A Dangerous Liaison With Detective Lewis

by Jillian Stone

  “And I shall interrogate Nigel separately. I’ve always suspected him of—fishy dealings.” Rafe’s eyes darted off into the near distance. “We shall see if their stories add up.”

  “The blame would appear to fall on one or the other.” Fanny’s harrumph sounded more like an impatient growl. “I’m surprised you haven’t punched Nigel in the nose. It’s something you are rather good at.”

  His laugh brushed the wispy hairs of her temple. “First off, as you may have noticed, I get enough violence in my life on a daily basis. Secondly, if it ever came to blows with that pathetic excuse for a man, the carnage would be brutal.” Rafe brushed soft kisses over her cheek and paused close to her lips. “Thirdly—and I’ve saved the best for last.”

  Fanny tilted her head and parted her lips.

  “He didn’t get you.” In the deep shade of the poplar trees, Rafe kissed her well and good.

  FANNY PULLED UP the covers and tucked the sleeping child into bed. “Harry’s had quite a long day. Shopping at Harrods, a long walk through Hyde Park, and a bit of pond sailing.” She glanced at the tall, handsome figure in the door quietly regarding the scene in his bedchamber.

  Rafe slipped off his cravat and collar. His shirt and waistcoat were already unbuttoned. A lovely, intimate energy moved between them. A glimpse, perhaps, into their future? Children to bed. Off to the privacy of their bedchamber. Everything about the picture was right—and sensual.

  Relaxed against the door molding, one knee slightly bent, Rafe radiated masculine potency. “And how are you, my darling? Not too tired, I hope.”

  “What do you have in mind?” She rounded the poster bed and drew near. “A rousing game of Blind Man’s Bluff?” Playfully she slipped a finger into his shirt opening.

  “Did you say arousing?” He slipped an arm around her and pulled her close. Her body tingled all over—the erotic kind of shivers that caused her to have the most sensuous notions. Naughty, tantalizing thoughts ran through her mind, awakening sensitive female parts.

  Her gaze lowered to his strong, firm mouth. “Kiss me,” she said softly.

  Rafe placed her arms around his neck. “It would be my pleasure.” He planted his mouth on hers and kissed her with a tender passion that escalated into the most blissful assault on her mouth. Equally ravenous, she slipped her fingers into thick waves of chestnut hair and pulled him closer. She surrendered to every swirl of his tongue, every honeyed caress. Their tongues merged, slid, stroked a mating dance that left her wobbly-legged, with a hot need burning in her belly.

  She opened his shirt to gain wider access to the warmth and strength of his powerful body. Her fingers traced rings around shades of purple, green, and yellow. A color for every day of their adventure. The hard muscles of his torso contracted from her touch. “Look at those bruises. Every color of the rainbow.”

  His emerald gaze sparkled. “I wonder, might this be a version of Thus Says Captain Savage? In which case I will have to insist you abide by article three of the First Geneva Convention.” His whispered words brushed her cheek. “With regards to the aid and rehabilitation of the injured soldier, particular attention must be paid to the extremities . . .”

  Fanny smothered a laugh and twirled a finger around his shirt button. “Yes, well, this variety of parlor game is called Lieutenant Cutthroat Takes Charge, and you are now under my command.”

  He kissed her temple. “Then you must order a vigorous skirmish in your bed.”

  Fanny slanted a sly look and took him by the hand—down the hallway and straight into her room. She tore off his shirt, pushed him onto the counterpane, and ravaged his chest. His smooth skin smelled of soap and her favorite scent of all—his own. The man brought out the wanton hussy in her. She licked his nipples and toyed with chest hair, and he answered with the deepest groan. The marvelous sound of a man lost in pleasure.

  He untied his drawers and pressed back into the bed pillows, folding his arms behind his head. The muscles of his upper arms bulged in the most breathtaking way. Her gaze trailed over a hard chest that narrowed down to a flat abdomen and long masculine thighs. Adonis in recline, waving his angry sword.

  Emerald eyes burned dark and hungry as he watched her boldly peruse his body. “I believe you like what you see.”

  She hardly recognized the throaty voice that answered him. “Very much.” The singular importance of his gently spoken words, the intimacy of their discussion, caused her to catch her breath.

  “Fanny . . . turn around, before I shred this pretty frock, and matching underthings, with my bare hands.”

  She was quite sure she blinked like an owl. A tingle ran from her breast tips to womb as he began to unbutton and unhook.

  But oh, how slow he was!

  “Whoever invented the hook and eye should be shot,” he grumbled. She pushed his hands away and quickly shed every stitch. Everything but her stockings.

  He kissed a bare shoulder and laid her back onto the cool sheets. “Allow me to roll them off.” In the dim light of her room, she could just make out his smile. She trembled at the very thought of his touch. He rolled one stocking down, then the other. His fingers played down the sensitive inner flesh of each leg, but he did not enter her moist parts. He toyed close to the center of her pleasure, brushing lightly through curls. She thrust her hips upward and groaned.

  Propped on her elbows, she met his dark, lusty gaze and brazenly opened to him.

  “My little wanton, what a lovely shade of pink you are.” He pressed gently into her moist petals—his soft strokes deepened their exploration, first one finger, then two. Her lower anatomy flooded with slippery invitation as his hand coaxed a slow build of arousal. She cried out from his pleasuring.

  His raw, feral gaze moved to her bosom. “Touch yourself.”

  She took a deep breath and arched. Cupping her breasts, she rolled her nipples into hard points and thrust her hips up to greet his fingers as they swirled and danced over the center of her pleasure.

  Seeing her breathless and flushed with color stimulated his own desire. He laid her back onto the bed pillows and cupped her buttocks. She elevated her hips and beckoned him to mount and breed with her. But he held back, fingers pressing deep. “You are so warm inside.” Using two fingers, he pumped lightly, adding his thumb to the engorged nub, the focus of her mounting pleasure.

  Rafe rolled onto his side and continued to slide his fingers across the spot that made her talk to him in breathless moans: “More. Oh yes. Don’t stop!”

  He grinned. “She also likes to be kissed.”

  “Oh, she prefers your lips, your . . .” He caressed the hollow of her stomach and she shuddered with anticipation. Pressing his mouth against her inner thigh, he moved in.

  “My beautiful goddess, salty and sweet.” His tongue circled and laved languidly as he acquainted himself with every nerve ending. Her body writhed and arched against him as he suckled the engorged nub, stroking with his tongue, until the tingling and heaviness of her pelvis became unbearable. Such wicked arousal, shocking and yet oh so . . . heavenly. Fanny let go and her release broke in waves of exquisite pleasure.

  Her eyes fluttered open. “How is it you always seem to know”—she tilted her head—“when I am close to satisfaction?”

  He crawled on top of her and kissed a few tiny beads of sweat off her nose. “I listen carefully to every ooh and ah.”

  Rafe settled back in the pillows and reveled in her exploration of his body. Her fingers moved gently over the healing knife wound and the bullet scratch across his upper arm. She toyed gently with bruises on his torso and worked her way lower. “I look forward to pleasuring my wounded warrior.” Her hand moved to his prick and she stroked gently.

  He groaned. And she answered him, in a rather shocking way. She moved between his legs and gave the head a few licks, before peeking up at him and biting her lip. Christ, he was already close to bursting.

  Then she did something with her tongue that drove him wild. She licked up from the base a
nd over the tip—and she did this several more times—until all he wanted was to bury himself deep and ride her until he came to pleasure inside her warm, tight sheath. Ah, but first . . .

  Reluctantly Rafe lifted her up. “I believe it’s time for the French letter.” He grinned. “Did you not tease me about wanting to put one on?” He grabbed his trousers and scrounged in the pockets. “Aha!” Rolling onto his back, he removed the latex rubber goods from the paper packet. Fisting his erection, he showed her how to cover the tip. “Roll it down . . . slowly.”

  Fanny sat back and examined her handiwork. “No, it doesn’t seem right.” She rolled the condom back up and tossed it away. “I can’t see any reason for this—I want nothing between us, Rafe. Just you and me.”

  He answered her with raised brow and a rather large smile. “Have it your way, Fan.”

  “Oh, that is good news.” Fanny toyed with his chest hair. “As I’m a little sore, can we go slow?”

  “Come here, you little minx, and straddle me. Then you control the penetration.” His voice was harsh, breathless as she pressed down onto his cock. Rafe groaned as she slipped him into her moist, tight sheath. Fanny gyrated her hips—just as he’d shown her.

  She rocked back and forth, rising to the point that his cock nearly left her, then pressed down again—deeper with every plunge. And there was something wonderfully erotic about her interest in his pleasure. She responded to his bestial groans by tossing her head back and answering with a moan. A beautiful naked nymph arched her back and rode him proudly with breasts swaying. He reached up and tweaked both nipples—just hard enough to make her hips buck and her body shudder.

  Buried deep, Rafe answered her thrusts with a few long, slow strokes, and placed his thumb over her most sensitive area. “Yes, love?”

  A flood of honeyed essence moistened her slippery sheath and he could not hold back any longer. With each thrust his arousal escalated until it was all about his pleasure . . . pure sensation . . . nothing but ecstasy . . . he plunged over the edge into heart-pounding, seed-exploding oblivion. “Dear God, Fanny.” Dimly, he was aware she had reached a second climax with him.

  She collapsed onto his chest and released a sigh of a woman well pleasured. Her skin glowed with color and glistened with perspiration. He tucked her into his arms, and held her until they both rested quietly. On the edge of sleep, Rafe whispered to her, “Let’s skip the engagement this time and go straight to the vicar.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Lochree, Queensferry

  “Mother, may I present my son, Harrison Gabriel Lewis St. Aldwyn.” Rafe kept his hand on the sturdy little shoulder beside him. “Harry, this is your grandmother, the Dowager Lady St. Aldwyn.”

  Harry made a deep, courtly bow, one that he and Rafe had practiced early this morning and was sure to please Mother.

  The dowager smiled at Harry and raised her gaze to Rafe.

  “And how was the travel north?”

  Rafe marveled at how easy it was when one could speak directly to one’s mother. “We arrived late last night, you were all abed. Harry and I saw Fanny to Lochree and then quietly tucked ourselves in here.”

  “Before I forget, Nigel Irvine is waiting in the vestibule—whatever for, I have no idea.”

  Rafe checked his new watch, a very extravagant gift from Fanny. “Prompt of him.”

  Mother tilted her chin and smiled. The first smile he’d received in five years. “Why don’t you run along, Rafe? I’ll watch young Harry.” His mother patted the seat beside her. “Shall we have some biscuits and tea?”

  Rafe bit back a grimace. “He’s a bit young for tea, Mother.”

  She never took her eyes off Harry as he climbed on the settee beside her. “What nonsense. One is never too young for a splash of tea in one’s milk.”

  Rafe backed away. “I suppose . . . since you put it that way.”

  He found Nigel outside the great hall and ushered him into the trophy chamber. With its paneled walls lined with antlers and an ancient hearth at one end, Rafe found the room singularly primitive and cavelike. Fitting, under the circumstances.

  “Thanks for making it up to Queensferry on such short notice.”

  “I look forward to seeing Fanny while I’m here. Terrible ordeal you two went through”—Nigel’s gaze shifted—“by all reports.”

  “Your accusations didn’t help the Edinburgh police.”

  “Now see here, how was I to know you didn’t run off with her?”

  “You won’t be seeing her this afternoon, Nigel, because I’m going to marry Fanny this afternoon—if she’ll have me.” Rafe’s smile was genuine, but strained.

  Nigel ceased his inspection of mounted deer heads. “So it seems you’ve got the girl, Rafe. What could you possibly want with me?”

  Rafe was nearly certain the man staggered a bit at the news. “Some years ago, there were rumors. It seems the Irvines, in particular the Laird of Drum Castle, were in some financial difficulty, bordering on scandal.” He sauntered closer. “Some sort of dodgy investment scheme, which your father went to a great deal of trouble to cover up. I wonder how much pressure might have been brought to bear on you to marry well.”

  The overbearing man edged up a thin smile. “The bane of some of our best of families, wouldn’t you say, Rafe?”

  “You and I have never really been close friends, have we, Nigel? Just those few months at university—at the end of the term, before graduation. I’ve had plenty of time, these last five years, to reconstruct that last spring together. A veritable obstacle course of bad luck, wot? Accusations of cheating, buried by academic work—off the team—and still, we did plenty of late-night drinking, did we not?”

  A reddish flush of color rose from under Nigel’s collar points. “We managed plenty of that.”

  Rafe pressed closer. “You orchestrated my introduction to Ceilia perfectly.”

  Throughout most of this recollection, Nigel had remained stoic, neither denying or acknowledging his speech. Now his eyes darted about, and he took a step back. “No one forced you to lie with her, Rafe.”

  Rafe nodded. “You’re right, of course. And I paid for it, with all I hold dear in this world.”

  “What do you want me to say? Sorry, old chap? It was clear Fanny was infatuated, and I needed you out of the way. I cheated on McElroy’s exam and steered the blame toward you. The letter was Claire’s idea.” Nigel exhaled loudly. “Does any of it really matter now, Rafe? You’ve clearly won in the end.” The arrogant bastard donned his skimmer and tipped the brim. “You know as well as I—the rules of fair play do not apply in love and war.”

  “Nigel?” He turned back and Rafe struck him hard in the face. The large bloke landed flat on his back, blood dripping from a decidedly off-center nose. And there was a fluttering of eyelashes and a groan. Rafe leaned over the body. “Sorry, old chap. A little something I promised Fanny.”

  Rafe exited the trophy room and ran straight into Vertiline. “Have you seen Fanny?”

  “She’s down at the boathouse—looking for you, I suspect.” Vertiline clasped his hands in hers. “Such a beautiful child, Raphael, and when will he get a mother?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have the ring in my pocket. Cost me three years’ savings.”

  “Oh dear, I do hope you managed at least a carat.”

  “I daresay if the lady agrees, she knows full well she is marrying a sometimes misguided, ne’er-do-well, second son of an earl.”

  Vertiline reached up and touched his cheek with her hand. “I think you’ve kept her waiting long enough, Raphael.”

  Summer was far from over; in fact, the balmy breeze encouraged Rafe to open his jacket and loosen his cravat. He took the shaded path and then cut across an expanse of lawn leading down to an inlet off the firth. A handsome new boathouse and a slip sat at the edge of the water.

  Ambling along the grass, a familiar burly bearded chap headed uphill. “Detective Lewis! Ye never told me you were a St. Aldwyn. Yer great-gra
ndfather fought alongside my great-grandfather Captain Minogue against old Boney himself.”

  “Good to see you, Professor.” Rafe braced for the bear hug. “If you would excuse me—I’m on my way to meet Fanny, going to try and convince her to marry me.” He walked away backward. “I understand you and she are discussing a business venture? You’re staying on a few days—perhaps we can talk later?”

  “Over a pint and dram.” Minnow winked and backed uphill. “I believe she’s waitin’ for ye down by the water.”

  He found her walking beside the boathouse. “Hello, my darling.”

  Fanny whirled around to face him. “Harry needs a mother.”

  Taken aback, Rafe blinked. “Yes. I couldn’t agree more. Apparently Harry feels the same way. He asked me over breakfast if I was going to marry you.”

  “Harry asked?”

  “I told him I had made it rather difficult for us many years ago, but thought my chances were turning around on the matter.” Rafe drew close, until there was little or no space between them. “Harry thought about that for quite some time, then dropped his spoon in his porridge. He does that when he’s exasperated.”

  Fanny raised both brows. “And?”

  “And he asked, ‘Might she be swayed, possibly, if I asked her to marry you?’”

  The loveliest twitch happened around the edges of her mouth. “How unfair of you to use a child to your advantage, even as hearsay.”

  “Shameless. But then, a man does what he must to win the love of his life.” Rafe grinned. “And how is Cousin Claire?”

  “I’m afraid her nose is a bit out of joint.” Fanny rolled her eyes and rubbed a few reddened fingers. “And Nigel?”

  “Writhing on the floor of the trophy room in a great deal of agony—I hope.” Rafe reached out for her hand and kissed each swollen knuckle. “Might have to ice this one.” He waggled her ring finger.

  An impish smile lingered at the ends of her mouth. Fanny tilted her head up. “And why is that?”