Kiss Me Lady One More Time

by Deb Marlowe

Her eyes widened and she took a step back. “Oh, I do apologize.” Her shoulders slumped a little. “My first day in Town and I’ve done it already.”

  “Done? Done what?”

  “What my mother warned me I must not. I have a habit of going off inside my head at times, usually when I’m making a discovery, connecting things for the first time, or obsessing over something.” She ducked her head. “I daresay you don’t know what I mean.”

  “I do, though.” He stared at her mouth again as her head rose slowly.

  “I tend to just blurt out what I’m thinking, when I get in such a state,” she said on nearly a whisper. “My mother swears it will get me in trouble in Society.”

  He should stop. Stop staring. Stop noting the increased shallowness of her breathing. Stop wanting a girl who was not meant for him. “Perhaps, then, we should focus our thoughts away from noses and lips and—”

  He froze. Devil take it.

  “Lips?” she asked. Then she flushed a glorious, rosy red and turned away, her fingers rising to lightly touch her mouth.

  He nearly shook his head at his own inept blunder.

  He didn’t, though. He reached for her and kissed her, instead.

  It was an impulse that broke over him like a wave, impossible to resist. He went along with it, tumbling and reaching, and pulling her into his embrace and into the roll with him.

  The scientific part of his brain protested. There was no logic to it. No common sense. He shut it up, shut it harshly down, with a masterful, possessive, heated kiss. He spread his fingers amongst her dark curls and kissed her with all of the fiery passion that had been building in him for weeks, and thank every saint in the heavens, she kissed him back.

  She tasted of tea, and of fine, French brandy. And devil take it, those soft, sweet lips were as luscious as he imagined. He indulged his earlier fancy and sucked at her upper lip, then delved his tongue deep, partnering hers in the time-honored dance of back and forth, of sensual, playful give and take.

  Down the passage, his door opened. Tensford stuck his head out and bellowed. “Sterne!”

  They jumped apart. The movement caught the earl’s eye. “Oh, there you are. Sorry, didn’t mean to shout. I thought you’d gone down. Has the carriage arrived?”

  Sterne turned away, thankful for the excuse. He peered out of the window for a moment, reaching for control. “It’s coming down the lane now,” he reported.

  “Good.” The countess had followed her husband out. “We can all go on and call upon Mr. Simon. He’s expecting us sometime today.”

  “The hell you say.” Tensford bent and literally swept his wife off of her feet. “You are going straight home and you are not leaving the bed until a doctor has seen you.” He adjusted his grip and started for the stairs.

  “Oh, dear.” But Sterne noted the grin at the side of Lady Tensford’s mouth and how her arms tightened around her husband’s neck. She looked over his shoulder. “It will be up to you two, then, to meet the man,” she called.

  They all trooped down the stairs and Sterne moved ahead to open the door as the carriage pulled in close. Tensford carried his wife over and got her settled. “I’m sorry, Sterne. I know this is important to you, but I have to see to Hope’s health.”

  “Of course you do. Shall we fetch the doctor?”

  “I already sent someone from the house. He might even be there when we arrive.”

  “You must keep our appointment,” the countess said from the window. “You know Mr. Simon travels so often. We were lucky to catch him in Town.” She beckoned both Sterne and Miss Munroe close. “Get a hack. Don’t draw attention to yourselves.” She speared him with a look. “If anyone asks, you are Penelope’s cousin. Do you understand?”

  Oh, yes. He did understand, and he wondered if she would be sending them off together if she knew what they’d just done. Damnation. He steeled himself and suggested the last thing he wished to do. “Perhaps we should delay any thought of the investigation.”

  “No.” Miss Munroe put a hand on his arm. “You go home,” she told her friend. “Reassure your husband. Listen to the doctor. We’ll see you there, later.”

  Lady Tensford shot her a grateful look. The earl climbed up and settled in next to his wife.

  “I believe it is a good day to allow them some time alone together,” Miss Munroe said as she stepped back. Smiling, she waved.

  Sterne blinked, before nodding and knocking on the side of the carriage to signal it the coachman. He watched it ease away into traffic, then turned to her, offering his arm. He gave her a nod as she took it.

  “Let’s see to it, then.”

  Chapter 7

  “We won’t want to walk all the way to Great Russell Street, but we can head north and watch for a hack,” Sterne told her as they set out. “We’ll have better luck once we reach St. Andrew, no doubt.”

  Nodding, Penelope tried to breathe slowly and rein her senses in. This was her first time walking in London, since she’d been a child. It was crowded, busy and loud, especially as they emerged onto Broad Street. It felt degrees more intimate and immediate than riding in a carriage.

  But by far the most raucous rattle on the cage of her senses was . . . him. She felt as if she’d locked arms with an obelisk of heat and strength and safety. Excitement and pleasure sent frissons speeding up and down her spine.

  Fortunately, she wasn’t expected to talk. He was busy watching their surroundings and keeping an eye peeled for a hack. She could concentrate on trying to think past the storm of sensations that had been assaulting her since he’d pressed his lips to hers.

  Good heavens. They’d kissed. Again.

  And it had been a divine onslaught—No. She would wallow in and relive every moment of it later. Now she had to think.

  Yes. The answer to all the questions. Did she still want him? Was he worth the toil and trouble of a chase? It was all still a resounding yes. That kiss . . . The fizzing longing still bubbling in her veins . . . The sight of the same want reflected in his face . . . It was progress, was it not? He was still here. He had not withdrawn from her.

  But she felt as if Hope was right and it was going to be a chase. All the signs showed that he felt as much for her as she did for him—but something held him back.

  Very well. She would commit to the idea of burrowing it out, of changing his mind. She’d heard the stories of Hope and Tensford’s courtship. She would do as her friend had done and she would show him how incredible they could be for each other.

  “Here we are,” he said suddenly. Letting go of her arm, he stepped to the street and hailed a passing hack. A few minutes later, they were settled in the dilapidated carriage and he was looking relieved and happy to be once again in pursuit of his goal.

  First things first, then. He would not be ready to think of any sort of future until the mystery was solved and the fossil was found. She would begin here, then. She would take Hope’s advice and discover what it was that he wanted. And what caused him to struggle. She would prove herself invaluable to the search—and to all the days that would come after.

  Straightening her shoulders, she regarded him with a serious mien.

  He frowned. “Lady Tensford—will she be all right? Do you have any idea of it being serious?”

  Her heart softened. “I believe she will be fine. Whatever it was, the illness came on quite suddenly and left her nearly as quickly. It just left her tired.”

  “I hope you are right.”

  “I should tell you, though, that we were not successful this morning.” She filled him in on their morning, then raised an expectant brow.

  “We made slightly more progress.” He returned the favor and recounted their morning’s work. “Whiddon’s gone to check in at a few more hotels, looking for Stillwater.”

  “I will be happy to meet him. I’ve heard so much of him from Tensford and Keswick. But we should discuss Mr. Simon. You met him at Greystone, yes?”

  “Yes, I did.” He sounded hesitant. “It w
as the morning after I was struck down, however, and my recollection is a bit fuzzy.”

  “Perfectly understandable,” she nodded. “I spent a decent amount of time with him, as he had quite an astounding number of questions about how we found the great fish.”

  “The great fish?” he asked with a smile.

  “It’s how I think of it,” she admitted. “Tensford’s great fish.”

  “I like it. Now I’ll probably think of it so, as well.”

  “It was so large and so . . . different. Just think how alarming it would be to see one alive and coming at you in the water.”

  “I should think I would be . . . spellbound.” He was still grinning as their eyes met. The grin faded as the silence stretched between them, far longer than was safe. She could feel something creeping in between them, curling tendrils of—

  “I wrote him, last week,” she squeaked. “Mr. Simon, that is. I sent him a letter and asked if he’d heard any word of the piece.” Among other things. “He didn’t have time to reply, of course, but Hope sent a note last evening, and he should be expecting us.”

  “Well, here we are,” he said, looking out as the carriage slowed. She tried not to feel insulted at the relief in his tone. “I’ll ask the porter at the gate to send for him.”

  * * *

  * * *

  * * *

  Mr. Simon greeted them warmly and insisted on giving them a quick tour of the museum.

  “There are exhibits that must not be missed, given that it’s your first time here, Miss Munroe.”

  He was pleasantly attentive as he took them around to see the famous Rosetta Stone and through the Townley Gallery to see the collection of classical and Egyptian antiquities. It was a pleasure to go through the place with someone so well informed on the displays, but Penelope could see Sterne’s impatience growing. She heard him sigh in relief as Mr. Simon led them into the rooms that housed the Natural History Collection.

  By common consent, they bypassed the displays of minerals and rocks and went straight to the several rooms where the fossils were arranged.

  The ichthyosaurus, in its glass case, was impressive, of course. There were fine examples of ammonites and stone sea urchins and fossilized crinoids, which he explained were often called sea lilies, although they were actually animal in nature. There were several fish fossils too, from different spots across England.

  “It is a shame,” Penelope said on a sigh. “Tensford’s specimen would have been quite at home here.”

  “It would have been a welcome addition to the collection,” Mr. Simon agreed. “Mr. Konig, who is in charge of acquisitions for the collection, agreed with my assessment, when he saw Tensford’s sketch and heard my descriptions.” He looked to Sterne. “Have you had any word of its whereabouts? Or any idea of where it might have gone?”

  “We have not,” Sterne said. “We hoped to ask you the very same question.”

  “We would be the last to hear, I fear. There are collectors who rather view us as the enemy, as they feel we have more resources for acquisitions.” Mr. Simon turned to her and smiled. “I have encouraged the earl to keep searching at the site where you made your accidental discovery. There might very well be more finds to make.”

  “I’ve wondered if there might even be something larger in the cliffs by the river,” Sterne said, moving to her side.

  “There may very well be,” the other man agreed. “But even smaller fossils can be valuable, especially if they are rare or demonstrate different qualities of another specimen. I have been talking to Mr. Konig of a different sort of display, using different parts of a whole, or various sizes of one species. For example, if we had Tensford’s fish, with its large size and odd spikes, I would love to group it with smaller versions, if they became available.”

  “A family grouping,” Penelope said.

  “Something like that. The fossils look quite alien and removed from our world, but if we could make them feel a little more . . . familiar, I think even more people would be interested. I’m hoping to try the concept out with our ichthyosaur, for example. We have the mostly complete skeleton, of course, although it is not as nice as the one in the Royal College of Surgeons. But we have other parts, a jawbone over here and a couple of vertebrae in the other room. But I’d like to group them together and address the interesting aspects of the animal. You know, when this species was first discovered, it was largely believed to be a crocodile. We could group it with an actual crocodile skeleton and point out the differences.”

  “It’s a fascinating idea,” she said warmly.

  “I actually plan to travel to Oxford tomorrow, hoping to convince a friend to lend or sell us a full skull.”

  “You must travel a great deal, sir.”

  “I do. But as Mr. Konig is so busy with his duties here, I do not mind being the advance scout.” He smiled charmingly into her eyes. “For I do get to meet the most interesting people in my travels. People such as yourself, Miss Munroe.”

  She flushed a little and saw Sterne frown. “You must run into many collectors in your travels for the museum, sir,” he interjected.

  That was the second time he’d directed Mr. Simon’s interest away from her. She would have counted it as a sign of success if she hadn’t had a purpose for introducing the subject.

  “Of course. Collectors and passionate enthusiasts of all kinds.”

  “But specifically, fossil scholars and collectors—do you feel as you’ve met all of them?” Sterne still stood quite near her elbow.

  “Nearly all the major figures, at the least,” the other man agreed.

  “So, what do you make of this idea of a black market, that is rumored to have lately sprung up, in the field?”

  Mr. Simon chuckled. “I think it is likely a few avid collectors might have joined forces to keep us and other institutions from scooping up new finds, but I doubt there is a shadowy underworld of deals or dealers.”

  “Forgive me for speculation,” Sterne said carefully, “It’s just that, after the theft of Tensford’s piece, I am more likely to lend credence to the idea.”

  Mr. Simon began to look a bit uncomfortable, and Penelope wasn’t done with him yet. “Oh, dear,” she said lightly. “How quickly we went from new displays to shadowy underworlds. Allow me to change the subject to one quite the opposite and inquire about your glittering social life, instead. I can very well imagine that you are acquainted with some of the most fascinating minds of our time, sir. Do you ever bring them home to meet your wife? I should imagine you host the most interesting dinner parties.”

  “Alas, I am not married, Miss Munroe. But I daresay it’s for the best, with my schedule.”

  “I am sure there are women who would not mind such a thing, sir. Indeed, I recall how popular you were with the ladies at Greystone Park.”

  “Ah, I see where you are leading me, Miss Munroe,” he laughed. “I do recall the question in your letter.”

  She reached for an innocent countenance. “Which one? I believe I pestered you with several.”

  “You asked quite specifically about Lady Tresham.”

  “Oh. Yes, I did.” She smiled at him. “The two of you were very cozy together in Gloucestershire. I just wondered if you had continued the acquaintance.”

  “We did, for a time, upon our return to London. I quite enjoyed the lady’s company and we spent a bit of time together over the span of several weeks.”

  “Would you know her current address? I’ve discovered that the one we have for her is outdated.”

  “Alas, I cannot help. She was very accommodating, in that she would meet me here at the museum when we had plans.” He made a face. “In fact, I would have done better to insist on picking her up at her home, for it was while lingering here, waiting on me, that she met the man who has become her current beau.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Yes. Mr. Millbank is a regular patron and a donor to our institution, as well. They met looking over old coins, I believe, and they
have had quite a whirlwind courtship, I am given to understand.”

  “I am sorry indeed, if you were disappointed, sir,” she said gently.

  “Oh, it is just as well, for I have neither the means nor the amount of time to devote to a lady, not to the extent that he has done. I hear they have been seen everywhere, at the theater, at the few Society events still occurring in the summer months, and most specifically, in the park every afternoon, where they have created quite a sensation.”

  “I believe she would like hearing that,” Penelope said wryly.

  “Well, I will not endure the teasing of my fellows for much longer,” Mr. Simon said with some relief. “The word is that the couple intend to marry and set out for a tour of Europe.” He shrugged. “The best I can hope for now is that they bring something back with the intention of donating it to us.”

  “When do they mean to set out, do you know?” Sterne asked.

  “Any day now, I believe. As I said, it’s been a whirlwind courtship. I can only wish them both happy.”

  “Mr. Simon,” Penelope said carefully. “Before she abandoned you so cruelly, did Lady Tresham ask you to buy some fossils from her?”

  He paused, surprised. “Why, yes, she did. She had several very nice echinoids, a couple of ferns and a few crinoid parts.”

  “Did you buy them?” she asked. “Or rather, recommend them to Mr. Konig?”

  He sighed. “I did not. They were not unusual enough for me to make the recommendation.”

  “Did she not offer you anything larger, once you turned her down?” Sterne questioned.

  “No, but she did ask quite a few questions about larger pieces, and what qualities made them more valuable.” He made a face. “I have wondered if it would have made a difference, given how it all turned out.”

  “It is her loss, sir,” she said firmly.

  “You are very kind, Miss Munroe.”

  “As are you, sir. Thank you for taking us about and for answering our questions.”

  “One last question, sir,” Sterne said. “Since you think the rumored black market might consist of a few collectors working together—can you give me the names of those you think might behave that way?”