Thus, Bea presently found herself in the Garritys’ home, a mansion of understated opulence. The dining room was paneled in dark wood, gilt-framed portraits on the walls. The table had been immaculately set: against the backdrop of snowy linen, silver gleamed and crystal sparkled, elegant floral arrangements adding color and fragrance to the ambiance.
Bea had been seated next to her hostess, in the place of honor. Wick was on the other side of Gabby…which was what Mrs. Garrity insisted Bea should call her. Mr. Garrity presided over the other end of the table, flanked by the Carlisles, and the Kents took up the middle.
Tessa Kent, Harry’s wife, was another surprise. Since Wick had given Beatrice a primer on the party guests, Bea knew that Kent’s wife wielded significant clout in London’s underworld and held the honorary title of “Duchess of Covent Garden” for the territory she oversaw. That was unusual, to say the least. In her head, Bea had pictured Mrs. Kent as an Amazon, a fierce female warrior with a larger-than-life presence.
In reality, Tessa Kent was an elfin beauty with large jade eyes and curly raven hair fashionably coiffed. Her grass-green silk gown showed off her petite figure, her waist accentuated by a diamond-studded ceinture. She was possessed of a lively, roguish temperament that was an amusing foil to her husband’s scholarly earnestness.
Supper was being served à la russe, and as the liveried footmen put the oyster course in front of each guest, Gabby leaned over and said, “May I ask what jeweler you use, Beatrice? Your brooch is ever so divine.”
Bea brushed her fingers over the jewelry pinned to the neckline of her azure satin gown. Wick had presented it to her before they’d left for supper, saying it was a belated birthday gift. Fashioned of gold, the brooch took the form of a butterfly, its body made up of large, sparkling diamonds, its wings glittering with sapphires ranging in hue from deep blue to rare lavender.
Emotion had welled in Bea. It was the finest gift anyone had given her. Yet for some reason, she’d felt obliged to protest that it was too much, that she couldn’t accept such an extravagant present. Her refusal had almost turned into an argument until Wick had shushed her with a kiss. The kiss had raged out of control, which was why they’d nearly been late for supper. Glancing at him now, she saw from the lazy glow in his eyes that he, too, was recalling those steamy moments.
To her hostess, she replied softly, “Thank you, it was a gift. And I was admiring your ensemble. Your bracelets, in particular, are stunning.”
Gabby looked ravishing in a crimson taffeta gown which bared her shoulders and clung to her lush curves. She had on a pair of unusual bracelets, one at each wrist, bands of delicate gold filigree studded with diamonds and rubies.
“Mr. Garrity commissioned them from a goldsmith in Florence,” Gabby said as she lovingly touched the cuffs.
From the opposite end of the table, Mr. Garrity was watching his lady with a dark, slightly predatory gaze, and the charged look that passed between the two made Bea’s heart skip a beat. As different as man and wife were, the strength of their bond was palpable. Indeed, the same could be said of all the couples present. It seemed that everyone at the table had found passionate love matches.
Bea looked at Wick and felt a hard tug on her own bonds of attraction. The way the man filled out his evening clothes ought to be a sin. He was conversing with Kent, who was expounding upon techniques to increase the efficiency of locomotive steam engines. Other men might have glazed over as Kent went on about his experiments with various fuel sources, but Wick listened intently, asking keen questions that had Kent taking out a notebook and jotting down notes.
“Most men wax poetic about horses and the hunt.” The remark came from Tessa Kent, who sat to the right of Bea. “My husband is fascinated with coal.”
Since Wick had alluded to his partner’s interest, Bea smiled. “Having an interest is healthy, is it not?”
“Trust me, it’s more than an interest,” Mrs. Kent said. “It’s his obsession.”
Kent glanced over, his intense gaze shifting to his wife. “Not my only obsession, sprite.”
Mrs. Kent pinkened but gave her husband an impish look. “In fact, Harry loves coal so much he’s even made up his own saying about it. Go on, darling, tell them.”
Kent sighed. “Must I?”
“Oh ho, I know this one.” Wick grinned at his colleague’s beleaguered look. “Kent has it written on the chalkboard in his office. As constant as coal—isn’t that it?”
“It’s meant to be inspirational,” Kent said with great dignity. “Coal transport has driven the reliability and innovation of the railways. If we can get our passenger trains running with that same degree of consistency and accuracy, then we will have accomplished something.”
“A worthy goal.” Garrity raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”
“Speaking of worthy goals,” Mrs. Kent said briskly, “Harry has informed me about your situation, Lady Beatrice. I think there’s nothing more cowardly than a villain who hides behind anonymity and preys upon women. We would like to help you in any way we can.”
Bea hesitated, glancing at Wick who gave her a subtle nod.
Earlier, he’d told her that Tessa Kent would be an invaluable ally, and gaining her assistance would be key to their efforts to find the foe. When Bea had argued that she didn’t want to be beholden to a stranger, he’d replied, What is more important, angel, your pride…or protecting your estate and people from danger?
There was a reason the man was a top-notch negotiator.
Wick had also told her that he would trust the people at the table with his life, and being in their company showed Bea why. Wick’s friends were a far cry from the group she had associated with before her accident. Back then, her supposed friends—even her fiancé—had cut ties with her after she’d been scarred. A superficial mark on her cheek had been enough to send them scattering to the winds.
Now she was facing true danger, with an enemy who could strike at any moment and make collateral damage of those around her. Yet in the eyes of Mrs. Kent—a woman whom she’d just met—Bea saw concern and empathy, as if the lady had known her own travails. Mrs. Kent’s willingness to help was genuine…and that decided things for Bea.
In her life, she’d had few enough offers of true friendship; she wasn’t about to turn one down.
“You’re very generous, ma’am,” she said. “I don’t know how I shall repay you.”
“You can start by calling me Tessa. Now would you mind giving a summary of the essential details?”
Bea obliged, going through the timeline of attacks and leads they had to follow.
“In sum, you’re in London to chase down clues about a disgruntled ex-tenant, a mysterious pocket watch, and perhaps a shady priest.” Tessa tilted her head. “What is your plan?”
“I’ve secured guards for Lady Beatrice’s protection,” Wick said. “And sent several of my men to locate the Perkins family, who we believe live somewhere in the Seven Dials.”
“And the pocket watch?” Tessa asked.
“The Carlisles and I spent the day visiting watchmakers in hopes that someone might recognize the workmanship or identify the initials ‘H. C.’ Our efforts were in vain,” Bea admitted. “The lack of any hallmark or maker’s stamp makes identifying the watch nearly impossible.”
“Butter and jam, we must have questioned every watchmaker in Clerkenwell and Soho.” Violet gestured to her empty plate. “No wonder I’m famished.”
“When are you not?” Carlisle asked mildly.
Her reply was a shrug and a good-natured grin.
“Do you have the item with you?” Tessa asked.
Wick removed the watch from an inner pocket and passed it around. As Tessa took the timepiece, she studied it with keen concentration. She opened and closed the case, scrutinizing the dial face and cover, front and back.
“This is mysterious, isn’t it?” she concluded. “The watch is clearly of high quality, and I’d wager my pet ferret that this gold is n
o less than eighteen karat. Why would anyone omit to have it hallmarked, when that would substantiate the value?”
“Because the monetary value of the watch means less to them than its symbolic value.” This came from Garrity, who sampled the lobster consommé newly placed in front of him, his lips curving faintly. “The soup is exceptional, Mrs. Garrity.”
“Well, it is your favorite. I’ll be sure to convey your compliments to Cook.” Brow pleating, his wife asked, “Could you explain your theory of the watch? I don’t quite follow.”
“If the owner never planned to sell the watch, instead intending to keep it as a personal memento, then he wouldn’t care whether the piece was stamped by the Goldsmith’s Hall.”
“Yes, but why not have it stamped anyway?” Gabby persisted.
The answer struck Bea.
“Perhaps it is the kind of memento that the owner wouldn’t want anyone to know about,” she reasoned slowly. “He wouldn’t want it to be traceable to him.”
“My thoughts precisely.” For the first time, a hint of approval appeared in Garrity’s eyes as he regarded her. “The watch could be from a paramour, for instance. Perhaps he is married, and the discovery of that connection could cause a scandal.”
“A secret lover’s token—that would make sense. Or perhaps…” Tessa drummed her fingers on the table, her opal ring flashing in the candlelight. “Perhaps the watch has another secret meaning. The papers are always speculating about those secret societies infiltrating London. You know, those groups that are supposedly plotting the overthrow of Christianity or engaged in the occult? Apparently, the members speak in secret code and use objects to verify their membership. Maybe the watch is such an object.”
“You’ve been reading sensation novels again, haven’t you?” Kent’s bespectacled gaze held a scientist’s skepticism. “Those groups are a figment of the popular imagination, sprite.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” his wife countered. “From what I’ve seen of the world, anything is possible. Can you prove that there aren’t ghosts of the past…and that they can’t be summoned into the present?”
A chill whispered over Beatrice’s nape.
“It wasn’t a ghost that set fire to Beatrice’s barn.” Wick took up the voice of reason. “H. C. is no specter but a flesh-and-blood man with a human agenda.”
“I concur,” Garrity said. “The problem remains how we identify this H. C. We could question more watchmakers, although that strategy hasn’t proven effective thus far.”
“I’ve got it,” Tessa said suddenly.
Kent cocked his head. “You have a better idea, love?”
“I know someone with more knowledge of pocket watches than any watchmaker in the world,” she declared. “If anyone could help us identify it, it’s him.”
“Clever girl.” Kent’s eyes lit with appreciation. “Why didn’t I think of Alfred?”
“Is Alfred a horological expert?” Bea asked.
“In a manner of speaking. He owns a shop that deals with many pocket watches.” Tessa picked up her fork, looking pleased with herself as she dug into the next dish of pheasant braised with bacon and chestnuts. “We’ll go see him first thing tomorrow.”
27
At a quarter past midnight, as Wick was changing in his dressing room, he heard the door open in his adjoining bedchamber. Since he’d told Barton not to wait up for him, he had a fair guess who his visitor was. With a private smile, he didn’t bother with his nightshirt and shrugged into his dressing gown. He headed into the next room to see Beatrice wandering about, an angelic contrast to the dark masculine furnishings. Clad in a white satin robe embroidered with peonies, her hair a shining curtain that reached her waist, she greeted him with a blush and a smile.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t mind company,” she said.
“Since I was about to come find you, you saved me a trip.” He kissed her thoroughly. “Lucky thing too, since I’m feeling rather lazy at the moment.”
“Not all of you is in a torpid state.” Her gaze dropped pointedly to the growing bulge of his erection, her smile both sweet and a bit smug. “Thank heavens for that.”
“Come to take advantage of me, have you?” He took her hand, leading her toward his bed. “Ah, well, I suppose I’ll have to suffer.”
“You are a martyr, aren’t you?”
“The things I do for you,” he agreed as he untied her robe.
Pushing the garment off her shoulders, he felt heat swirl in his blood. She wore only a thin, sleeveless chemise beneath. In the lamplight, the material was translucent, showing the curves of her breasts, their pouting tips pressing against the fabric.
“You are making things easy for me this eve,” he murmured. “No masks or corsets. No endless column of buttons.”
“I’m trying to be accommodating.” She was smiling, but the expression in her eyes grew serious. “If I’ve been difficult, Wick, I do apologize. I don’t mean to be ungrateful for all you’ve done—that you’re doing—for me.”
“You have no need to apologize.” If she had been a bit prickly since their arrival in London, he understood. She was under significant duress, and being back in the city couldn’t be easy for her.
“Even if I was less than friendly to Mr. Garrity this morning?”
“He deserved it for being a right arse to you.” Wick slid a finger under the strap of her chemise, savoring her smoother-than-satin skin. “After you left, I let him know in no uncertain terms that I wouldn’t stand for him turning your misfortune into his advantage. I think he got the message. If not from me, then definitely from his wife.”
“Gabby is lovely, isn’t she? And the Kents and Carlisles are as well.” Bea sounded wistful. “You have wonderful family and friends, Wick.”
“I’m glad you like them because they’re your friends now as well.” Drawing her close, he looked down into her incomparable eyes. “You can trust them, Garrity included. His bark is worse than his bite, and having known him for years, I can attest that he is a man of honor, albeit in his own fashion.”
“I can’t believe how generous everyone has been. How willing to help,” Bea mused. “The people you know…they are very different from the ones in my past.”
Seeing the shadows in her gaze, he tipped her chin up. “You’re safe, angel. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“Sometimes it scares me how easily I’ve let down my guard with you,” she said tremulously. “Being back here in London reminds me that I haven’t depended on anyone for a long time. Not since my accident.”
In her admission, he heard heartbreak and hope. He knew, then and there, that he would happily spend the rest of his life proving to her that he was worthy of her trust. That he was worthy of her.
“Trusting someone and becoming dependent upon them are two different things.” He traced the slant of her cheekbone with his thumb, feeling her shiver when he grazed over her scar. “You can lean on someone without losing your independence. You can count on me and still be the strong, fearless lady of Camden Manor.”
As he spoke, he felt a tightening in his chest, a mounting unease about the difficulty of his quest. He was determined to protect Beatrice and her land; at the same time, he had his obligation to GLNR and his partners. Garrity could be a cutthroat bastard, but he was never a liar. Privately, Kent had filled Wick in on how rife with tension the meeting with the shareholders had been, increasing Wick’s concern…and guilt.
People had invested their life savings in GLNR. His partners had trusted him to negotiate the most important deal in their company’s history. Garrity, in particular, had taken a risk bringing Wick on as a partner, and Wick could not—would not—repay the other’s faith and years of mentorship with failure.
“Your surveyor will be arriving at the estate soon, will he not?” Beatrice asked.
As usual, she showed an uncanny ability to read his thoughts.
“Norton’s latest missive said that he and his team should arrive by tomorrow.” No
t wanting to add to her worries, he said, “Norton is an expert in the field; he’ll figure out a solution. We should direct our energies toward what we can accomplish here in London.”
“We do have a full day ahead of us,” she agreed. “Let’s enjoy ourselves for the rest of the evening.”
“What did you have in mind?”
She fiddled with the lapel of his dressing gown. “I wouldn’t mind a repeat of what you showed me in the carriage the other day.”
“I knew you’d like that position. And it’s even better with the absence of clothing.”
He casually removed his only garment, showing her the impact she had on him. His erection bobbed beneath its own weight, his stones taut and heavy with seed. He cocked a brow at her. Blushing but obviously game, she followed his lead, pulling the chemise over her head. Her femininity never failed to affect him. His cock surged even higher, aiming at her tender blonde furrow.
He fitted his hands to her narrow waist, lifting her onto his bed. Standing between her splayed thighs, he cupped her jaw with both hands and kissed her. He took his time, dipping his tongue into her sweetness, swirling inside. She answered him with dainty parries, the soft, silky strokes making his prick jerk with envy for that decadent caress.
“Last time when you rode me, I didn’t get to watch these pretty tits bounce.” He thumbed her budded nipples. “I’m looking forward to it this time.”
Her eyes turned smoky. “Shall we get on with it, then?”
“Greedy lass,” he said with appreciation. “All right, time for your next riding lesson.”
He climbed into bed, lying on his back with his head propped up on the pillows.
He crooked a finger at her. “Climb on.”
She did, with such eagerness that he had to smother a grin. He adored her honest, generous passion…as much as he adored showing her the many variations of desire.
He clamped his hands on her hips, and she almost seduced him from his purpose when she rubbed her cunny against his turgid shaft. At the kiss of her dewy cleft, he nearly abandoned his plan in favor of sheathing himself inside her ready little passage. Instead, he tightened his hold on her hips and dragged her upward along his body until he had her where he wanted her: with her knees clasping his head, her sex hovering over his mouth.
The Duke Redemption Page 21