With a casual shrug he gave her a jaunty grin. “When you offer such temptations to me, my dear, you can expect some kind of response. And since I’ve had you for the moment, I’ll have to restrict myself to an affectionate pat. Now get your clothes on, woman, so we can eat, or by my word, I’ll make you serve my pleasure again.”
Laughing at his antics, Cerynise complied. After they had donned their clothes again, they hurried upstairs for a quick check on their son and a more tidy cleansing before returning to the dining room.
The long dining room table had been set for two at one end of the table. Glasses of wine had already been poured and were awaiting them beside their place settings. Beeswax candles cast a warm glow over the array of crystal, china and silver as Beau gallantly pulled out a chair for his wife. Slipping it forward beneath her, he bent over her as she settled into the seat, motivating her to lean back for the slow caress of his lips against her throat.
“I enjoy looking at your breasts from this angle,” he whispered, “but I think I hear Jasper coming, and I don’t like the idea of sharing such sights with another man.”
Gathering the shawl together, Cerynise assumed a gracious image of a proper young mistress well before the butler arrived with their soup. Beau couldn’t help but smile at the contrast between her present sublime poise and that lusty vixen who, moments earlier, had driven him on with wild, passionate frenzy. He was as susceptible to her as any puppet. All she had to do was maneuver his strings, and he’d dance to whatever tune she played.
As the servant departed, Beau raised his goblet in toast to her. “To you, my love. May you never grow tired of stirring my pleasure and filling my heart with joy.”
Smilingly she dipped her head in gracious acknowledgment of his salute, and then, after taking a tiny sip, she raised her glass in like response to him. “To you, my darling knight. May you never grow wearied of slaying dragons and saving this damsel from distress and boredom.”
“The pleasure is all mine, madam,” he rejoined with a warm, meaningful twinkle in his eyes before quaffing his wine.
The lobster bisque was superb, as was to be expected with Philippe as chef. So were the winter vegetables and the roast fillet of beef with cornichon tarragon sauce. Cerynise relished it all like an eager child, drawing a chuckle from her husband.
“I don’t know how you manage to stay so trim, my love. With what you eat, you should be rolling down the halls.”
Teasingly she licked her fingers for his benefit, evoking his laughter. “Between you and Marcus, I’m sure you’ll both help me use it up.”
“The way that little pig grunts when he’s nursing, he’ll undoubtedly consume it all for himself.”
“Now don’t be jealous,” Cerynise cajoled sweetly. “You’ll have as many chances to gain my attention as you could possibly want.”
Beau braced an elbow on the corner of the table and leaned toward her with a leer. “Promise?”
Her eyes glowed back at him, conveying such a vow to be duly sworn to.
After dinner they returned to the study, but only to talk, hold hands and kiss. Soon, Hatti’s granddaughter, Vera, rapped on the open door to draw their attention.
“Mastah Marcus is awake now, Miz Cerynise, an’ he’s a-squallin’ up a storm.”
“Duty calls,” Cerynise drolly sighed to her husband and, leaving him with another kiss, went upstairs to feed their son. After finishing off the last of the wine in his goblet, her husband followed to the nursery. Vera had wisely dismissed herself, allowing them to enjoy their child in the privacy of their chambers.
After nursing Marcus, his mother readied his nightly bath, and the doting parents joined in this endeavor, laughing together at the many faces their son made in reaction to being bathed in warm water and then dried in a soft towel. After placing an indulgent kiss upon the tiny head, Beau departed the nursery, leaving his wife to rock and sing their baby to sleep while he soaked in a bath of his own.
Some time later Cerynise left her slumbering son in his bed and slipped into the dressing room to find a scented bath awaiting her. Hearing a faint tinkle in the bedroom, she stepped to the door of the adjoining chamber and found her husband withdrawing his hand from a wine goblet that he had just placed on his bedside table. He was sitting in bed with the covers drawn up around his waist, looking for all the world like he was ready for a long night of sensual delights. His eyes swept her in a slow caress as he asked, “Planning on standing there all night?”
“Absolutely not,” Cerynise eagerly replied. “Give me a moment to get a bath.…”
“You needn’t bother with a nightgown,” he warned her as she returned to the dressing room. “It may get ripped.”
“Yes, sir,” she called back. “Anything you say, sir.”
“And hurry!” he urged. “I’ve been waiting for a whole quarter of an hour and am nigh besotted thinking about you.”
Cerynise hurriedly stripped away her clothes, bathed and brushed out her hair before slipping into a negligee that Beau had bought for her earlier in the week. It could hardly be called a garment, for it was made of the filmiest, silkiest white cloth she had ever seen. It was long and flowing with sleeves that did the same. After touching perfume to her throat and down her arms, she paused and then, with a smile, dabbed several droplets between her breasts again. She slipped her feet into white satin mules and doused the light. The gossamer fabric billowed out behind her until it seemed as if she floated into the bedroom on airy wings.
The emerald eyes took in the sights with a lusting greed that left her breasts fairly tingling. Beau held out a hand, inviting her to hurry, and then swept down the covers beside him. Pausing beside the bed, she lifted the negligee off her shoulders and let it fall unheeded to the floor.
When she slipped into bed, Beau was immediately there, gathering her close. This time it was he who made love to her, startling her with the passion he exhibited. Although infinitely gentle with her, he was more adventurous with her now that she was no longer pregnant. He remained heedless of her breathless pleas, delighting in his ability to bring her to frenzied heights of eagerness. Panting and writhing as if she were caught up in an insatiable quest that would never be fulfilled, she became a bit impetuous herself and made bold to copy his manner until a deep, guttural moan broke from him. As his manly hardness surged into her warmth, Cerynise rose up to meet him and, with quickening ardor, answered his deep thrusts. Once again they soared on shimmering wings of ecstasy, letting their hungering ardor sweep them ever upward.
When finally they floated down to earth again, they snuggled together in their bed, and with a blissful sigh, Cerynise laid her head upon Beau’s shoulder as her fingers idly caressed his chest. The world outside their home had ceased to exist for her, for it was all here in her husband’s encompassing arms.
The back door slammed early the next morning, and Beau and Cerynise both glanced around as Moon came charging into the dining room in an anxious dither. Beau had just finished his breakfast when the old tar halted near his chair.
“The blighter’s dead, Cap’n! They found him on the docks this morn’n’ with his belly sliced open from stem to stern.”
“Who in the world are you talking about, Moon?” Beau queried, pushing away his plate.
“Wilson, Cap’n. He was as stiff as a frozen cod. Must’ve been gutted late last night.”
Beau glanced at his wife and saw that the color had drained from her cheeks. He could imagine that Moon’s morbid explanations were a bit too lurid for her. Laying a hand upon hers, he excused himself and then motioned for the tar to follow him into the study. Closing the door behind them, he asked the man, “Do the authorities have any idea who might have killed him?”
“Nay, Cap’n. He’s been hidin’ out in an ol’ run-down inn from what I heared from someone this morn’n’. No one I talked ta had seen a trace o’ him since ye sent yer men ta search for him. Then, all o’ a sudden, there he was, curled up with a knife in his belly. It don�
�t seem likely that Wilson would’ve let a stranger get close enough ta stick him, so’s I’m a-thinkin’ he knew the fella what did it an’ maybe trusted him more’n a mite.”
“That might definitely be the case, Moon. Since there were so many men looking for him, Wilson would probably have been wary of anyone approaching him. But we may never know the answer to that riddle now.”
“This means yer li’l girlie is safe now, don’t it, Cap’n?”
“I hope so, Moon. I truly hope so.”
Several days later, Jasper answered the summons of the front door knocker with his usual dignified poise, but his stiff jaw slowly descended when he recognized the two who were standing before the portal. The last time he had seen them was the night before he and the rest of the servants had risen at the crack of dawn and absconded with the paintings that belonged to his present mistress. From their startled expressions, it was fairly easy to ascertain that Alistair Winthrop and Howard Rudd were just as surprised to see him.
“I was wondering where you had vanished to,” Alistair jeered. “Now I know. I just never figured you for a turncoat.”
“Had that been the case, sir, I would have stayed with you,” the butler answered him loftily. For the life of him, Jasper couldn’t manage a lie for the sake of graciousness and tell them that it was a pleasure to see them again. “Whom do you wish to see, sir?”
“My ward, of course,” Alistair informed him caustically. “Please tell her that I’ve come to call.”
“Mrs. Birmingham, you mean,” Jasper pointedly corrected. “If you’ll wait there, sir, I’ll tell my mistress that you’re here seeking her favor.”
Feeling no compunction to extend the usual hospitality of the house to them, the servant closed the door in their faces, leaving Alistair nearly bouncing up and down in outrage.
“Seeking the bitch’s favor,” he squealed in an outraged whisper. “Why, I’ll tear that bastard’s heart out with a crowbar for leaving us in such a blooming mess.”
“You couldn’t have paid him anyway,” Howard Rudd reasoned, and then sought to counsel his companion. “Now you saw how fast Sybil skedaddled when you lost your temper and told her that you didn’t have enough funds to hire more and that she’d have to do all of our cooking and cleaning. So I must urge you to keep tight rein on your temper while we’re here. Flying into a blooming snit won’t suit our purposes in the least if we have any hopes of luring the girl away with promises of her paintings being returned to her.”
“I wish we could’ve brought one with us just to entice her.”
Howard Rudd heaved a sigh of lament. “Most unfortunate that we weren’t able to get our hands on any of them.”
“I still say that dealer in the gallery knew where they were in spite of the fact that he was so incensed by our accusations and claimed we were daft.”
“Didn’t help that you bruised him up a bit,” Rudd chided.
“I may yet finish him off if I find out that he was lying to us.”
“Now don’t be so forceful with the girl. As we’ve seen in the past, Captain Birmingham isn’t at all the gentle sort. Bruise his wife, and he’ll search every ship leaving the docks just to get his hands on us. Throwing us into the bay will hardly placate him as suitable recompense.”
“Are you sure you saw him at the shipping company?”
Rudd’s lips flapped in a heavy emission of his breath, attesting to his exasperation. “How could I mistake him after our last visit with him? I assure you, the sight of that man has been forever branded upon my memory.” With a trembling hand the barrister took out a handkerchief and wiped his glistening brow. “Still think it’s damn foolish of you to try this when he’s only a few blocks away.”
“You said he won’t be home for another couple of hours. We’ll be long gone before he arrives.”
“Jasper poses a problem. Have to bribe him or something or he’ll be telling the captain we came. We’ll be lucky to sail away from here with our carcasses intact.…”
“I’ll leave that matter to you. If the girl won’t come peaceably, then I’ll have no other choice but to take her. We’ll meet up at that old abandoned farm outside of town.” Alistair glanced aside at his accomplice and arched a brow as he noticed how much the man was shaking. “Are you sure you can cover my rear if our lure fails?”
The lawyer gulped and nervously patted the bulk beneath his coat. “I wish there was some other way to handle this. I hate firearms.”
“We don’t have much time left,” Alistair snapped. “Our funds are running out.”
“Should have sold more of your aunt’s possessions before we left. Had we done so, we’d have had the time and resources to see this thing done properly.”
“Don’t fret so much. You know it sours your stomach.”
Cerynise had gone to the kitchen to show Marcus off to Philippe while the baby was wide awake and sweetly attentive to the faces that came close enough for him to peruse. The chef was jovially giving the child his first lessons in French, declaring that Marcus would be highly appreciative of the language once he started sailing to foreign shores like his father. The child was responding to him with happy gurgles, drawing chuckles of delight from both chef and parent, but when Jasper came rushing in, Marcus quickly shifted his consideration to the highly agitated butler and puckered his brows in a curious frown.
“Madam! Prepare yourself,” Jasper urged excitedly. “In fact, you’d better give the baby over to Monsieur Philippe before I tell you who is at the front door requesting to see you.”
Cerynise clasped her baby more securely in her own arms, clearly bemused by the butler’s anxiety, and inclined her head to assure him that she had the situation well in hand. “Who is it, Jasper?”
“Mr. Winthrop and Mr. Rudd, madam.…”
Cerynise swayed in a stunned daze and quickly passed the baby over into the arms of the chef, who grew alarmed at her sudden pallor. “Madame! Are you all right?”
She nodded stiffly and begged him, “Please take the baby out to Vera.…”
Without another word she turned and left the kitchen ahead of Jasper, who paused to give Philippe instructions of his own. In the dining room, Cerynise waited for the butler to join her and then bade, “I’ll receive the visitors in the parlor, Jasper.”
“Madam, are you sure?” he questioned worriedly.
“They wouldn’t dare harm me here in my own home.”
“Even so, madam, I cannot bring myself to trust the men. They’re scoundrels through and through.”
“That may well be true, Jasper, but I’m curious to know what they’re doing here and what they want of me.”
“No good, I fear.”
“I’ll hear them out. That’s all.”
Cerynise went into the front room on the north side of the house while Jasper reluctantly complied with her wishes. He opened the front door to admit the two, and then announced, “Mrs. Birmingham will see you in the parlor.”
Stepping past the servant, Alistair strode into the front foyer and then, sweeping off his hat and tossing it back to the man, approached the study, on the opposite side of the house.
“The other way, sir,” Jasper corrected, his ire rising as he took note of his former employer’s interest in the room, where an older painting of Cerynise’s was hanging above the mantel. It was one that her husband had especially reserved for himself, an English country scene of a thatched-roof cottage nestled beside a stream in the midst of a wooded glade. Personally Jasper had always considered it one of her best landscapes.
“Haven’t I seen that painting before?” Alistair asked, turning a calculating frown upon the butler.
Jasper’s nose lifted imperiously. “I wouldn’t know, sir.” Once again he extended his hand in the direction of the parlor. “Mrs. Birmingham is awaiting you in here, sir.”
Howard Rudd passed his own headgear to the servant and smoothed down the lapels of his wrinkled frock coat before he followed Alistair into the parlor.
/> Jasper set the hats aside on the entrance table and stepped to the door, gaining his mistress’s attention. “Do you wish tea or refreshments, madam?”
Howard Rudd eyed the large cabinet standing against the wall and licked a coated tongue over his parched lips as he took note of the crystal decanters residing on a silver platter there. “Glass of brandy if the captain wouldn’t mind.”
“Nothing at all,” Alistair stated with emphasis, his eyes narrowing warningly as they shifted to the barrister, who was growing noticeably disconcerted by the ordeal of entering the domain of that seafaring worthy who had once set them on their ears. “We won’t be staying that long.”
“I’ll have a cup of tea, Jasper,” Cerynise replied, letting them both know that she was the one to whom the butler had spoken and the only one in the room with the authority to make such decisions.
Despite the moments that she had been allowed to compose herself, Cerynise realized she hadn’t been expecting the sudden surge of abhorrence that had swept through her when she had settled her gaze upon the two men. Almost a full year had passed since she had last seen them, but that hadn’t been nearly enough time in her mind. She didn’t regret in the least that at their last confrontation her husband had taken Alistair up by the scruff of his neck and the seat of his pants and sailed him overboard into the Thames. She only wished Beau was here now, watching over her with his usual care.
Alistair appeared thinner than before, she surmised. Dark circles were evident beneath his eyes, and his clothes were ill fitting and rumpled, far different from what his appearance had been in London. The portly solicitor appeared equally disheveled, his bulbous nose perhaps even more unsightly with the netting of broken veins that crisscrossed it. His eyes were red and watery, as if he suffered some allergy or perhaps repercussions from liberally imbibing in strong spirits.
Cerynise reluctantly extended an invitation for them to take a seat across from her, making an earnest effort to appear cordial. Her only reason for permitting them into the house was to learn what they were up to, and the best way to hasten that information along was to convey a modicum of civility. “Do forgive my surprise, gentlemen. I’m sure you can believe that your visit here is most unexpected. In fact, you’re the last people I anticipated seeing today.”
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