Her heart beat faster and her breathing quickened. Her hands found his dark hair, sliding through the silky locks “But the inspector—”
“Damn the inspector.” Julian took the petticoat from her hand and threw it onto a chair.
“Your tresses are like burnished bronze in this light.”
Pins flew everywhere as he freed her hair from the hasty bun she repined on returning to the house. Twining his fingers through her curls, he gently brought her face closer to his. “My love.” The sheer delight of his slow kiss heated her body with yearning, making her feel so intoxicated she could hardly stand.
He drew away and smiled. “I’ve missed your mouth.” He kissed her nose. “And that tip-tilted nose of yours.” His hands trembled, and he looked so vulnerable she wanted to hug him to her.
“I missed you too, Julian, oh so much.”
“I love you, Vanessa. I’ve been an idiot not to tell you. I suppose I was gun-shy after Clara. Afraid of being hurt again.”
His admission brought her such pleasure, she gasped and reached for him, silencing him with a deep passionate kiss. “I love you, Julian, oh so very much.”
“I haven’t been thinking too clearly for some time, I’m afraid. Clara grew up in Paris. She was used to a glamorous life and grew quickly bored here. I’m afraid I wasn’t the right man for her. I knew there was someone else, but I didn’t know who it was. When she died in the carriage accident, I struggled with grief and guilt. I felt I’d let her down by being away so much, spending so much time with my work. And since, I’ve desperately tried to make it up to Blythe for losing her mother.”
Vanessa put her hand to his cheek, “Darling…”
“Let’s get these damn clothes off.” He fumbled impatiently at her corset. “Why did you wear this infernal thing today?”
She laughed and put her hand over his. “Let me help.”
He was hers. She had been prepared to fight for him even if it meant wrestling him away from Abigail Patterson. But she had been more afraid she couldn’t win against Clara, who would always remain young and very lovely. When her corset dropped to the floor, she tugged his shirt from the waistband of his trousers as impatient as he. It drew a husky laugh from him.
His laugh sent joy spiraling through her. He had been through so much, and she longed to comfort him, with everything she had to offer. To ease the hurt caused him by two selfish and immoral people. She let her bloomers pool at her feet. Emboldened by her feminine power, she stepped out of them and shamelessly stripped off her chemise. Naked, she unrolled her stockings as Julian’s trousers joined the rest of his clothes on the floor.
Moments later, they tumbled naked onto the bed.
His weight settled over her. Skin to skin, she hugged him close. Everything would be all right now. Her fingers stroked over his ribs, feeling each bone, more pronounced than before his trip, moving down over the curve of his lower back to his rounded buttocks, reassuring herself that he had returned unhurt. He was still a fine specimen of a man. He caressed her, stoking the fire that burned for his touch. She opened her legs and drew him in. To be joined with him brought her close to crying before his thrusts carried her away. She’d felt like a violin string strung too tightly over the past months, so missing his body and this essential part of their lives.
Julian stilled. “Don’t move,” he said, his voice strained. She chewed her lip. “But I want to move.”
“Don’t… aah…” With a groan, he thrust into her in an urgent rhythm. Waves of bliss shuddered through her, sending heat racing to pool at the very core of her.
Julian joined her, spilling his seed inside her. She loved that he’d let go and given in to his emotions.
“That was over too fast.” His sleepy blue eyes, still capable of a fiery erotic glance, stole her breath. He rested a hand on her stomach, stroking upwards to cup a breast as their breathing slowed. “Perhaps we have made a baby.”
She widened her eyes. “Do you want another child?”
“I do. Do you?”
“Oh, yes.” Vanessa smiled at him. “But I wasn’t sure that you did.”
Julian reluctantly rose and began to dress. He watched her smooth her stockings over her legs. “Such arousing things, stockings. Especially peeling them off.”
As she put on her shoes, Vanessa was sorry they had to hurry downstairs. The air carried the heady scents of their lovemaking and she wanted to return to the rumpled bed with him.
Julian opened the door and held out his hand to her. She slipped hers into his strong clasp.
Filled with love for him, she smiled into his blue eyes. Now that he was home, her new life could begin.
More about Maggi
Thanks for reading The Mystery at Falconbridge Hall. My love of Victoria Holt’s wonderful Gothic novels inspired me to write it. I hope you enjoyed it. An honest review is always appreciated.
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Enjoy the first three chapters of The Baron’s Wife.
Chapter One
Wimbledon, England, Summer 1899
Heathcliff, a character from Wuthering Heights, came to Laura’s mind after a brief glance at the troubled brow of the dark-haired gentleman waiting silently beside her. They’d come from different directions and sought shelter from the rain beneath a building’s awning. The late afternoon was gray and dismal, the lowering clouds taking on a set-in appearance. Rain dripped steadily from the rim of the cover overhead. She pulled at her hat, which had turned into a shapeless, soggy mass, and discovered wet tendrils of her hair glued to her cheek.
He nodded politely, and she noticed how handsome he was, with a strong, clean line to his jaw, his gray eyes rimmed with dark lashes, his firm lips faintly sensual.
Finally, a hansom appeared, the horse splashing along the thoroughfare. The man beside her stepped out to hail the jarvey with his umbrella.
When the driver pulled up the horse, he turned back to her. “Allow me to assist you.” His beautifully modulated tone heralded a member of the upper class. His fine clothes re-enforced that view.
She hesitated, then offered him a small smile. “Oh, but you were here first.”
He arched his dark brows. “What sort of gentleman would I be to leave a lady standing here alone?”
A chill wind s
wirled around her ankles and pulled at the hem of her dress. Lambeth wasn’t exactly pleasant, it was true. The hall where she’d attended the meeting was around the corner. It would be empty now, for as soon as it concluded, everyone rushed away to get home before the rain set in.
“Do you want a cab or not?” The jarvey scowled at them from his seat behind the cab.
“Yes, of course I do, my good man.” Holding her skirts above the flowing gutter, Laura stepped down from the pavement.
The gentleman moved forward to offer assistance. About to climb into the cramped interior, she turned. “I’m traveling to Wimbledon. Perhaps I can drop you somewhere?”
“I would appreciate it, thank you.”
“Wimbledon, cabbie, but first, set me down at the nearest railway station.” He joined her inside and, adding his dripping umbrella to hers on the floor, closed the wooden half-doors.
His broad shoulders touched hers as he settled beside her. At a crack of the whip the carriage rolled forward.
“Are you sure a train is the best course? What is your direction?” she asked, aware she sounded inquisitive.
“The city. I’m staying at a hotel.”
So, he didn’t live in London.
His gray eyes sought hers with a hint of a smile. “What are you doing out on a day like this?”
She flushed. The smell of damp wool, leather, and his expensive cologne filled the small space. “I’ve just attended a meeting. The Women’s Suffrage Movement.”
“Ah.”
She tried to interpret what lay behind that single utterance. Might he disapprove? Many men did. “And you?”
“A visit to the Lambeth Workhouse.”
He didn’t look like a doctor. He was altogether too—too elegant. Might he be on the board? Her mother would be appalled to see her sharing a cab with a strange man, well-dressed or not. She was outraged enough that Laura had joined the movement. Mother’s notion of a woman’s role in life was woefully outdated.
He attempted to stretch his long legs in the confined space. His thigh brushed against hers, warm and hard through her brown wool skirt. She glanced at him. Had he done it on purpose?
“I beg your pardon.” He tried to move away, but their shoulders touched again. He half turned in amused apology and offered his hand. “Look, in these close confines, I feel as if I should introduce myself. Lord Lanyon.”
Of course. It was written all over him. She shook his big, gloved hand. “Miss Parr.”
“Women’s suffrage is a worthy cause.”
“It would help our cause greatly if more men agreed.”
She wondered if he meant it, or was he merely being polite? A hereditary peer would have an old-fashioned view. Women were viewed as wives and mothers, required to provide them with heirs to secure the line. And even though much was changing as the new century approached, some things stayed the same.
“I’d like to learn more, if you’d be so good as to tell me.”
She took him at his word and launched into a detailed description of the movement’s aspirations. “We are fighting for the right for women to vote and to have the same work opportunities offered to them as men. Why should women not?” Aware of how animated she’d become, she paused.
Interest flickered in his eyes. “I admire your dedication.”
“Are you a doctor or an administrator of the workhouse?” she asked, to change the subject.
“No, a political matter, Miss Parr.”
“You might know my father, Sir Edmund Parr.” She thought it unlikely. Her father was a member of the Commons.
He nodded. “We have met once or twice.”
The carriage rocked violently as the horse broke from its trot. “We seem to be traveling very fast,” she said with alarm as the houses along the road flashed past.
Lord Lanyon opened the panel to the rear of the roof. “Slow down, driver!”
A loud, rambunctious ditty drifted down.
“Hoy! Slow down, man!” Lord Lanyon yelled, banging on the roof.
A face appeared above them along with the waft of strong spirits. “Right you are, guvnor.”
“The fellow is drunk,” Lanyon said. He banged on the roof once more, but the horse continued at the same frightening speed, the hansom swaying as they careened along the street. Laura found herself clutching Lord Lanyon’s sleeve.
Suddenly, a juddering was accompanied by a loud crash. Laura was thrown forward, banging her knees against the door. Lord Lanyon’s hands gripped her waist.
The carriage shuddered to a stop, the horse whinnying and snorting. People crowded around them yelling curses at the driver. He shouted back at them.
Lord Lanyon removed his hands from her waist. “Are you, all right?”
Her breathlessness was not entirely due to the accident. “I think so.”
“At least the dolt has released the doors.”
When Lord Lanyon assisted her down onto the pavement, her knee throbbed, and a flash of pain shot through her ankle.
She gasped. “I…I’m afraid I must have wrenched my ankle.”
He placed a strong arm around her. There was now a small crowd gathered around the two hansoms which had locked wheels. A bobby in his dark cloak appeared. The drivers’ voices were raised in a heated argument, the crowd interjecting with their version of events.
“We’d best leave,” Lord Lanyon said. Before she could answer, he’d tossed their umbrellas onto the pavement and had lifted her into his arms.
“Really, I don’t think this is necessary…” She lost her breath as he carried her effortlessly across the road, and she a strapping female who prided herself on being athletic and strong. She was placed gently on her feet beside a lamppost.
“Hang on there for a minute.” He stepped out into the road and, placing two fingers to his mouth, whistled. Another hansom threaded its way through the bottleneck caused by the accident and pulled up in front of them.
“Allow me to take you home,” Lord Lanyon said.
“Really, that’s not necessary,” Laura said faintly. If her mother found him to be a bachelor, she’d see them married, even if it took the last breath in her body.
“I insist.”
Feeling unusually compliant, she allowed him to usher her inside.
He climbed in after her with the umbrellas.
“But Wimbledon is so far out of your way.”
He had a lovely smile. “I am returning to an empty hotel room, Miss Parr, where I shall partake of a lonely dinner. I really don’t mind.”
Laura found herself wondering if there was a Lady Lanyon. “Then you must stay to dinner.” It was the least she could do. She would handle her mother.
“That’s kind of you, Miss Parr.” He laughed. “Did I sound like I needed rescuing?”
She laughed with him. “Only a little.” It was nonsense, of course. The broad-shouldered, strapping fellow in his fine wool coat and French kid leather gloves was anything but.
The cab stopped outside her parent’s home, Grisewood Hall, newly built in the Queen Anne style with a soaring roof, turrets, and bay windows. Shiny carriages lined up along the avenue of dripping beech trees. A pair of gray horses reared nervously as a horseless carriage appeared, belching smoke. The rain had returned, heavier still. Grooms darted about with umbrellas as ladies wearing cloaks over their tea gowns rushed to their carriages with squeals of dismay.
“My parents are hosting a cocktail party. I’d forgotten about it.”
“Then I’d best leave you here,” Lord Lanyon said.
“Do come in,” Laura said. “It will be almost over.”
“I’m not dressed.” He removed his hat and ran long fingers through his black hair, sending droplets flying.
“As if that matters. You need to dry off or you’ll catch pneumonia.”
“How is your ankle? Shall I assist you inside?”
“It feels much better,” she said hastily, not wishing to be swept inside the house in his arms.
; Lord Lanyon paid the driver and followed her to where the butler stood at the open front door.
“Good afternoon, Miss Laura.” Barker took their coats and hats.
“Lord Lanyon got caught in the rain, Barker. Could you send a maid for a towel?”
“Certainly.” Barker hurried to give the order.
“Are your clothes damp?” Laura asked, resisting the urge to place her hand on the double-breasted tailcoat covering his broad chest. “My father’s coats are about the same size, although they would be shorter in the sleeves.”
He smiled. “Please don’t worry. My overcoat and hat bore the brunt of it.”
Lord Lanyon disappeared into the powder room with the towel. He emerged with his hair neatly combed.
She was suddenly aware of her own disarray. “Come and meet my parents.” Tidying her hair with her fingers, she led him down the corridor to the drawing room. Entering, she searched for her mother among the guests. She guided him across the expanse of soft carpet while people greeted her, Lord Lanyon nodding to the inquisitive guests. Ladies in their organdie, taffeta and silk gowns, their hats trimmed with plumes, ribbons, and flowers, followed his progress with unbecoming eagerness, it seemed to Laura.
What would such a man make of her parents’ home? The drawing room was suddenly revealed in a new light. Everything was so new it squeaked. Mother had ruthlessly decorated the reception rooms in coffee and cream. A pair of chiffoniers displayed an abundance of porcelain and colored glass. Framed prints covered the wallpapered walls. At the windows, white muslin curtains stirred below their scalloped velvet valances, and the smoke from the gentlemen’s pipes and cigars in the adjacent smoking room fought with the women’s heady perfume.
Laura’s mother rose from the cream serpentine-backed upholstered sofa flanking the fireplace to greet them.
“Mother, I’d like to introduce Lord Lanyon. His lordship and I got caught in the rain and shared a cab. I’ve invited him to dinner.”
The Mystery at Falconbridge Hall Page 22
