“You were supposed to go under,” Heathcliff smirked at me. “Not go down and take everyone in the room with you.”
“I’ll do it better next time,” I grumbled, watching Morrie and Lydia spinning away. I couldn’t see his face.
“No, you won’t. We’re getting off this dance floor before you put someone’s eye out.” Heathcliff took me under the arm and dragged me off. Behind me, the dancers applauded.
Ingrates.
I dragged Heathcliff toward the front of the room, where Morrie and Lydia were still dancing the set. “It turns out that Regency dancing is much more complicated than moshing to punk music.” I glowered at Morrie as he spun Lydia around in perfect time. Morrie glanced up at me. His body stiffened. Although he didn’t step out of time, his focus wavered for a moment, and his perfect features crumpled back into a look of such despair that sent a chill down my spine.
Why is he looking at me like that, as though I’ve just stomped on his pet puppy? It can’t be that he’s finally realized his behavior has been upsetting me – this is Morrie we’re talking about. He wouldn’t care. So what’s wrong?
Heathcliff’s foot came down on my boot. “What are you staring at?”
“Morrie. Something’s up with him.”
Heathcliff peered at our friend as he and Lydia switched places. As he skipped past her, he pinched her bum. She squealed in delight and chased after Morrie to get him back, causing two dancers to lose their time and crash into each other. “True. He’s a bigger wanker than usual.”
“That’s not it.” I squinted at Morrie as he came around to do the twirl and swap again. His eyes fell on mine. He plastered his usual sublime grin on his face, but too late – I’d seen the darkness lurking there. “I mean, you’re right. He’s been a massive wanker lately, but I think something else is going on. There was that weird letter he got the other day, and some things he’s said and done.”
Like the way he ran away from me after that threesome—
At the thought of that night – of being sandwiched between Morrie and Quoth while they did delicious things to my body, of surrendering my senses to dwell in the dark places beneath their hands and lips – a delicious shiver ran through my body. By Aphrodite, not now. I’m trying to figure out Morrie, not relive one of the hottest moments of my entire life so that I become a puddle of mush on the ballroom floor—
“From MENSA,” Heathcliff cut into my memories.
“What?”
“I saw the envelope in the rubbish bin,” Heathcliff shrugged. “It was from some organization called MENSA. I assumed Morrie was blackmailing them.”
MENSA? I wasn’t surprised that Morrie was a member. He liked people to know exactly how clever he was. But I was surprised that he kept the letter secret. Morrie wouldn’t waste a moment telling everyone in Argleton that he’d been accepted into MENSA. So then why did he hide the letter? And what does it have to do with the weird way he’d been acting?
“What if he took an IQ test, and he failed.” My mind whirred. Yes, it could explain why Morrie was so snappy, especially when one of us implied he didn’t have the answer to something. “Maybe he’s worried he’s not as clever as he thinks he is, and he’s taking it out on us?”
“But this weirdness started well before that letter arrived,” Heathcliff pointed out.
“True. Do you think he—”
“Do you want a drink?” Heathcliff growled in my ear.
“Hell yes.”
He gripped my hand and dragged me off the dance floor. Cynthia yelled after us to come back and dance in the next set, but my shins hurt so much I no longer cared. Heathcliff tugged me into the Uppercross antechamber, now empty of people, unless you counted the two staff members clearing away the discarded napkins and cocktail sticks. Heathcliff steadied himself against the gilded fireplace and jammed his hands down the front of his breeches. A moment later, he produced a silver flask, popped the cork, and offered it to me.
“I’m not drinking that. It’s been against your testicles.”
“Suit yourself.” Heathcliff knocked back a shot. “There’s barely any room to hide booze in these ridiculous clothes. Give me a greatcoat and some proper trousers and I could mix you a right posh cocktail.”
“By the end of Wuthering Heights you were quite the gentleman,” I teased him. “You’d have worn clothes like this all the time.”
“Luckily I got out before my life became so dire.” Heathcliff took another sip. I paused, wondering if I should ask him about his odd moment earlier, but then he said, “I’ve been thinking about your letter.”
“You have?” Instinctively, my hand flew to my chest, where my father’s letter pinched between my breasts. Between all the costumes and warring academics and running around after Lydia, I’d barely thought about it or the fight with my mother all day. At that moment, it all came rushing back to me – that I was at Baddesley Hall dressed in this ridiculous outfit and forcing Heathcliff through the ordeal of a Regency ball because I was desperate to avoid the subject.
I still hadn’t told Heathcliff, Morrie, or my mother about the fireworks and what Dr. Clements had said. I hadn’t even tried to research the letter beyond Morrie’s examination of the paper. I’d been so distracted by balls and bonnets that I hadn’t given any more thought to my father and the time-travelling room and Victoria’s comment about me being covered in blood. For someone who’d faced down three murderers, I sure was running away from a hell of a lot.
Examining my behavior from the outside, I made about as much sense to myself as Morrie did right now. All my life I’d wanted to know who my father was. The only thing holding me back from hunting him down in earnest was knowing how much it would hurt my mother and how disappointed I’d be that I’d find a criminal.
But if my father was Herman Strepel, the time-traveling bookseller, and whatever disguise he’d presented for my mother had been designed to help hide him from the nameless enemy, then the next move was obvious to me – I had to find him.
Heathcliff snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Now it was you who went off somewhere.”
“Yes, sorry. You were saying?”
“Your father and Mr. Simson both spoke about you being in danger. Victoria also said your father purchased occult volumes from her. Mr. Simson acquired a large occult book collection in the shop. It stands to reason that they knew each other.”
“You’re right.” I hadn’t made that connection. Another coincidence that couldn’t possibly be a coincidence at all. I patted Heathcliff’s arm. “That’s very wise. Too wise for someone as ungentlemanly as you. Did you and Morrie somehow swap bodies in the time-travel bedroom? It would explain why you’re being all clever and he’s being a mega grump.”
“I am clever,” Heathcliff growled.
“Yes, but your cleverness is hidden behind your surly and arseholeish exterior.”
“Fine. I concede your point. But grumpy or not, I’m on to something here. If your father is intent on staying away from you, perhaps we should attempt to track down the old man? You said he treated you as a special helper in the shop when you were a kid. Perhaps it was his way of trying to protect you. At the very least, Morrie can look into his life, see which retirement home he’s holed up in.” Heathcliff shrugged. “If we can find him, Mr. Simson might tell us more about this supposed danger.”
“You’re right. We will do that as soon as we get back. Maybe sooner, if I get sick of wearing these clothes and decide to bail early.”
“Please do. Mina?” Heathcliff leaned closer. His deep voice rumbled in my chest. I loved when he said my name.
“Yeah?” An electric charge leaped from my body to his.
“I’ve been thinking about the other night, in the time-travel bedroom.”
My heart thudded. I’d been thinking about it too, non-stop, all the time. How if Victoria Bainbridge hadn’t interrupted us, and Morrie hadn’t been such a wanker, we might’ve… things could have…
I migh
t have slept with all three of them.
At once.
I gulped. Why did the idea of it make my body flush with desire and quiver with fear at the same time?
I’d already been with Morrie and Quoth together, and with Heathcliff on the same night. But that was a one-off threesome while I was tied up and then this was… another thing entirely.
There was the way Heathcliff unleashed himself when we were together, as though being with me kept him teetered on the edge of insanity. There was Quoth’s impossible kindness and his desperate, silent plea to be loved, and Morrie’s battle to control his emotions and conceal his dual nature. There was the way the three of them made me feel like I was invincible, like I could do anything. When I was with them, I wasn’t poor friendless Mina, the sad girl who was going blind. I was a goddess. And by Astarte that felt good.
I could never choose one of them. I needed them all, as I’d come to suspect they needed me. But did that mean all four of us, in bed, together? Would that even work?
“What were you thinking?” I managed to choke out.
Another guy might’ve turned away from such a proposal, but this was Heathcliff. His eyes blazed, boring into mine like they intended to flush out a bit of my soul. “I’ve already texted Quoth to tell him to head straight to Baddesley Hall after he closes the shop. If you want to finish what we started, you should wait until Lydia is asleep and sneak into our room tonight.”
“Okay,” I whispered, my heart in my throat.
Behind Heathcliff, the ballroom doors burst open. Attendees spilled out, chatting and laughing, demonstrating their dance moves to each other. Waiters swept in to offer refreshments, and maids ducked into the ballroom to clean up after the session. The noise swirled around us, bouncing off the high roof. All I saw was Heathcliff’s dark eyes boring into mine, devouring me. Heat pooled between my legs as I accepted the promise of what I would receive tonight from my three fictional men.
Chapter Thirteen
“A couple just left the shop. The wife wore her Regency finery and informed me they were in the village for the festival. She trotted around the shop, exclaiming over every little thing, and ended up buying that complete set of Folio Society Austen from your display for £150. The husband dragged his feet after her, weighed down by shopping bags. He leaned over the counter with a look of utter despair and asked if we any books in the craft section about how to build a gun, as he wished to shoot himself in the head. On a positive note, absolutely no one has quoted ‘The Raven’ today, and I look forward with rare and radiant anticipation to seeing you later this evening.”
After speaking with Heathcliff, I found Quoth’s text on my phone. It only increased the maelstrom of excitement and nerves swirling around inside my stomach.
I barely heard a word the rest of the day. I sat through two more lectures with Heathcliff’s invitation blaring inside my skull. Every time Morrie brushed past me in the hall, his hand grazed the small of my back.
Our VIP tickets included dinner. I was tempted to skip it, but Heathcliff pointed out that if we skipped out on Lydia, she’d likely drag us back by our ears or worse, sit by herself and blab all our secrets.
As we took our seats, Heathcliff’s hand brushed my thigh under the table, and my breath hitched.
Morrie, not to be outdone, dropped his fork on the floor. “Whoops, I’m such a butterfingers.” His eyes sparkled as he slid under the table, his body hidden from the others by the floor-length tablecloth. As I reached for the bread basket, hands frantically flung up my skirt and shoved aside my underwear. I yelped as Morrie buried his face between my legs.
“Something wrong?” Cynthia looked at me in concern.
“Nothing, nothing.” I held up my wine glass. “The wine was just er… warmer than I expected.”
I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t…
Morrie’s tongue twirled over my clit, like a ballerina taking the stage for a breathtaking fouetté. The sheer audacity of what he was doing combined with that relentless rhythm sent my head spinning and my body pulsing with an ache that needed to be sated. I tried to pick up my knife to butter my bread, but Morrie pounded the flat of his tongue against me and ended up swiping the butter across the front of Heathcliff’s jacket.
Oh Isis oh Isis his tongue…
“…Grey likes to joke that I’m his Lady Catherine de Bourgh, but I really do think my personality is more in tune with the kind-hearted and quiet nature of Anne Elliot, do you agree, Mina?”
“Um…” I gasped, gripping the edge of the table as heat pooled in my stomach. Morrie fed the growing ache inside me, driving me closer… closer…
“That friend of yours has been hunting for his fork for an awful long time.” Cynthia bent down. “I hope he hasn’t passed out down there.”
“I’m sure… he’s fine…” I gasped.
Right there… please… keep going…
Cynthia lifted the edge of the tablecloth. Morrie pulled away, scrambling out from under the table with his fork in his hand. My whole body shuddered with need. Damn you, I was right there…
My fingers itched to slide between my legs and finish the job. All it would take was a single touch and I’d be over the edge. I squeezed my legs together, but that only made me more desperate.
“Your hair is all rumpled,” Lydia scolded Morrie. “Really now, you should let the servants run after stray forks.”
I wanted to correct her on the use of servants, but my body buzzed too much. I knew if I opened my mouth, I might scream with frustration. Across the table, Morrie grinned at me and raised his glass.
You wanker. You did this on purpose.
I scoffed my dinner as fast as I could, drowned three glasses of wine in quick succession, and waited with my nails digging into my palms for an appropriate time to leave the table. On either side of me, neither Heathcliff nor Morrie seemed fazed by the fact dinner was dragging on for seven centuries. By the time Cynthia stood up to give a rundown of the events for the following day. I was close to swooning.
“I’m feeling a little faint,” I managed to choke out, as the wait staff emerged with platters of cakes and slowly moved around the room. “I think it was all that vigorous dancing today. Thank you for your company tonight, everyone, but I think I’ll go up to my room and lie down.”
“Please, Mina, you should stay,” Cynthia cooed. “After dessert, some of the graduate students will be giving an amateur production of a story from the Juvenilia.”
Lydia frowned. “What’s the Juvenilia?”
“It’s a collection of stories, scenes, and novel fragments Jane Austen wrote between the ages of eleven and seventeen,” explained David. “They’re a unique glimpse into Jane’s literary origins and her unpredictable, snarky humor. When they lived at the Rectory, Jane and her family loved to perform plays and poems for the delight of their neighbors. Our resident expert, Professor Hathaway, is certain that similar dramatics would have been performed by the family and guests while Jane stayed at Baddesley Hall—”
“There’s no record of that,” Professor Carmichael cut in from the table behind us.
David continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “—therefore, it’s only fitting that we Janeites continue the tradition.”
“Sounds delightful.” Lydia accepted a second plate of dessert. “I shall most definitely attend. Goodnight, Mina. I hope you a feeling more up to dancing tomorrow, for you have a lot of practice to attend to.”
“Thanks, Lydia.” I waved goodbye to everyone at the table, and practically sprinted across the room.
As I climbed the staircase, Heathcliff and Morrie appeared at my sides. “Are you certain you don’t want to watch the amateur dramatics, gorgeous?”
“Not even remotely,” I replied, linking my arms in theirs. “How have you disentangled yourself from Lydia?”
“David is escorting her. I figure she can’t say anything too outrageous to that drip, although I heard a rumor that one of her other suitors intends to ste
al her away.”
We passed Gerald coming down the stairs, deep in discussion with Fishnet Girl. She glanced up as we went past, her eyes trailing after Heathcliff. Her tongue reached out to lick her scarlet lips. I almost expected it to be forked.
We ascended the grand staircase as quickly as was possible in my dress. Morrie flung open the door to their room and shoved me inside. Quoth already lounged on the bed, flipping through the TV channels, a bowl of blueberries beside him.
“Don’t you have an amateur dramatic performance to attend?” Quoth arched a perfect eyebrow.
I threw myself down on the bed, turned Quoth’s face toward mine, and devoured his lips. His tongue tasted tart, like the berries. My body ached with the need to be touched by him.
The bed creaked as the other two guys climbed on. Heathcliff’s strong arms stole around my middle, unlacing the delicate gown with deft strokes. Morrie pressed his chest to my back, his hands falling over my shoulders and under the neckline to cup my bare breasts.
“When you didn’t speak of this again, I thought…” Quoth’s words died away under my kisses.
“Don’t think,” I whispered back, kicking off my Docs and allowing Heathcliff to tug off my skeleton socks. “I’m not.”
I closed my eyes, surrendering myself to Quoth’s lips and to the urgent kisses and caresses of Heathcliff and Morrie. My mind whirred with questions. Should we do this? Was this what I really wanted? Would this bring us closer together? Would it break down Morrie’s walls and burst Heathcliff wide open and make Quoth see how beautiful he really was? Or would it be the end of the special thing we have?
Would it give me the strength to face all the things I was running from? Or was losing myself in them just another way of running?
No. Don’t think. I focused on my breath heaving in my chest, on Morrie’s teeth scraping against my collarbone, on Heathcliff sliding the dress over my head, his lips closing around a nipple, rolling it and sucking it until I moaned and all thoughts and doubts fled my mind.
Pride and Premeditation Page 11