was exactly what he wanted. He thrust up against her, and added a few loud grunts before he figured they’d attracted enough attention.
“Use your anger, Cassie,” he whispered. “Yell me off.”
“Off—you filthy pig, descendez! I am … une fille travaillant—I must work for a living.”
Cassie’s impromptu threats were delivered with a lot of temper and a trace of French coquetry. A pretty whore used to dealing with unwanted advances. “Bully—horrible.” She pushed him off and gave him an ex
tra shove. “Merde!”
Fully aroused from their erotic brawling, Zeno choked back a laugh and stepped away. She straightened her dress and coat, but left the buttons undone. Good girl.
“Ye pain me, ma chère, but I’ll have ye soon enough.” Zeno grabbed her and kissed her mouth. She struggled and pushed back until he let her go. She walked away yelling insults. “Imbécile … crétin … do not touch me. Ne touchez pas!”
He glanced ahead. They had captured the undivided attention of the laborers standing beside the lorry. Zeno quickly caught up and grabbed her by the arm. Cassie continued to shrug off his hold.
Two laborers unstrapping the load stopped as Zeno and Cassie weaved a path through the men.
“Hey now, where dah ye think you two’er goin’? Let’s have an eyeful of this fancy bird, lads—”
Zeno swung around and addressed him. “Sorra mate, this sweet tart is on her way to a gentleman’s bed.”
“Crème fraîche, monsieurs.” Cassie flashed a smile.
“She’s tits-up, awl right; ’ave a look.” Zeno moved behind her and threw open her coat. With every eye off the wagon, Zeno glimpsed a flurry of movement as a shadow dove under the tarpaulin. Good. Rafe was inside the storage compartment.
Zeno shrugged. “Makin’ a house call this evening, gents, but ye can give her the goods anytime after.” He prayed he wouldn’t have to fight them off. Several of the men looked ready to drop their drawers in the street.
“You got yours, na giv’us a tap.”
Zeno forced a grin. “Wha’, me? Nah, just coppin’ a taste. I’d get the nobbler if the abbess ever caught my wanker in this gorgeous tosser.”
“How much for the doxy?”
He tipped his cap and scratched his head. “Well now, that depends on what ye want and how long ye’ll take.”
A large young tough with a ruddy face rubbed his crotch. “She’ll take every inch of me. Aye, lads?”
Zeno caught Cassie by the coattail and backed away. Her beauty worked like a charm, luring the men farther down the lane.
“Catch yez on our way back. Give ’em another look, miss.”
Cassie opened her coat. “Voilà —you like?”
At the sound of their hollers and groans, Zeno grabbed her hand and pulled. At a half walk, half run they made it around the building. The footsteps of at least one man followed close behind.
“Hold on,” he whispered. The moment the docker turned the corner, Zeno landed a stiff punch to the man’s jaw. The huge bruiser staggered but didn’t fall.
A dark figure leaped out from a wall niche wielding a heavy piece of timber. Thwack! The board struck the side of their pursuer’s head and the poor bloke crumbled to the ground.
Flynn Rhys, the errant Yard man, emerged from the shadows. “Get her to safety, Zak. I’ll make sure this one stays put.”
Zeno nodded. “Keep a lookout for Rafe. Come along, darling.” He grabbed her hand and she rucked up her skirts. Neither of them dared to slow their pace until they reached the old carriage parked at the end of the street.
Zeno yanked open the door, tossed Cassie inside, and threw himself upon her.
He whipped an arm around her waist and moved her farther under him. Neither gentle nor undemanding with his kisses, he moved down to her breasts. Try as he might, he could not contain his desire. His tongue lapped over thin fabric, his fingers pulled down her camisole until he uncovered a pale rosy tip for his mouth.
Erect and ready, his body was so charged with lust that if she so much as touched any part of his lower anatomy, he would lose all semblance of control. Reluctantly, he released her and returned the lacy undergarment to its proper place. “I ended our tryst in the garden last night, not to arrange for a spy, Cassie, but to scare up a bit of last-minute security for you.”
Her warm sigh brushed over his cheek and ear. “Perhaps I do remember a grumble from you about protection.”
The creak and whine of the carriage door abruptly ended the discussion.
Rafe jumped in ahead of Flynn, who rapped on the cabin roof, and with a lurch they were off.
Zeno pulled her coat together and fastened a button before he tugged her upright.
“Libidos fired up?” Rafe cast a roving eye over their newest operative. “I know mine is. I just heard the show you two put on—didn’t get to see it.”
Zeno ignored both his coworkers and hugged her tight. “You were brilliant. We should put you on the payroll.”
“The expense ledger will note a Miss—?” Flynn raised a brow.
She exhaled breathless words. “Émilie Seguret.”
His errant operative leaned forward. “Ah yes, Miss Seguret, ravishing French tart.”
Even in the dark, Zeno could make out Flynn’s wink. He tempered the urge to frown and settled on a grin. For not entirely justifiable reasons, he held Rhys in some regard, even though he considered the man dangerous. Flynn continued to be irksome, eccentric, and very often brilliantly deductive. “Mr. Rhys, how is it your lack of punctuality always manages to work to our advantage?”
“I have an aptitude for timing.” Dark eyes glimmered as the agent shifted his attention back to Cassie. “Rather an exciting night out for you … Émilie.”
She returned Flynn’s enigmatic half smile. “I haven’t had this much fun since my brothers and I picked the lock of the village chemist shop and raided his candy bins.”
Flushed with excitement and disheveled by his kisses, she had never looked more beautiful. “We pinched a single piece from each canister with the idea that no one would be the wiser.” She shivered. He knew the reaction well. She trembled from the nervous aftermath of adventure as much as the chill in the air. Zeno kept his arm around her.
“And did you fool the chemist?”
“Hardly. It turns out my youngest brother, Rob, help-ed himself to a few extra pocketfuls. And old Alastair Trumble made it a habit to take regular inventory. Word got ’round he was on the lookout for the culprits who broke in and nicked the toffees.”
The agents across the aisle exchanged amused looks.
“I decided to deliver us from sin before we were found out. I made my brothers chip in—nineteen pence—two-a-penny. Exactly the number of missing sweets. I folded up the coins in a paper and left the packet on the shop counter. Ran all the way home, heart pounding, sure that someone had seen me and was on their way to Muirfield to have me arrested.”
“Have you always been the moral compass for the rest of your siblings?” Zeno mocked.
Cassie huffed. “Nothing moral about it. I just didn’t want to get caught. I wanted,” she captured them all with an earnest look, “to get away with it.”
Zak and Rafe burst into laughter. Flynn grinned. “Enchanted, madam, to have you on our team.”
The carriage turned a corner and lamplight filled the cabin. Cassie narrowed a curious gaze at his other cohort. “And was your part in our little spy pageant productive?”
Rafe hesitated, his eyes shifted to Zeno.
“I suppose you couldn’t tell me one way or the other.” A pretty but rueful grin caused Rafe to raise both brows for help.
“It’s for your own protection.” Zeno peered out the window. Charing Cross Station lay ahead. “Ah, here we are. Quint will see you safely home.”
At the train terminal, Zeno escorted her to his carriage and helped her inside. Before shutting the door, he thanked her again for her assistance. “Take some warm milk tonight. It helps me when I come home late, keyed up.”
From well inside the coach, she leaned forward. “If I hadn’t been on the job with you this evening, there would have been another woman, an agent or perhaps a prostitute in your employ?”
A stab of doubt rankled his composure. He thought of all the liberties he had taken with her this evening. Would he have done the same with another female operative? Well no, not … exactly. A truthful answer could mean the end of their relationship. He nodded his head and waited.
“Get in here and k
iss me goodnight, Detective Kennedy.” She grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him into the cabin. Her hand swept under his coat and across his chest, bumping into the heavy weight of the revolver stuffed inside his jacket pocket.
Zeno grinned. “My Webley Break-Top. Just in case those blokes at the lorry got a bit too fresh with ye.”
“You’re going to be busy for the rest of the night, and then perhaps the day after?” She unbuttoned his shirt. Just one button, enough to fit her hand through the worn, checked shirt.
“I’m afraid so.” He was tempted to knock on the roof and tell Quint to head for home and take the long route. He would take her here in the carriage. Plunge his aching prick into heaven. His entire body shuddered from the effort it took to hold back.
Her mouth played over his, moist and delectable. Her fingernails scraped gently along the flesh of his stomach, which caused his pulse to race, and his voice to sound like gravel. “I want ye bad, lassie.” He brushed a few strands of hair from her face. “I dinna think ye’d mind if I call the locksmith and have a key made for the door between us?” He kissed her one last time.
He debarked from the carriage, his bollocks a right pretty shade of blue. “Tomorrow night, ten o’clock.”
Zeno returned to the old coach and tapped the roof. It was still early enough to sniff around another drop site. From the look on his partner’s face, he suspected Rafe coveted excellent news.
Flynn spoke first. “One stunning girl you’ve got there, Zeno. And what a fast mover you are. Your new neighbor I take it, the lovely widow?”
Rafe nodded. “The lads back at the office will be impressed. A right ravishing beauty and a clever wit. Passionate, too, I suppose, you might as well have all the luck.”
Zeno’s warning glare shifted from one investigator to the other. “I haven’t got her yet, and if I ever do it will be none of your business. Now, you bloody well tell me what I want to hear.”
Rafe crossed his arms and rocked along happily with the rumbling coach. “Just a bunch of wooden crates, plain enough, until I found a shipping label, half torn off. Could only make out six grubby words—The Giant Powder Company, San Francisco.”
An Affair with Mr. Kennedy Page 13
