Storm

by Jayne Fresina

  She was quiet, her head on his shoulder again, her warm body curled close to his, her hand resting on his chest. It was tempting to throw caution to the four winds and stay tonight. To make love to her until first light came over the cliffs. To make love to her until she knew there would never be anyone else who loved her as he did.

  He kissed her again, his tongue eagerly tasting the sweetness of brandy on her lips and drinking down those gasping sighs of delight. The blanket slid from her shoulders as she reached up to cling around his neck and his hands stroked her spine, lingering over the curve. Her breasts were crushed to his chest, their hearts racing in unison.

  Slowly he made his way from her lips to her ear, her neck, her shoulder.

  "Storm," she purred, "make love to me."

  He kissed her breast, sliding the blanket down further, his heart drumming hard in his ears, a mad rush of lust. Groaning softly, he let his tongue play across her nipple, longing to take it in his mouth, but resisting. She arched her spine, pushing herself toward his lips, her skin slipping silkily under his palms as they trembled, sweeping over thighs and upward. He squeezed her full breast and felt the weight of it in his hand. His entire body ached with yearning. He was heavy with it, saturated with fierce need to have her.

  But he knew, dragging himself back from the quivering edge, that it wasn't the time. His desire for her was so strong he feared it. Tonight she was fragile, fluttering like a flame in a draft, too breakable. Storm knew that if he went any further he might not be able to restrain that savage need to claim her totally.

  He'd wait until she was bold again, demanding and imperious, calling him names and ready to beat him with a whip if necessary. That way, if she confessed she loved him, he'd know it was not the result of a weak moment, but that it was true and an emotion she probably felt against her stubborn will.

  Then he could believe it. Then he could let the flames of his passion burn hot and unrestricted. When she was in one of her tempers she could take him on like nobody else ever would dare try.

  But tonight she was a damaged bird and he tended her with all the gentleness she deserved.

  * * * *

  When she finally slept, he left her tucked under a quilt on the sofa of that little parlor and went off to find Duquesne.

  Dawn would soon streak across the sky, but he did not feel in the least tired. Instead he was energized by the events of that night and he couldn't have closed his eyes to sleep, even had he wanted to.

  The Seven Oaks was a grand inn just outside Truro. Storm knew the place for his mother had worked there briefly when he was a child, but he had never stayed there, of course. It was expensive, very grand, catering only to the "most discerning" of travelers.

  He went directly to the reception desk to ask for Duquesne. His attire— having been dipped in the sea that night— caused a few haughty glances from the staff, but Storm smiled broadly and acted as if his manner of dress might be considered the height of fashion. Once he gave the name "Deverell", no one dared try to turn him out, although they clearly puzzled over how to treat him. Clothing, bloody knuckles and dirty footprints aside, he spoke well and carried himself with confidence. To the meek staff he was an anomaly.

  Duquesne came down to see him, rather than invite him up to his room.

  "This won't take long, I'm sure," he sneered, gesturing to a seat in the carpeted lounge of the hotel. "I had no inkling that you were a Deverell. How fascinating. I have heard so much about Deverells and now I finally meet one."

  "I'm not here to make friends."

  "Then what do you want at such an uncivilized hour? Is it late or early?"

  "I want to know why, after all this time, you've come to see Kate's son."

  "Her son?"

  "She's raised him alone for seven years, so I would say he's hers."

  "The boy belongs to me. I've been remiss, but I shall make it up to him."

  "How? What good will it do him to disrupt his life?"

  "What good? Gracious, do you think living with that slattern is doing him any benefit? Naturally he's better off with us. He needs his father."

  "It takes more than some carelessly scattered seed to raise a field of wheat."

  The other man sputtered. "How very...countryfied." He crossed one knee over the other, his pose one of insouciance. It didn't fool Storm.

  Still Duquesne had not once referred to his son by name.

  "Why, after so long, are you suddenly taking in interest in his well-being?"

  "That is none of your business, Deverell."

  "But it is. You see, I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you were concerned for the boy's future. That you were anxious to see him happy and well looked after. I came here to tell you that I intend to marry Kate Kelly. Her son will have a father then who cares about him. I meant to put your mind at ease. If that is why you came so far."

  The other man brushed a quick, angry hand over his thigh. "My wife has been unable to produce a child," he muttered. "Her failure is intolerable to my family. Therefore I shall take that boy home with me to London. I won't have aspersions cast upon my capabilities any longer. The fault lies with her, not me."

  He was astounded, not only by the suddenness of this confession, but also by the vitriol with which it was uttered. "You want to take him away from his mother, just to prove your manhood? If you have to do that, it suggests you haven't got much of one to prove."

  "He's mine, Deverell. In fact, she's mine too, strictly speaking." He smirked. "I was her first. Such a delight she was, so innocent. Seeing her again has reminded me—"

  "How much do you want? How much to leave Kate and her boy alone?"

  "Really, Deverell, it is quite vulgar of you to approach me and offer money to give up rights to my son, but then I suppose I can expect nothing better. I had heard you were an uncouth family. Your father, a foundling— well, nobody really knows where he came from, do they?— makes a fortune from gambling and no doubt many other crooked enterprises, and suddenly you all think you can stand up and challenge your betters."

  "My betters? Who might they be?"

  He laughed snidely. "My family goes back to the Norman conquest, dear fellow. We hold a seat in the House of Lords. My grandfather dined with King George the Third and hunted with the Prince Regent. My mother was a childhood playmate to Queen Victoria. It's all rather tedious, but if you require more information about us, I suggest you consult Burke's Peerage. Presuming you can read."

  "And oddly enough I know your name only because of the mine disaster that killed so many men, and your father's denial of any wrong-doing."

  Duquesne yawned and checked his fob watch. "Well, look at the time! I only came down out of curiosity once I heard who you were. Of course, I knew you'd offer me some of your father's money. I hear it's a habit of his, to throw money at a problem when he wants it to go away. But in the higher circles of society we don't partake of such grubby negotiations. I don't want your money, Deverell. I don't need it. I came here to collect my property, and I shan't go away again without it."

  Afraid he might feel the need to break that weak, yawning jaw, Storm got up. "I came here to discuss this sensibly with you, but I see I wasted my time. Can't talk sense with an imbecile."

  Despite the insult, Duquesne did not stand, but gazed off into the distance, thin lips pressed tightly together, fingers curled around the arms of his chair. A fearful flutter visible in his left temple.

  Yes, he'd better not stand up at that moment and he knew it. He was no match for Storm's fists.

  "I'll see you again, Duquesne."

  "I look forward to it with the greatest of pleasure."

  * * * *

  The next morning Storm sent a message over to Roscarrock via Mrs. Blewett. In response, Olivia brought a dress across for Kate and then they travelled back to the Putnam farm with the Chief Constable of the district, a pink-faced fellow by the name of Gallworthy. Not long appointed to the post and being the only co
nstable for many miles, he was very keen and took notes of everything he found at the farm.

  "The man you brought to me last night—Mr. Albert Soames— has a record of some length, it would appear," said Gallworthy. "Although he protests most adamantly that he didn't break in and steal anything from the lady's house. Claims she invited him in and then you assaulted him, pushed him over and broke a lamp over his back, Mr. Deverell. He says the young lady here has a contract to work for him."

  "Mrs. Kelly has no such contract," Storm assured him firmly. "Not a legal one." He wanted to complain about Duquesne breaking in last night too, but Kate had asked him not to mention it. She didn't want anyone else to know, especially not for Flynn to find out, if it could be avoided.

  "Was there anything taken, madam?" the constable asked.

  Kate was sweeping up the shattered remains of her oil lamp. "Not that I can see. It's not as if I have much of value for anybody to steal." She glanced over at the shattered remnants of the spinet. "Only some things of sentimental value were ruined."

  "But sentiment is a waste of time," her son chirped up as he came through the door. He carried the birdcage into the house and put it back on its hook. "Thank goodness my parrot didn't get hurt. He's a lucky parrot."

  "I sincerely hope this scoundrel can be brought to justice," said Olivia, greatly perturbed by these events. "It seems to me as if criminals get away with their villainy far too often these days. Poor Mrs. Kelly, out here on her own on the moor where nobody need bother to lock their door...it's disgraceful that a man should come here and lie in wait to attack her. That was her mother's spinet, a precious family heirloom, and look what he did to it!"

  "I quite agree, madam." Gallworthy became even pinker in the face. "We'll do all we can to make the man pay recompense for the damage, of course, but —"

  "I should think so too. What is the world coming to?"

  "But he claims that Mr. Storm Deverell beat him severely. He threatens to bring charges. So I must ascertain what happened last night and—"

  "Oh, for goodness sake! You only have to look at that man Soames to see what he is. Storm is well known in these parts and anyone would vouch for his kindness and generosity."

  "And also his temper, madam," the Chief Constable replied timidly. "It must be said that Mr. Storm Deverell has a temper when roused."

  Olivia clicked her tongue against her teeth. "I've witnessed some shoddy police work myself in the past, but that was in London. Perhaps out here you will be more prompt, efficient and effective. Not bumbling about uselessly, wasting time and making a complete pig's ear of an investigation by blaming all the wrong people. Now it would seem to me as if that Soames person did not come here alone. He must have had transportation."

  Gallworthy blinked, his lower lip trembling. "Of course, madam. I'll er...I'll just take a look outside. I noticed there were tracks in the yard that suggested a large carriage with a team of four brought the man here last night, yet he doesn't appear to be the sort of fellow who owns a private carriage."

  Alarmed, Kate glanced over at Storm, but he was occupied picking up books and setting them back on her shelf.

  "Very good," said Olivia. "Well spotted, Constable. Off you go and look. There must be more clues, mustn't there?"

  As the anxious constable stumbled outside, Olivia followed him to the door, urging him not to overlook anything.

  Kate walked over to Storm and whispered, "Is she alright? I've never seen her so... vexed."

  "It's a long story, but she's been thrice widowed and at one time the police suspected her of doing away with all of 'em."

  "Ah."

  "She was under a cloud of suspicion for some time."

  "How dreadful."

  He smiled coyly. "Actually I rather think she enjoyed it."

  "Mama, shall I lend the constable my telescope?" asked Flynn.

  "You mean Mr. Deverell's telescope. He only lent it to you, remember?"

  "Yes, Mama. Mr. Deverell's." He looked up at Storm. "It might help him find the carriage tracks and other clues."

  "By all means offer him your services," said Olivia, glancing over her prim shoulder. "I daresay he needs it. Look at him! Trampling around like a blind bull."

  So Flynn skipped outside with the telescope.

  * * * *

  Kate looked again at the broken spinet, wondering what had happened to the money stored in it. Clearly Soames had torn the place apart looking for it. Perhaps if she could get some money back to him he would leave her alone. This morning, thinking with a clearer head, she was sure she might negotiate with Bert somehow. He must agree that something was better than nothing and she was not going back with him. He couldn't force her to. The contract was hardly a legal document and he could not hold her to it.

  "Slavery was abolished, Kate, ten years ago at least," Storm had said to her last night. "He has no right to keep you and he knows it. He doesn't own you. He can't, no matter what he says."

  She'd signed that official looking paper as a young girl easily awed, thinking Soames would help her. The wax seal had made it look like a very important document and, of course, she had no one to advise her.

  "I'll look out for you," Bert Soames had told her when he first pushed a quill into her hand and prompted her to sign it. "I'll look out for you and the boy, protect you both. There's bad folk out there, you know. It's a hard world without a friend."

  Well yes, she'd known that already. What she didn't realize then was that he was one of those "bad folk" from whom he vowed to protect her. He'd fed her with sweet cake, plied her with strong wine and fancy dresses, luring her into his web. Her eyes were dazzled by the gaudy gilt-framed mirrors and plush-looking carpets of the Music Box. Until she saw them closer.

  She felt very foolish, looking back on that time.

  "You didn't know, Kate," Storm had said. "You were just a girl, and he took advantage of your innocence."

  "My naivety, you mean," she replied glumly. "Now you see why I couldn't trust you."

  He'd smiled at her in that warm, easy way and held her close so that she felt his heart thumping steadily.

  Today everything felt different because he knew her secret. She was two stone lighter at least.

  But then she thought of Mellersh coming back for her son and that dropped her back to earth again.

  Constable Gallworthy re-entered the house with Flynn close on his heels and chattering, "But you ought to look through it, Mister. It's an excellent telescope and you can see for miles."

  "I'm sure, young sir, but I—"

  "You can see all the way down to the river where I found that red poppy."

  "That's all very good, but—"

  "I can show you where that woman is. I thought the Bumble Trout had got at her, but Mr. Deverell says they don't really exist, so I reckon she's just asleep forever."

  Everyone else went quiet.

  Behind her the parrot croaked, "Noisy birrrd."

  * * * *

  It was Sally White. She'd been there quite a while. Her straw bonnet had washed further downstream, got caught in the reeds and then separated from that scarlet coquelicot poppy, which had caught Flynn's eye through the lens of his borrowed telescope while he was looking for pirates.

  "This is the young lady that was reported missing," Gallworthy observed eagerly, his spirits lifted now that he'd finally found something to report in his little book. "A Mr. Dowty, I believe it was, reported her missing some time since." And then he stopped trampling around in the weeds and turned to Storm. "You were the last to see her alive, sir, isn't that so? I reckon that's what he said."

  Storm ran a hand down over his wan face. "I...I don't know. I suppose so." From what he could remember she was wearing the same clothes as she wore when she came to see him, which suggested she never got on the mail coach. Never even left the moor. "Christ! Sally..." He shook his head. "Why didn't she get on that coach?"

  Kate reached out for his hand and held it. "I'm sure she was going to after
she left you. She must have fallen, had an accident of some sort."

  But it was no accident.

  Sally White had been badly beaten.

  "Looks like foul play to me," Chief Constable Gallworthy confirmed, moving the lifeless body with the toe of his boot. Sally's bruised and misshapen face stared up at them, accusatory.

  Sickened, Kate held her other hand to her mouth, but Olivia remained calm.

  "Well, here we go again," she muttered. "For once they can't possibly blame me."

  Chapter Sixteen

  "The coroner's inquest will cause a bit of excitement for the locals," Raven drawled, "although I'm sure they could find half a dozen men — or their wives—likely of having done it. Sally's abundant bosom was just as unpopular in certain quarters as it was popular in others."

  "A lady doesn't say bosom, Raven," Olivia interjected softly.

  "Well, one really can't mention Sally without mentioning her bosom."

  Olivia sank her lips into a cup of coffee, clearly deciding it wasn't worth the argument.

  Damon said, "The point is, sister dear, our Storm was the last to see her alive. Someone is bound to make a case out of that. He's a Deverell."

  As Kate listened to the siblings discussing the murder, she felt cold inside, a sense of foreboding hanging over her. That damned parrot might be lucky, she thought, but she definitely wasn't. Kate Kelly was bad luck for anybody.

  "He can't even say he didn't see her that day," Damon continued. "Several people knew Sally was going to see him, and some saw her there. Including Olivia."

  "Kate saw her too," said Storm in his quiet, steady voice.

  She heartily wished she hadn't. She would have given anything for Sally never to have gone to ask Storm for help that day, and for her never to have seen it.

  "The next thing they'll bring up is how Storm doesn't know his own strength and how he has the Deverell temper. All the brawling for which he was once known. Not to mention the past relationship with Sally and all that. You know how they are in this place. They decide who's to blame and then they find the evidence. If they even need any. Most of the time they decide who's guilty and then at the next Assizes the fellow is duly sentenced. They don't waste their time investigating a crime, especially if they already have someone in mind to take the blame."