An Affair with Mr. Kennedy

by Jillian Stone

  The latch turned and clicked.

  Zeno paced the floor outside her room. He supposed he looked as guilty as sin itself. Even now, he likely appeared wild-eyed and desperate. How had such a debacle happened? Moments ago he was making love to the woman of his heart and inches away from having her. A dull ache throbbed through his body.

  He strode up and down the corridor until his pacing threatened to wear a spot in the carpet runner. Earlier this evening he had waved off her escorts: gendarmes, who were also to have guarded her room tonight. That left no one but him to keep watch.

  Zeno exhaled and settled himself against the wall of the corridor. He reviewed his mistakes, including the awful choice of words he used to describe interactions with Jayne during interrogation.

  Perhaps the most romantic night of his life, ruined by a faux pas.

  What exactly had he fallen into with Cassie? He thought about the word love. Certainly, she had tempted him from the moment he turned around that first morning in the mews. Or perhaps even earlier, the moment she stepped out of the carriage to take possession of Number 10. He remembered how patiently she untangled the hounds caught up in leashes and skirt.

  Odd bits of their courtship sprang to mind. Zeno recalled every passionate evening and wondered, if he never made love to her again, were there enough memories to cherish for a lifetime? He refused to think about losing her.

  Her door opened.

  NO MATTER HOW vexed she might be, Cassie’s heart skipped a beat when she found him standing in the hallway. A knight in tarnished armor stalwartly guarded her door. Her stomach fluttered as the infuriating siren in her body sang silent love songs.

  Zeno raised his head and a shock of hair fell forward. He leaned against the wall in the corridor, his smile slight and sufficiently chastened. “I can explain.”

  She opened the door wider.

  His eyes bulged.

  His mouth dropped open.

  She wore a new, pale blue French corset and matching camisole edged in black satin ribbon and small bows, the silk fabric sheer enough for him to see all of her. Brief pantalets, black silk stockings, and pale blue garters completed the effect.

  A dark fire ignited in his eyes.

  Lowering her gaze she discovered the lingerie lived up to the shopkeeper’s promise. “Mother once explained to me that a man has little governance over his penis when it comes to arousal, but a commanding mastery over whom he chooses to couple with.”

  A slow, thin-lipped smile widened on his face. “Dr. Erskine is a very wise woman.”

  He launched himself off the wall and swept her up into his arms. Carrying her into the room, he made a half turn, hooked the door with his foot, and slammed it shut.

  “Bedroom?”

  “Mon Dieu.” Cassie moaned. “After days without you I can think of nothing else.” She pointed the way.

  Zeno placed her on the edge of the plain four-poster and yanked off her pantalets. “Very pretty, but they are in my way.”

  Cassie uttered sighs of encouragement as he unhooked the exquisite French undergarment. He stood between her raised knees, gently stroking the insides of her thighs. “Let’s keep the stockings on for now.” A lazy grin enhanced the desire in his eyes.

  She lay naked and spread out before him. She wore nothing but black hose and pale blue garters. Her bare upper limbs trembled, waiting, anticipating his kiss.

  His sensuous mouth caressed the inside flesh of her thighs. He leaned farther over her torso to suckle nipples that were pointed and ready. Gently at first, and then harder. Her hips arched as a wave of excitement shot through her.

  She moaned her own directive. “I will see all of you, Zak.”

  He did not remove his covetous, hungry gaze as he tore at his necktie. Cassie ripped the buttons off his slacks and his erection sprang to life in front of her. She stroked hard, smooth velvet.

  His eyes closed and his head dropped back with a groan. She blew a warm breeze the length of his phallus and he tore at his shirt buttons. Shedding the rest of his clothes, she caught a glimpse of chiseled buttocks, the product of years of horsemanship and rugby. Moisture grew between her legs as she admired the man’s lean, hard body and long muscular legs.

  Her man.

  She lay back on the bed linen propped on her elbows. “Such a handsomely built detective inspector.”

  He placed himself between her legs. “And he is about to investigate.” Grabbing her knees, he yanked her bottom to the edge of the bed.

  His mouth pressed past the light brown curls between her legs as she flung her arms overhead and abandoned herself to the long, slow strokes of his tongue. The man had a devilish way of encouraging this sensuous, wicked side of her. His hands moved over the flat of her belly to cup her breasts and rub over hardened peaks. She shuddered.

  “You are the most exquisitely beautiful thing I have ever seen.” He voiced the very words she had been thinking—about him.

  She arched as his fingers brushed past moist curls. He teased her until she asked for what she wanted. “Inside me. Now.”

  “It is my pleasure to give you pleasure.” He used one, then two fingers to delve deep. She pressed into him as his lips and tongue found the engorged spot between her legs to suckle and stroke and circle.

  “Yes.” Her body vibrated in arousal.

  “I am intoxicated by the taste of you.” His mouth glistened with her essence. His every touch became a testament to his affection. He paused, paying careful attention to her every moan and sigh, every arch and shudder. As she neared the edge, he lifted his fingers away. “I shall prolong your climax.”

  She growled at his deliberate delay and, in challenge, took hold of his shaft and stroked until he forced her hand away. “Cassie,” he groaned, “I have no idea how long I will be able to last. I have restrained a substantial passion for you all evening.”

  He crawled on top of her, a predatory animal after his mate. His rigid, jerking organ ready for penetration. She reached out and he swept her into her arms.

  She drew his mouth down over a breast and he suckled and nipped and fondled each nipple while she uttered nonsensical words, in the vernacular of the animal kingdom.

  He broke off to come up for air. “Such beautiful, speechless speech.”

  “And what of yours?” She raised herself up on her elbows to reach his nipples. “What mindless words shall you make?” She tongued and nibbled until he groaned from her caressing.

  Reaching under, to the small of her back, he slid his hands lower to cup each buttock. He tilted her pelvis so that she might take all of him. He eased in gently, inch by inch, until he filled her up with the hard, smooth length of his phallus.

  And she took all of him. Answered every thrust. Wrapping her legs about his hips, she drew him in. He spoke against her lips. “I will see your finish, Cassie.” Commanding, insistent, and completely generous, he coaxed her ever closer, driving in and out until she hovered at the point of orgasm. As if on cue her body shattered into a million pieces of pleasure, shuddered, then bucked beneath him.

  He pulled her tight, for he meant to feel every small contraction ripple through her body. “Ahh. God yes,” he groaned; his climax came with the next deep thrust. And he answered her sighs with whispers of soft-spoken declarations. Far from the mindless utterances a man used in the throes of passion. These were emotions long stored away in his heart, released into the air, a fleeting gift to her, which made them irrevocable and glorious.

  Abruptly, he pulled out. “We didn’t use a rubber.” He flopped down onto the bed, and gulped for air. His breathing harsh, his groan deep.

  She added her moan to his. “We have been rather hit-or-miss at this condom business, haven’t we?” She threw a leg over his thigh, tucking herself into the curve his body.

  “I’ll purchase some first thing in the morning. As soon as I find an open barbershop.”

  Cassie brushed her hand through the small hairs of his chest. “Tomorrow is Sunday.”

/>   “Bollocks.” The utterance was all he could manage as her fingernails moved down his chest. She licked a nipple and his lower extremity jerked.

  “Cassie, please.” If the animal in him got its way, he would have her again and again until they were both raw from it.

  Resting her chin on his chest, she ran a hand down his trim stomach and made the muscles contract. Gently, she played with a pearl of semen that emerged from the tip of his penis. “There are other ways, are there not, of pleasing each other?”

  He opened a sleepy eye, and propped an arm behind his head. “And what do you know of such things?”

  Cassie tilted her head. “I was married. Briefly.”

  “Did you give your husband pleasure in unorthodox ways?”

  “I wanted to.” She colored a bit. “But he had a mistress to provide such services.”

  Zeno’s eyes darkened. “He informed you of this?”

  “Rather emphatically.” Her gaze met his then flicked away. “He informed me a lady did not perform fellatio. That he kept a mistress to perform such services, amongst other duties.”

  Zeno snorted. “The man didn’t realize what he had in his own bed.”

  She toyed with his chest hair. “It took me months after he died to let go of my resentment.”

  He tilted her chin to look him in the eye. “Perhaps I understand why this revelation with Jayne so upset you.” He grimaced. “Not that your history gives me room for excuse. I was wrong not to have told you. But I honestly feel nothing for her.”

  Now it was her turn to snort. “Nothing except anger, pain, betrayal, and by your own admittance, arousal.”

  “But not in my heart.” His fingers gently plied through the waves of her hair. “Faithful, loyal, devoted—that’s me, Cassandra.”

  She squinted at him. “Yes, I do believe you are a constant man.” It took little more than a delicate caress from her fingers to make him groan.

  “Come to think of it, I might have a condom packet in my coat.”

  Cassie slipped off the bed in search of his overcoat. He smiled at the sight of her naked bottom and nymphlike romp about the room. She pulled a small red leather box tied with a gold cord from the pocket. Heat appeared to travel up her chest and throat, bathing her cheeks in a blush of color.

  “I did a bit of shopping on my own yesterday.” He studied her expression carefully as she pulled the cord and opened the hinged jewel case. “Oh, Zak, it’s beautiful.” Her eyes glistened with fear? Joy? There was a nervous tremble in her voice.

  He cleared his throat. “Think of it as a token of my esteem. And a promise of partnership should you ever decide to open the doors between our residences … permanently. We could even tear down a wall, if you want.”

  She sat down beside him and slipped the ring onto her finger. She held out her hand for him to admire. Zeno kissed each knuckle, including her ring finger. He squinted. “Lovely. Do you like it?”

  She kissed the tip of his nose. “A very large diamond, in the most beautiful setting imaginable.”

  “Yes, Paris does seem to be the right venue for this sort of thing.”

  Cassie snorted a laugh. “And what sort of thing is this? Exactly?”

  Zeno stared at her. Several moments passed like a millennium. “Marry me—in several years, if you wish.” He propped himself on an elbow. “Whatever feels comfortable. You don’t have to say yes tonight. Perhaps a thrilling ‘maybe’? Or a stimulating ‘let me think about it.’”

  Cassie turned her hand side to side and admired the ring. “I cannot imagine anything more arousing than what we just did in bed.”

  “As we come to know one another, what we do together intimately will become even better.”

  “My heart races at the very thought of better.” She swept back a wild lock of hair to get a better look at a languid, shriveled penis. “And when will Detective Kennedy be …?”

  “Spent, for now.” Zeno flopped onto his back. “Do you see what you do to me? I am completely and utterly devoid of utility.” He opened his eye a crack. “Give him a moment.”

  Her smile was light, girlish. “So, you want me for life, then?”

  “My dear, you are a wanton fille de joie, a nymphet of the highest order, and I consider myself the luckiest man in the entire world.”

  “I will give you my answer in twenty-two months, then.”

  “Twenty-two months?” His stare was comically incredulous. “Why that long?”

  Cassie shrugged. “A nice bit longer than a year, but not quite two.”

  “Good God. The gestation period of an elephant, if I’m not mistaken.” Without a pause he swept her into his arms. “Ah well, I knew you’d say yes.”

  “I haven’t said yes.”

  He nuzzled her throat. “Oh, but you will … eventually.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Zeno stepped into the familiar morning light of the breakfast room. The aroma of warm bread and eggs reaffirmed they were back in London and safely home.

  “Top of the morning, Mr. Kennedy. Set yourself down beside your guest and have a wee bit of breakfast.” Mrs. Woolsey piled a mound of egg onto a plate of kippers.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Woolsley.” He nodded to Cassie’s brother, who raised a friendly fork in greeting. “Morning, Zak.”

  From the platter on the sideboard, he added a ham slice to his plate and poured himself a glass of juice. He picked up the Times from the buffet. “Where’s Cassie?” He settled into a chair and opened the paper.

  Rob stuffed a forkful of mouthwatering smoked fish into his mouth and still managed an answer. “She ate a bit of toast and ran off to Mother’s.”

  “Said she wouldn’t be long, sir.” Alma turned over a cup and poured his coffee. “Back in time for luncheon.”

  He frowned. “She left here on her own?”

  Rob set down his paper. “I volunteered my escort but she wouldn’t have me.”

  Alma brushed against Zeno’s shoulder and set down his toast. “Best that Mrs. St. Cloud resumes her regular goings about, Mr. Kennedy, now that the danger is past.”

  His housekeeper meant well. And it was most likely excellent advice. Sooner or later he must let go of these nagging fears about her safety and let his brave and beautiful bird soar above the crowd.

  “I can hardly believe you’re back, sir. And with such lovely company, at that.” Alma smiled sweetly at Rob.

  Zeno grinned between forkfuls of egg. “I expect you will get used to having this Erskine clan about, Mrs. Wools-ley.”

  Aware his housekeeper hovered nearby, he folded his paper over and continued reading.

  “I will say, sir, that it was right quiet around here while you were gone. Although I did get a devilish story out of young Bert Daniels, the other day. Works for Mr. Woolsley, he does. Seems he overheard two shifty types in a pub down south of the Tower.”

  She fluttered nervously around the table. “What the young man was doing in those dodgy parts, don’t ask me.”

  Zeno set down his paper and stared at the woman. “You are obviously beside yourself to tell me, Mrs. Woolsley.”

  Alma fidgeted with her apron. “Bert claimed the two blokes, right pissed they were, mentioned Westminster Abbey.”

  He bit off a bit of buttered toast. “What about the Abbey?”

  “Well, sir, I can’t quite figure a way to put it all together.” She paused, her face twisted up by the riddle. “‘If the sticks don’t blow her to kingdom come, the shots will find their mark, sure enough.’”

  Chewing his toast, Zeno registered a moderate uptick in pulse rate as he considered her story. “What day is today?”

  “Why, look at your paper, Mr. Kennedy, it’s the twentieth of June, the queen’s fiftieth anniversary—Victoria’s Golden Jubilee.” His housekeeper beamed, glancing at the mantel clock. “The parade starts in little more than an hour, I believe.”

  His spine straightened. In his mind’s eye, he was back in Paris, moments before he and Delamere were
rescued from what would have been a fatal fall from the tower. “Case closed, not a window left open? We shall see, Mr. Kennedy.” An odd message, spoken by a delirious cornered man. Nonetheless, Zeno had pondered Delamere’s cryptic words often enough these last few days. Having taken down their headman, as well as key operatives, the Clan would be forced to go to ground—regroup. Seemed logical, indeed necessary, but had they? He eyeballed his soon to be brother-in-law, who appeared more absorbed in eggs and kippers than the morning news. “Did the Telegraph print a map of the parade route?”

  Rob opened up and refolded the front page. “Here it is.” He thumped the engraving with his finger and pushed the paper toward Zeno.

  He squinted at the engraving. “She crosses over Westminster Bridge, and past a good length of Parliament’s impressive facade, to attend services at Westminster Abbey.”

  Banks of windows came to mind, row upon row of them lined up like soldiers across the stone surface of the palace. His mind shifted to Paris. Once again, Lord Delamere’s rambling, delusional last words. “Case closed, not a stick of dynamite left unaccounted for, nor window left untended? We shall see, Kennedy.” His mind ticked off every possible scenario. He imagined the barrel shaft of a rifle—several of them—all pointed in the direction of the Abbey.

  “We haven’t got a moment to waste.” Zeno shot up from his chair. “Rob, do you still have those rockets at the bottom of the travel trunk?”

  Rob wiped a few crumbs off an open mouth. “Crikey, Zak, are we off again?”

  Halfway out the room, Zeno pivoted. “Mrs. Woolsley, put Rory on Skye and have him ride hell-for-leather to the Yard. I need every man they can spare. Have them meet me inside the Abbey.”

  Eyes wide, Alma shook her head. “Oh, sir, you don’t think they’d hurt the dear—”

  “No time to fret, Mrs. Woolsley, on your way.” Zeno made for the door.

  CASSIE TOOK A seat on the examination table as Olivia closed up the empty clinic. “Such excitement over Victoria’s Golden Jubilee. I understand thousands already line the parade route.”