A Dangerous Liaison With Detective Lewis

by Jillian Stone

  Fanny narrowed a stare. “Don’t you dare smirk.” She wriggled out of her undergarments just as fast as you please and Rafe set about reworking the metal truss.

  “Tear up your petticoat and braid several long pieces together for reins.”

  “Aren’t you the clever one when it comes to my unmentionables?” She held a piece of slip in her teeth and ripped. A makeshift halter was soon rigged on the animal’s head. Fanny tilted her chin. “Not exactly smart-looking, but is it serviceable?”

  Rafe lifted himself onto the back of the sturdy equine and took the plow horse for a turn about the field. “Up on the stone wall, Fanny.” He maneuvered close. “Sidesaddle or astride?”

  “Surrender your petticoat, expose a limb.” Fanny growled. “I don’t believe I have a shred of modesty left.” She scrambled on behind Rafe and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “Excellent. I’m hoping for a splash in the loch with a naked pond nymph.”

  Chapter Nine

  Fanny leaned back on locked elbows and studied the canopy of rustling leaves above. Dappled sunlight and blue sky wavered in the breeze. “Please do have your bathe, Detective Lewis.”

  Rafe shrugged off his shirt and stepped out of his trousers. “Come and join, Fan. Water babies—like when we were kids.” He made a ripple of small waves and a quiet splash as he stepped into the loch. “Fanny, are you listening?”

  The plain cotton dress and petticoat spread out on the grass beneath her made a comfortable makeshift blanket. Fanny picked absently at a patch of clover. Anything but look in the direction of the loch. “Of course I’m listening.”

  “Come have a splash. I promise not to lay a hand on you.”

  “How unflattering to be thought such a simpleton.” Fanny slipped off a shoe and went to work unbuttoning the other. “I will not be hoodwinked by you again, Rafe.”

  “It would do your temperament a world of good.” He slipped further into the water at the very moment she twisted round to chide, but she yelped—or made a ridiculous squealing wail—instead. He looked back and caught her staring wide-eyed at his backside. With her mouth open.

  “Have a handsome bum, don’t I?

  She swiveled away. “If you say so.”

  “The ladies in London say so.” He dove under the glassy surface of the water and sent a spray of mist into the air. Several droplets cooled the blush on her cheeks. Perhaps she might wash up a bit, just a quick splash, while Rafe had his swim.

  From the corner of her eye she watched him take several long, clean strokes toward the center of the loch, then she made her way to a flat outcropping of stone at the water’s edge. She removed her stockings and inched closer, dipping a toe in the shallows. She swished her foot about.

  A dark head of hair surfaced as Rafe came up for air.

  She jerked back. The rock was slippery, and she nearly lost her balance. “You startled me.”

  He shook back wet hair. “I confess I was hoping you might fall in.”

  A low growl accompanied her flying stockings. Fanny hurled her rolled-up hose across the water. He caught the unraveling pair in midair. “Shall I give them a rinse? Here we go.”

  Fanny instantly regretted the loss and reached out. “Rafe, please don’t—”

  He dipped the pale stockings underwater and rubbed them together. “One really shouldn’t toss one’s underthings into the drink if one wishes to keep them dry.”

  She kept her hand out. “Give them back.”

  Rafe rose out of the water and waded ashore. This time she balked but did not turn away. Rivulets of water ran through the hair on his chest, down a sinewy torso to . . .

  She took a faltering step back and forced her gaze upward to meet his.

  Rafe Lewis was not going to intimidate her. Fanny once again lowered and raised her eyes. “Brazenly proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

  Emerald eyes shifted momentarily into something dark and feral. He waded closer, with a member that waved about like a slashing sword. He wrung out her socks and handed them over. “Fanny, your cheeks are red and your brow is beaded with perspiration.” Rafe tilted his head, studying her. “Actually, you look like a woman ready to climax. And even though I would like to believe your state of blushing arousal is for me, I advise you to take a cool plunge. Immediately.” He launched himself up onto the rock, all naked muscle and manliness as he stepped past her. “I’ll keep my back turned.”

  Fanny bit her lip. “Swear on the lives of St. Aldwyn’s Queensferry Dragoon Fusiliers.”

  Rafe turned his back to her. “I so swear.”

  PERHAPS IT WAS a good sign that Fanny evoked the name of their imaginary childhood army. And she had mentioned friendship, earlier. If that was all he would ever have of her, it would have to be enough—though he was bound and determined to try for more. His heart leaped for joy inside his chest. He’d been given a second chance. A gift that sprang from the courageous heart of a most extraordinary young woman.

  She sighed. “I suppose after that sweltering trudge I could use a bathe.” With the first rustle of clothes, he imagined her stepping out of petticoats and unbuttoning her gown. “Do you suppose those hounds will crest the hills beyond and come after us? I would find it most uncomfortable running stark naked over the moors.”

  He took pleasure in the thought. Fanny. Naked. Fields of heather. He cleared his throat. “Haven’t heard them in hours. I wager they’ve called in the dogs.”

  He resisted the urge to peek. Well, at least for the first splash or two. No doubt she was down to her unmentionables.

  He dropped a shoulder to inspect a pile of clothes on the rock. Good God. Her chemise and pantalets were on top of the heap. How like Fanny—when she decided to do something, she did it full course and with enthusiasm. A furtive glance caught the descent of a round derriere as it drifted underwater. Two exquisite dimples remained visible at the small of her back. His gaze roamed past a small waist and kissable shoulder blades. She adjusted a few hairpins before plunging that lovely spine beneath the glassy surface.

  A wonderful long exhale and sigh emerged as the cool water seemed to soothe her skin and refresh her spirit. She used her arms to circle in place. “You swore on the lives of our regiment to keep your back turned.”

  Rafe scooped up her dress and propped it in front of his ever raucous cock. “Ah, the enchanting naked pond nymph speaks.” He neatly folded her drawers and camisole, leaving them on a dry patch on the rock. “Upon risk of death the troops begged their captain for a peek.”

  Pale shoulders emerged from the water along with the prettiest smile he’d seen from her in hours—years. She paddled effortlessly around in ever widening circles before swimming farther out. Rafe used her old dress to dry off and pulled on drawers.

  “I must say you are nicely made, Francine Greyville-Nugent.” He tied his drawstrings in a bow.

  “And how do I compare to your ladies in London—the ones who so admire your muscular buttocks?”

  Rafe twisted a grin into a grimace. “Sorry to tease you like that. Horrid of me.”

  “I do not accept your apology.”

  “Why not?”

  She splashed her face with water. “Because you don’t mean it.”

  Her faint shadowy figure could be seen underwater, enough to make his fantasy of her complete. She was gorgeous, candidly blunt, and completely bewitching. “Ready to come out?”

  She wiped droplets of water off her cheeks and nodded. He held up her mourning gown to block his view and imagined her climb out of the pond. A tug on the dress and he let go. “Would you be so kind as to bring me my new stolen dress and petticoat?” She deftly wrapped the skirt around her.

  Rafe pulled on shirt and trousers and hiked back up into the grass. When he returned she was dressed in camisole and pantalets. A few damp spots made the silk fabric transparent and the tempting flesh beneath quite visible. He swallowed.

  Fanny tied on petticoats and drew on the gown. She turned her back so he could but
ton it. “You never answered my question.”

  “I would never compare you, Fan.” Rafe hesitated. “For one thing, they aren’t exactly ladies.”

  She twisted round and raised a brow. “Whores?”

  “Shall we call them women of experience?” Rafe knew he skirted the slippery slope of her curiosity. “I do not frequent brothels as a customer, but there are . . . courtesans available.”

  “You can still catch the pox.”

  “Not when you correctly use protection.”

  Merry eyes flashing, she bit back a devilish grin. “A French letter?”

  “Ah, so you know of such things?”

  “Talk, mostly. Gossip and such.” She sniffed, chin up. “Many suffragists take the question of contraception quite seriously.”

  Rafe fumbled with the cloth-covered buttons. “Take a deep breath.” Fanny pressed her hands to each side of her waist and thrust her shoulders back. “Might fit a smidge better with a corset.”

  She snorted. “Serves us right for stealing.”

  “That pound note I pinned to the clothesline should keep the vicar’s wife and daughter in silk for a year.”

  She fidgeted impatiently. “What do men get out of bedding whores?”

  Rafe nearly choked. “Fanny, don’t make me laugh.”

  “Apart from the obvious.”

  Rafe found the tiny buttons positively nerve-racking. And now discourse with a virginal young lady about . . . sexual gratification. “The obvious, as you put it, is quite enough. Why do women’s gowns have so many small buttons?”

  Fanny’s laugh wafted over her shoulder. “To frustrate lotharios whose only thought is to unbutton them.”

  She never failed to make him smile. He kissed a spot between her shoulder blades. “Since you brought the unwholesome subject up, ladies of the evening are often rather adept at teaching pleasure.”

  “Whose pleasure, exactly?

  Rafe nearly had to step away. “Are you bent on driving me mad?”

  She snorted one of those musical giggles of hers. “An example, please.”

  “There are hidden places, all over the human anatomy, that are sensitive to a caress, or a kiss. Places that are easily stimulated and lead to greater arousal.”

  “For example?”

  “I can make you tingle in places you never knew you had.”

  “Show me.” Her taunt was husky and caused him to grin. “One.”

  He lowered his voice and edged closer. “Three or none.”

  She shot him a stormy look over her shoulder. “I said one.”

  “Three.” His whispered tease caused a tremor. “Remember, I outrank you, Lieutenant.”

  Silence.

  He imagined a plump lower lip being scraped under pearly white upper teeth. A blush rose up her neck—did it color her cheek? Were her pupils dark and wide, aroused with anticipation, her breaths rapid and shallow? “Tut-tut. Losing your courage under fire?”

  “I see you haven’t lost your swagger, Captain Savage.” She sighed. “Three, then.”

  “Turn around.”

  “I will not. You said the human body has hidden places all over. Please be quick about it.”

  “The idea is not to be quick about it.” As fortune would have it, he was still ten buttons away from the nape of her neck. He slipped the dress off peach-colored shoulders.

  Brushing his lips along the velvet flesh of her upper arm, he moved to her nape. A quick intake of breath followed her sigh. He murmured, “One . . .” along the slim willowy side of her neck. He smiled as small hairs stood up and tickled his nose. “Two,” he whispered in her ear.

  He kissed a small spot just behind her lobe and licked.

  A shudder traveled through her body.

  “Three.” He saw no reason to stop, so he lifted her skirt and bent down to run a finger ever so slightly behind her knee.

  Fanny shoved him away. “You’ve made your point.” She placed the back of her hand on her cheek. It would seem the young lady was hot again, but not from sun or physical exertion. Rafe backed away and found a shaded knoll to pull on his boots and wait for her to finish dressing.

  She wrung out her stockings, and glanced up at him. “Rather pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” He lifted his hands in a questioning gesture.

  “Don’t play innocent, Detective Lewis. And please don’t get any ideas from that misguided episode a moment ago.”

  “I take complete responsibility for my actions.” He tried to quell a grin, but somehow could not. “Did I sense a tender spot, or was that just a weak spot? A chink in the armor?”

  Fanny rolled her eyes. “Did we not agree to a series of trials to restore your honor, Captain Savage?” Fanny slipped on her shoes.

  “And what ordeals might you set forth, Lieutenant Cutthroat?”

  “Not sure yet, Rafe. But you may start here.” Fanny lifted her skirt and stuck out a dainty foot.

  He kneeled to button her shoes. “I shall strive for excellence at the doing up of tedious little buttons.”

  “Even though I suspect your interest is more in the offing . . .” He looked up and met smiling eyes that rolled upward. “Might you?” She raised an elbow and gestured behind her.

  “Ah, still more trials remain undone.” He stepped around her to finish the job, and caught the reflection of a residence and outbuildings on the mirrored surface of the water. “I mean to try to get us a bed for the night and a meal of some sort. When we tap on this farmer’s door, we’ll need a story—some sort of plausible legend.”

  “Lies and more lies.” Her stomach growled.

  “If you want to stay alive.” He spun her around to face him. “You will need to agree to become my wife—or sister”—he nearly choked on the words—“for this evening.”

  “Oh, very well.” Fanny blew a few errant strands of hair off her face and bit her lip. “Shall we say you were driving your sister—that would be me—to the train station, when the phaeton—”

  “Broke down?”

  She shook her head. “You were showing off your new team.”

  “Driving so fast I blew off your stockings.”

  A giggle escaped. “Must have caught them on the fly.” She unfurled a fist full of damp hose and shook them out. “One of the wheels hit a large pothole and we veered out of control and overturned.”

  Rafe’s eyes lit up. “Thankfully no one was hurt.” He paused to regard her. “You’re a rather good liar, Fan.”

  “Not half as clever as Detective Inspector Rafe Lewis.”

  Rafe swept his jacket off the grass and flung it over his shoulder. “The story will work as long as we wait another hour or two. If we arrive late enough, there will be nothing to do about the problem until morning.”

  She nodded. “By then, we’ll be in Bathgate.”

  A breeze stirred a froth of fragrant color as they walked in silence, surrounded by wave after wave of heather. Rafe looked back and stopped once just to look at her. She was a maiden in a painting, framed by an ocean of purple. Sheep grazed in pale verdant inlets of grass and patches of prickly thistle. “You are lovely, Fanny. The frock becomes you.” Rafe smiled. “Am I permitted to pay you a compliment now and then?”

  She stepped through the tall grass and came up beside him. “Yes, of course. Compliments might well be the rubber match in the event your trials fare poorly.”

  Rafe barked a laugh. “Come here, my little taskmistress.” He pulled her into a small wood and cleared a spot with a view of the water. “Let’s have those stockings.” He draped her hose over a nearby shrub to dry, then spread his jacket on the ground. Settling himself against a tree trunk, he reached out for her hand. He tugged gently and she sat down beside him. “Be a good crime solver and reach inside my coat pocket for that red leather journal.”

  Fanny removed the notebook she’d taken from the dead man on the train and leafed quietly through the pages.

  “As I recall, you have a talent for riddles and ciphers. Anything revealing
, Detective Greyville-Nugent?” He peered over the binding.

  “What do you make of this?” She pointed to the embossed symbol pressed into the red leather cover. Her fingertip traced the indentation of a wheel within a wheel. “I’ve seen these markings before.”

  “Where?”

  “I’m trying to remember.” Fanny yawned and Rafe took a turn with the journal. Most of the entries were cryptic, the kind of jottings one made on the dash. “And this?” He returned the open book to her. “Three letters. BVM. Most likely a person’s initials, or an organization. They appear on several pages.”

  She frowned, her lips pursed in concentration. Such a fierce merging of eyebrows. And there were no words adequate enough to describe those plump, voluptuous lips. Of all her airs, this was his favorite. As a boy he had often gone out of his way to provoke the expression.

  “Karl Marx once referred to the English factory worker as a mere cog in the wheel of industry. There is a symbol. A small wheel drawn within a much larger one.” Fanny lounged on her elbows and squinted up through the branches of the tree. “One often sees the icon at marches painted on placards, either by the anti-progressive party, or one of the trade unions, but the initials . . .” She shook her head. “I’m afraid I haven’t foggiest.”

  “Mull it over. A name might still pop up.” Rafe tipped his hat over his eyes. Fanny tucked herself into his side. “Are you going to sleep?”

  “A brief catnap—just until dark.”

  Chapter Ten

  Fanny stared at a slice of crescent moon perched above the farmhouse roof. An inky blue twilight was about to give way to evening. She stopped in the middle of a neatly swept dirt yard and greeted a few clucking chickens and a sheepdog. She gave the collie a good scratch behind the ears. “Hello, boy.”

  Rafe glanced back. “You always did have a way with animals.”

  “Not all beasts.” She shot him a telling look and gave the dog’s thick ruff one last tousle.

  He pivoted. “Truce, Fanny.”

  “Our truce was up this morning, Rafe.”

  “I must ask for another suspension of hostilities.”