~~~
Lewis walked up to the front door of the Portland stone mansion and rang Somerville’s bell. Michael might know who wrote the letter. Could Michael have kept some information about Laura’s death from him? If so, it seemed unnecessarily cruel, and he struggled to believe it, even though Michael was now a bitter adversary who thought the worst of him.
The night porter opened the door.
“Lord Chesterton. Is your master abed?”
Lewis didn’t feel the need to introduce himself. The porter knew him. In the past he and Michael had often played a game of chess or imbibed whiskey in his library into the early hours, and then later, after Lewis and Laura married, they’d attended dinner parties and soiree’s here.
Nevertheless, the late hour, or Lewis’ grave expression, gave the porter pause. After a moment, he opened the door wider and Lewis entered the vast marble checkerboard entry hall where candlelight from the wall sconces cast shadows. “His lordship has just this minute arrived home, Lord Chesterton. You will find him in the library.”
“I’ll announce myself.” Lewis strode in that direction before the porter could react.
In the library, Michael lounged with a book on the burgundy leather sofa, a patterned silk banyan over his trousers. Walking in, Lewis felt a swift surge of sadness for the close friendship they’d once shared. All the warmth turned to cold ashes, and the man he’d once rode with, trolled the fleshpots of London with as a youth, and considered a brother, looked at him with dislike and suspicion as he rose quickly to his feet. “What the devil…”
“Don’t blame the porter. I pushed ahead of him. This can’t wait, Michael.”
Michael raised his eyebrows and motioned to a chair. “I can’t imagine what it is that won’t wait until tomorrow. But please be seated. Whiskey?”
“No, thank you.” Lewis took the letter from his coat pocket. He unfolded it and held it out.
While his questioning gaze remained on Lewis, Michael took it. As he began to read a vein popped out on his neck. “Bloody hell!” He raised his head and his face twisted. “Where did you find this?”
“My wife discovered it hidden in one of Laura’s books.”
Michael rose and went to the drinks tray. He poured out a liberal glass of whiskey. “Are you sure you don’t want one?”
Lewis shook his head. He could certainly do with one, but he’d imbibed enough that evening, and he needed to keep his mind sharp for whatever came next. “Do you recognize the writing?”
“Can’t say I do.”
Lewis cocked a brow. “You knew more about Laura’s friends than I. You have no idea who it might be?”
Michael shook his head. “I’m not about to make wild suggestions or condemn a man out of hand. Leave the letter with me.”
Lewis huffed out a mirthless laugh. “Oh no. That letter goes home with me.”
Frowning, Michael handed it back. He took a large swallow of liquor and his pale face flooded with heat. “I swear I had no idea that Laura was involved with anyone. She was very distressed when she came to stay here. Said you were sleeping with your models.”
“Ah. So that is why you’ve believed the gossip and have been so damned obnoxious. I have never slept with any of my models. Before I married Laura, during the marriage, or afterward. Sir Robert Baker told me Marigold was a virgin. View the autopsy if you doubt me.”
“Bloody hell,” Michael said again, but with less vigor.
“You don’t suspect your sister might have lied to gain your support?”
Michael stared gloomily into the golden dregs in his glass. “Laura was always wild and unpredictable. You knew that when you married her.”
“She was exciting, clever, restless, and oh, so very desirable. I adored her. She broke my heart.” Like a beautiful butterfly that flew just out of reach, Lewis thought. “She didn’t deserve to die,” he said sharply. “I have to find out who was behind it, Michael. If you have any idea, you must tell me.”
Michael raked his fingers through his dark hair. “Give me time, Lewis.”
“I won’t give you long. You must understand why I cannot.”
“Yes. Your name has been maligned, and for my role in that I am deeply sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it. I want the murderer.”
Michael put down his glass and scraped his hands over his face. “If and when I learn who the man is, you shall have his name.” He paused. “But Lewis, let the magistrate then deal with him. You can’t afford to get involved in this.”
“Involved? I have been for years. My life has been poisoned by it,” Lewis growled. “My name dragged down in the House and every respectable drawing room in Town.”
“Yes. That was reprehensible of me. I shall put it to rights as soon as I am able.”
Lewis doubted it would ever be put to rights. Not entirely. Where there was smoke the public were always eager to believe there’d been a fire. He tucked the letter into his coat pocket and stood. “Twenty-four hours, Michael.” He patted his pocket. “Then I must take this to Bow Street and let them find the man.”
“No sense in going off half-cocked. Give me time to make some inquiries. It should be dealt with discreetly.”
Had anything to do with Laura’s death ever been handled with discretion?
“Marigold Crabbe’s body was discovered in the grounds of Holland House, Michael. That’s Whig territory. Question your friends.”
Lewis left the library. When he gained the street, he slowed as he walked the few blocks to his house. The next twenty-four hours he’d allotted Michael to come up with a possible suspect, would be hell. He found it hard to believe that Michael was completely unaware of Laura’s flirtations. Was he protecting someone? The sky lightened to a muted gray, and servants were stirring in the houses along the way. He passed a fresh-faced milkmaid leading a cow, and a cart rattled by. Might this new day bring an end to the nightmare he’d been living for the past two years? Michael was right; Lewis could not be the cause of this man’s death, much as he’d like to be. He coiled his hands into fists. He might bring him to the brink of it, however.
Lewis reached his house and stared up at Hebe’s bedchamber window. She must be asleep. His plans for how this evening would end had come to naught. Their marriage had begun so disastrously, it was hard to imagine where it might lead from here. On her first day in London, she’d been subjected to the sordid aspects of his marriage to Laura and knew the murderer still roamed free. Hebe deserved to have this matter settled. She had married a damaged man, who could offer her little beyond the basic creature comforts and a relationship which lacked true intimacy. Lewis drew in a breath as he faced the truth. He needed the tenderness of a woman’s love. Hebe’s love. When all this ended, if it ever did, dare he hope his life might change for the better?
Chapter Eighteen
Hebe woke to the sun streaming in through the gap in the curtains. Her mantel clock showed eleven. After hours of lying rigid in bed, she had finally dropped into an exhausted sleep. Had Lewis returned to the house?
She left the bed, donned her slippers, tied the belt of her dressing gown, and rang for Molly. Ten minutes later, her maid entered with a footman who carried a tray laden with coffee pot, cream, and sugar, two cups with saucers and a plate of pastries. When the footman departed, Molly cast a sly glance at the bed. “Did you sleep well, my lady?”
“Quite well, thank you, Molly.” The maid had obviously expected Lewis to be with her. Hebe didn’t wish her to know she’d spent another night alone. She pushed her hair back from her face with both hands. “I shall require a bath. Oh, and I’m meeting Lady De Lacy at three. We are to visit a modiste.” With all that had happened she’d almost forgotten about it. “I believe his lordship has gone down to breakfast. Have you seen him?”
“No, my lady. His valet entered his lordship’s apartments as I came up the stairs.”
Hebe sat down at the table and poured herself some coffee. She bit into a pastry, then put it d
own. Worry churned her stomach too much to eat. She wished Lewis would come and tell her what had happened.
Her wish was granted a few moments later when he entered, making her heart leap. He sent Molly away and took the chair beside her. “Michael was unable to enlighten me.” His mouth turned grim. “But he is looking into it.”
His brown eyes usually so vibrantly warm looked shuttered. She longed to hear what took place between him and his brother-in-law, and the questions hovered on her tongue. She poured a cup of coffee, added cream, and set it before him on the table.
Lewis nodded his thanks and stirred in a chip of sugar. “Laura’s brother has promised to find out what he can.”
How dreadfully defeated and tired he looked. He declined the plate of pastries she’d held out to him and drank deeply from his cup. She wondered if he dreaded that the truth might stir up further concerns for him. What happened to Laura before and after she left his house, had caused him great distress. And it wasn’t at an end. She edged forward on her seat and leaned over to touch his hand. “I am sorry you have to go through this, Lewis.”
He caught her hand and kissed it. “I appreciate that, Hebe.” He smiled. “You have infinite patience, which I don’t deserve.”
“I want to help if I can,” she murmured longing to reach out and stroke his dark head. But how could she? She’d never felt so inadequate. If only they could make love, but that seemed more unlikely than ever.
“You are helping, Hebe,” he said softly. “Just by being here.” He finished his coffee and stood. “As I’ve promised Michael I won’t give the letter to Bow Street yet, there is nothing we can do but wait. So there’s no reason not to make a start on the statue, as planned.”
Hebe returned her cup to the saucer. Her confidence seemed to have plummeted to her slippers. “I have an appointment at a modiste’s with your sister at three o’clock.”
“We shall stop work before then.” He walked to the door. “I’ll have a tray sent up and meet you in the studio within the hour. I’m eager to begin.”
The door closed behind him and his footsteps faded away. Hebe jumped up fighting her anguish. She had to face it at some point, but she’d hoped they would be on more intimate terms before she posed nude for him. Her hand shook when she pulled the cord for Molly.
An hour later, Lewis looked up when she entered the studio. “I trust it’s warm enough. I’ve lit the fire. Let’s hope the fine weather continues for the rest of the week. We can ride in the park. You’ll have to be measured for a side-saddle. Make sure the modiste puts the habit at the top of the list.”
He was determined to make their lives as normal as possible. Hebe forced a smile. “It won’t take me a minute to change.” She darted behind the screen and stood with her hands on her hot face. In fact, she was hot all over. Determined to be the perfect model whatever doubts flooded her mind, she began to undress.
~~~
Lewis had been puzzling over the letter before Hebe came in. Would he ever learn the truth of what had happened to Laura? Who was W? Did Michael know something that he wasn’t prepared to tell him? He’d racked his brains for the few hours of the night left until he rose from his bed earlier. Laura had never mentioned anyone whose given name, surname or title began with W. But they were not often in one another’s company. She sometimes attended engagements alone, and her days were filled with card parties, luncheons, trips to her dressmaker, her milliner, and shopping. And after they became estranged, well…
He was preparing his tools when Hebe emerged from behind the screen. “Let’s begin,” he said. One glance told him how uncomfortable she was. “You can be seated. Wrap the cloth about your hips, Hebe.”
He raised his head from the sculpture as she slipped off the wrap. His breath left his lungs. She was impossibly beautiful, all pale creamy skin and pink-tipped nipples, a golden down at the base of her stomach. But it wasn’t just her beauty which struck him as she arranged the white sheet, full breasts bouncing. There was a fresh wholesomeness about her, a virtuousness that had nothing to do with being untouched.
Lewis caught the tender concern in her eyes when she looked at him. He stood holding the chisel as if struck by Zeus’ thunderbolt. Every bit as lovely as Aphrodite, Hebe was a gift from the gods. In that moment he considered himself to be the luckiest man on earth. And he must be so careful with this gift he’d been given. To protect this lovely young woman who was now his wife. He lost his desire to sculpt her, he wanted to lose himself in her arms. To make her his own.
Suddenly aware that she’d asked him a question and that he was staring, he tossed down the chisel and came around the statue to where she sat. “Sorry, what was that?”
“Is this the way you want me?” she asked, and her lush bottom lip trembled. Her eyes as blue as the Aegean implored him.
“Like this, Hebe.” He grabbed the sheet while attempting to sound like the professional he’d always prided himself in being. Then he released the cloth and gazed down at her. This uncomfortable tension between them must end. He couldn’t bear it a moment longer. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Hebe,” he murmured. “You are so beautiful. I can’t think. I’ve lost my breath. What a fool I’ve been. I adore you.”
“Lewis.” Hebe left the chaise longue and reached up to place her arms around his neck. The sheet fell to the floor as he pulled her close and kissed her.
He deepened the kiss as her soft breasts pressed against his chest. He drew in her flowery scent and the smell of warm woman as he moved his hands over her soft skin and her breasts, tracing the delicate bones of her shoulder blades, the curve of her waist and the swell of her hips.
Hebe explored him, running her hands over the bunching muscles in his back then sweeping down to his buttocks. Raw need and a demanding erection caused him to break away with a gasp. “I want you, Hebe. I think I always have. I need you.”
“Oh Lewis! I’ve longed for you to need me as I do you. Desperately!”
“What a foolish fellow am I.” He eased her gently down on the chaise longue and stepped away. His gaze rested on her as he tugged fiercely at his cravat and shed his coat. She lay back and watched him. She was Aphrodite, with a welcoming smile which had no place on a virgin’s lips.
Naked, he came to join her, gathering her up in his arms, relishing the erotic sensation of her body against his. He pressed his mouth to hers, then traced the seam of her lips with his tongue. Her fingers tightened in his hair and she opened her mouth to him. With a rush of yearning, he deepened the kiss, his hands on her perfect bottom pulling her against his erection.
Lewis bent to kiss her firm nipples while Hebe murmured. He drew his hand up from her knee to the moist soft curls at the apex of her thighs, and teased, tantalized, and aroused her with the lightest of caresses. Hebe gripped his shoulders and her eyes became dark and unfocused. He pushed a finger gently inside her, pressing the warm fragrant flesh. She moaned and shuddered and thrashed as the sensations carried her away.
With a whimper and a gasp, she opened her eyes.
Lewis’s gaze locked with hers. “I’ll try not to hurt you.”
Wordless, she shook her head.
He eased her legs apart and settled between them.
Hebe stilled as his heavy blunt erection pushed inside her. She was barely aware that the moan came from her at the jolt of pleasure, pain, and heat. Her hands roamed the smooth skin of his back as ripples of intense feeling washed through her. She ran her tongue over her lips, every nerve ending alive. Nothing she had ever imagined came close to this. To be one with the man she loved. Knowing she could move him to such passion gave her immense feminine power she’d never known she had. She breathed in the clean smell of him, a beguiling hint of masculine aromas and citrus shaving soap.
With a moan, Lewis’s thrusts increased. Hebe’s thoughts scattered, she dug her fingers into his shoulders, enraptured by the relentless, seductive, ecstasy of having him inside her.
With one hard thrust, a loud m
oan, and a gush of warmth deep inside, he quieted. For a moment, he lay breathing heavily, then rolled to the side, his leg still resting over her. “Did I hurt you?”
She was panting too, loose, and floaty. She reached up with a smile to trace a finger over his chin. “A little, but you made me forget it.”
“This is not the best place for lovemaking.” he said. “I never realized how uncomfortable this couch is. There’s a button sticking into my side.” He grinned. “Poor Hebe.”
He climbed to his feet and offered her his hand, and when she stood he pulled her up into his arms and off her feet. He swung her around and murmured against her hair. “Sweetheart.” He set her down. “I long to do it again soon. But next time in our bed.”
A pleasant lassitude still filled her limbs. A smile trembled on her lips at the slumberous expression in his eyes, and filled with emotion, she brushed back his hair with a hand. “I want that too. I love you, Lewis.”
How could she love such a ruin of a man? he thought. “I struggle to put into words how much I’ve regretted tainting you with my sordid history, Hebe, but I hope soon to consign it to the past. We will have a wonderful life together.”
The pain which had been buried in the recesses of his heart seemed to have eased. The wall he’d kept between them had collapsed when the reason for holding off from intimacy became clear to him. Since Laura, he’d never considered himself worthy of a woman’s love. He cautioned himself. There was still so much uncertainty, the search for Marigold’s and Laura’s murderers, the rumors and the ton’s scathing criticism to deal with, but he was confident he and Hebe would face it together, and together would overcome it.
“Hebe.” He kissed her then buried his face in her neck. “I am forever changed because of who you are and what you’ve come to mean to me.”
A Gift From a Goddess Page 14