Wicked

by Shannon Drake

  Suddenly his touch was slow as his fingers brushed against her thighs and behind her knees, rolling down the length of silk. She shivered, standing, longing to come down to him. His lips found her kneecaps, her inner thighs, her calves…the top of her foot. One stocking was gone. He began to remove the other. Again hands, fingertips, lips, tongue lingered upon her flesh as the silk slipped from it. And he halfway rose, burying his face against her belly, teasing her thighs, falling to her hips…bathing her.

  At last she fell to meet him. His arms crushed around her again, his mouth falling upon and consuming hers. Firelight played upon them, intoxicating them with the headiness of sight and touch and taste and scent. She knew then, as they burned as one along with the flames, that come what may, she was lost. He was all that she craved in life, all that she needed, all that she…loved.

  His whisper touched her ear. “How is it that you can do this to me?” It was a breath, barely discernible, yet it continued. “I forget the world, and reason, and even sanity….”

  They were the words she should have been saying to him, but she refused to let them come to her lips, refused to let them enter her heart. Her fingers threaded into his hair, down his nape, down the length of his back. She came closer, her hands riding over the leanness of his hips to the muscled walls of his buttocks as she inched herself ever closer. She felt herself lifted and slowly eased down upon him. The focus of her entire being became the sensation of him within her, part of her. She could not come closer, could not feel anything so penetrating and wildly exciting ever again.

  Before, she had followed. Now she could lead. And she did.

  Digging into his shoulders, she was aware of each painstaking sensation—fingertips upon his flesh, breasts scraping against the matt of his chest, arms tightening around him. His hands upon her, catching her hips, adding to the momentum, touching, guiding.

  As she exploded in ecstasy, he swept her around and beneath him. The world blazed with the blue flames from the hearth, and the winds that had seized her tore through the forests surrounding them.

  And then, as the wind shifted to the slow catch of her breath, she reached out and touched his face.

  “Why?” she asked softly.

  She thought he would move away, but he did not. His arms lifted his weight from her, but his flesh still hovered over hers, his limbs parting her own.

  “At first? Because I was monstrous.”

  “But there…there is nothing but a scar.”

  “Is that so terrible?” he asked softly.

  She shook her head. “But it’s a lie.”

  “Not a lie. It’s because I’m not ready to know the world.”

  “The mask is not what you’ve become!” she insisted.

  He laughed then, found her lips and kissed her again. “So fierce! Ever so fierce. We all have secrets.”

  She shook her head. “Sadly, Lord Stirling, I am an open book.”

  “With pages that run very deep.”

  “You’re playing games again.”

  “It remains a game. A deadly game,” he said, rising.

  Then, naked in the pile of her cast-off clothing, she felt the force of all that she had once believed so ardently come falling down upon her again. What was she doing?

  She moved to rise. He didn’t let her do so on her own, but came down again, drawing her into his arms as he pulled her to her feet. His fingers cradled her head as he pulled her against him, his lips against hers.

  “I have to go.”

  He shook his head.

  “But I can’t…stay in here.”

  “Why not?”

  She pulled away. “You are the Earl of Carlyle,” she said.

  “Ah, but you are the enchantress who can’t seem to stay in a room in the lord’s castle,” he murmured.

  He picked her up then and passed through to the next room, then fell with her upon the cool, clean expanse of his majestic bed. He held her there. “You really can’t go running around the castle at night,” he said.

  “I won’t.”

  “So you’ve said upon nights gone by.”

  “Have I made such a vow before?”

  “You seem averse to making vows.”

  “They can only be made when they are meant.”

  “There, you see, you would return to your room—or to hover over your dear friend Alex—and some temptation would arise and you would be headed down to the crypts again. Ah! And you think that I am strange!”

  She reached out, touching his face, running her finger down the length of the scar. “It is scarcely visible,” she murmured.

  “I’m sorry. Apparently I’m not living up to your expectations.”

  She studied him. “I have no expectations,” she told him. “Yet neither do I like to be deceived.”

  “I did not set out to deceive you.”

  “No, I came upon a charade long in progress,” she said, and then added, “But tonight you saved Alex, and I’m grateful.”

  “You saved him.”

  She shook her head. “You were far more adept than I.”

  “I have had occasion before to deal with snake bites,” he told her. “In India…the Sudan.” He shrugged, turning away from her suddenly. “Even in Cairo,” he added bitterly.

  His words sent a sudden unease into her. “But you never have bred or raised snakes, have you?”

  He looked at her surprised. “Why on earth would I? They’re very dangerous—as you saw tonight.” He turned away, lacing his fingers behind his head, his focus on the ceiling. “Alex was lucky, terribly lucky. That venom is brutally toxic. It seems that he has pulled through, though I daresay he’ll be in pain and fog tomorrow. But if he continues to do so well…” He shrugged. “I have business in the morning. I assume you’ll be tending to your good friend tomorrow.”

  Camille didn’t answer. She decided to let him have his assumptions. She did, however, have a few plans of her own for the day.

  Apparently, he misunderstood her silence. “Camille, I believe that Alex is going to survive. He’s come this far, and I have seen men survive such bites.”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “I believe he will survive.”

  “He is your very good friend, right?”

  She stared back at him, feeling a small flutter of anger in her heart. Brian Stirling certainly knew that they had never been more.

  “Yes, Alex is my friend.” Now was the time to tell him again that he’d had no right to make the absurd announcement about their engagement. But he was the Earl of Carlyle, as he was so fond of reminding her. His words were all part of the game he played, the charade. He was a peer, had been a soldier, had traveled the world.

  It would be so easy to speak. So many things could be solved with conversation. Yet, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what he would have to say. She was, after all, the one who had assured him that she made her own choices.

  “Thank you for agreeing to bring Alex here,” she said, a little stiffly. Her voice sounded prim, especially considering her position, lying naked next to him. But they were honest words. Naturally she would tend to Alex. But Sir John would be at the museum; he had said so when he had been called away from his search of the storeroom. And she meant to be there, too. It would prove far easier than she had hoped, since Brian would be gone.

  “Camille, seriously—”

  “Seriously, I’m exhausted,” she murmured. “Let your game rest, I beg of you.”

  He fell silent. For the moment, she desperately wanted to avoid further conversation, questions, accusations and mentions of the future, so she reached out and touched him.

  He took her into his arms. “I thought you were exhausted.”

  “Far too tired to argue,” she told him. “It’s far too easy for us to argue.”

  He rolled in the bed, meeting her eyes, stroking her face. “Ah, my dear Miss Montgomery, I’m afraid I find it far too easy not to argue.”

  He was right. Because when he touched her, there was no fu
ture. No child living in the woods. No reproach for the charade he played. No suspicion cast against her.

  There was nothing but the moment.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  NATURALLY, THE INCIDENT at the museum made headlines of all the newspapers. And naturally, all the talk regarding the curse was brought back to the fore. Every reporter diligently noted that the snake bite occurred just after Lord Stirling returned to a place of prominence at the institution after a year of mourning and announced his engagement. To a commoner. An employee of the museum.

  So far, the pieces Brian quickly scanned said nothing about Camille’s background. The reporters were far too busy questioning the possibility of a real curse since he had stepped back into the picture and another man had been bitten. It was mentioned that both he and his fiancée attended to the victim. The papers also heralded Alex Mittleman for his courage in attempting to secure the reptile, and went on to say that the young man was now desperately fighting for his life.

  He had just finished reading the articles when Shelby came to the solarium, telling him that Sir Tristan had asked to have a moment to speak with him. He was somewhat surprised, wondering why the man hadn’t just come on his own.

  In Tristan’s room, he was impressed and somewhat amused by the man’s rationale. “I didn’t want to come walking out looking too healthy!” he told Brian. “Camille is here this morning, eh?”

  “I believe she’ll be spending the day tending to Alex, yes.”

  Tristan nodded. “Well, I was thinking that Ralph and I should slip out. Go back to the pub in the East End and have another chat with that prostitute.”

  Brian smiled. “I appreciate your willingness to serve, Sir Tristan. I truly do. But not today. I have business myself, and I’d prefer you stay here. Camille will be here, as you have said.”

  “But, as you have said, she’ll be tending to Alex. Not that she doesn’t care about her dear old guardian, but I’m on the mend.”

  “So is Alex, I believe,” Brian said. “Tristan, I’d not have you out today, though again, I do appreciate your willingness to help. We’ll get back to it next week, eh?”

  Tristan frowned and nodded. “I know me way about, you know, Lord Stirling. I was taken a bit off guard the other day, but I’m an old soldier. I can hold me own.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” Brian assured him. “But you’d be serving me best to keep an eye on events about the castle today.”

  “You don’t trust her, either, eh?”

  “Who? Camille?”

  Tristan waved a hand impatiently in the air. “Not Camille! That woman Mrs. Prior! Prowling around at night.”

  “What?”

  “Mrs. Prior,” Tristan said sagely. “Last night she was prowling the halls, and that’s a fact.”

  Brian sighed. “Tristan, she’s the housekeeper here. She has a right to be prowling the halls.”

  “In the dead of night?”

  “What were you doing prowling the halls?”

  “Heard noises,” Tristan told him. “And it was her. Sneaking on down the hall to the room where you’ve got the young fellow, Alex.”

  “She probably wanted to see how he was doing,” Brian said.

  “So she claimed. But was she really trying to see to his welfare? Or was she trying to finish off what the asp started?”

  “Tristan, Evelyn was my mother’s best friend. She has stood by me through a great deal. I believe in her.”

  Tristan sniffed. “She’s got you hornswoggled, eh?” he muttered. “An attractive woman she is, and I can see how in loneliness…well, a woman can twist a man around, can’t she.”

  Brian wasn’t sure whether to be angry or amused. “There is nothing between Mrs. Prior and me, Tristan. Nothing, except friendship.”

  “She may be a witch,” Tristan said knowingly.

  “I don’t believe in witchcraft.”

  “Maybe you should, young fellow. Maybe you should.”

  “And that from an old soldier?”

  Tristan flushed uneasily. “Begging your pardon, you are the Earl of Carlyle, My Lord. But I’d not be of any good to anyone if I didn’t speak me mind!”

  “Warning taken. So there you have it, Sir Tristan. I need you here today.”

  “Maybe you do, maybe you do,” Tristan muttered. “Have ye seen me Camille yet this morning?”

  Brian hesitated. Had he seen her? Yes, sweetly sleeping, the elegance of her length and flesh, the rich luxury of her hair, splayed upon sheets and pillow. She was breathtaking in sleep.

  “I’ve not spoken with her. And I’m leaving on business immediately. So, Tristan, it’s up to you to tend to the household. Shelby will be driving me, but Corwin will be here, should you need help of any kind.”

  Sir Tristan took that gravely. “And I’ve me own man, Ralph, as well.” That seemed to mean that he could handle about anything.

  “WE ARE LISTENING, Lord Wimbly.”

  Lord Wimbly cleared his throat. The Queen said that she was listening, and she was. Yet she wasn’t looking at him, but rather giving attention to the correspondence on her desk.

  Once Victoria had been lovely and young. And when Albert lived, she had been avid and passionate in so many ways. Now, though Albert had been gone decades, she still chose dark colors, and she had taken to living his ethics as if chastity and pure living assured an entrance to heaven. Albert, in life, had been her dearly beloved husband. In death, he was put on a pedestal that could never be toppled. Admittedly those who had come immediately before Victoria had led lives of debauchery, but Victoria had created a stifling world of do-good-or-die around herself. As she still seldom let the world in around her, she wasn’t really aware that the common man needed to laugh upon occasion, have a pint or two…Live a life with just a touch of debauchery!

  “The section does not need to be closed down for any length of time. Naturally I returned to the museum first thing this morning. And again, quite naturally, Your Majesty, the section is closed today. But the young man has survived the attack, and…dear God, Victoria!” he said, remembering the years gone past. He had resorted to the way he had spoken when they were both young, years and years gone, before she had become the Queen of England. She looked up at that instantly, one brow lifted so imperiously that he knew he had made a major mistake.

  “We will not have it said that our museums are cursed,” she told him.

  “Forgive me!” he pleaded, but added, “Perhaps you should suggest to the Earl of Carlyle that he take a step away from the museum again. I was pleased to see him, of course, when he showed his renewed interest in our precious national treasure, but…maybe the man is cursed!” He nearly said damn it all. Thankfully, he managed to refrain. Surely, his swearing might well have sent her into apoplexy.

  “The Earl of Carlyle has suffered grievously, and he and his late parents have served me well.” She clenched her teeth for a moment. “Not a single one of my prime ministers has even had a negative word for the Stirlings and their contributions, either military or financial.” She glanced at him sharply, but then her eyes returned to the papers before her. She seemed to lose focus for a moment. He had heard that her physician had prescribed cannabis for her monthlies years ago. With gritted teeth, he wondered if she had stayed on the substance.

  “Your Majesty, I’ve already seen to it that the exhibit will be changed, and the creature that somehow managed to get loose has been given to the zoological park.”

  “A cobra never should have been part of an exhibit!” she snapped angrily.

  No, the old girl was sharp as nails, and angry. It wasn’t a good day to be having a discussion with the Queen, but he hadn’t chosen to do so—he had been summoned. Of course, he had been expecting this since the debacle of the night before.

  “Your Majesty, I repeat, the snake is gone.” He hesitated. He desperately needed the Egyptology department of the museum to thrive. Desperately! With his gambling debts…

  He tried an old ploy, striding to he
r desk, falling down on one knee. Victoria, despite her great age, could still be flattered. “Most noble Majesty, I beg of you! Don’t let the great display of so much that creates our great Empire be hidden! I do believe that…well, forgive me, but it was your dear Prince Albert who gave us the Great Exhibition, so much of learning and industry and invention—and history, as well! Please, trust in me. Let me pave the way for even greater displays, and take away nothing from what we have!”

  Her lips were still pursed, but the flattery—and the mention of her dear, departed Albert and his thirst for knowledge—seemed to have helped his appeal.

  “We will give you leave to open your section on Monday,” she told him. “We will trust you to take personal charge.”

  He lowered his head. “Thank you, Your Majesty!” he said.

  “We are quite tired now,” she told him.

  “Yes, of course, forgive me! I have taken your time on a Saturday morning.”

  She turned back to her papers, dismissing him. He got out quickly. Good God, yes, the Egyptology section had to remain open! And now, not only would it do so, but he had actually been give a royal command to spend his time within it!

  AT MCNALLY’S PUBLIC HOUSE, Brian put in an order for the rotgut gin the place served, and chose one of the dirty tables that looked out onto the street. He watched for a while and saw the small prostitute with whom Tristan had been talking the day before. She teased and played with the men at the bar, allowing herself to be fondled and pulled this way and that. But from what Brian could see, she wasn’t making any arrangements for quick trysts in any secluded alleyways.

  After a while the woman spotted him at the table and noted the fact that he was watching her. She approached and took the chair opposite him, leaning low against the table. It was a practiced move, allowing for her breasts to be pushed up to a more than abundant size and to nearly spill on the man being graced with her attentions. “So, old timer! What y’ be doin’ here? Looking is free, as long as you keep the gin coming. Think there’d be more ye could manage?” Her foot slid along the length of his leg.