by Sahara Kelly
“I had.”
The loose trousers fell to the floor, and as he turned, Vivienne wondered again at the vagaries of Fate. That such a man, such a murderous, cold-blooded savage of a man, could be blessed with the body of a god. It was just so wrong.
His chest was firm, his strength evident in the sheen of the muscles rippling down over a stomach that was flat and hard.
His cock thrust from his body, the skin around it smooth and clean. He had a strong dislike of pubic hair and Vivienne had found herself denuded very early in their affair.
He looked huge, which he was. And he looked appealingly sensual, which he wasn’t.
“You will seduce this Fleet Commander. Do your best in bed with him to appeal to him, make him yours. He is British and will not expect passion, I suppose. You will ensure that he is ready to eat out of your hand. Then you will administer a light drug I shall give you, and question him on various matters. He will sleep and remember nothing.”
Kerala reached for his pristine white nightshirt and shrugged into it, looking for all the world like a fallen angel. Divinely dark of complexion in a simple white robe. But there was nothing angelic about his next words.
“If you fail, you will both die. I will probably kill you myself, since to end your existence is my right. But I should be saddened to do so.” He shrugged. “Let us hope it does not come to pass.”
Vivienne remained immobile. She was not surprised, and believed he would carry out his threat.
“Return here at midnight, ready to take that man into your body. I will ensure that you look the part. I shall also give you the drug and the questions I wish you to ask.”
He turned away, waving his hand dismissively. Her audience, for so it had seemed, was concluded.
Heart pounding and hands trembling just a little, Vivienne silently left Kerala’s suite and walked the hallway to her own rooms. Once inside, she locked the door and leaned against it, taking a deep breath and quelling the shivers of excitement that threatened to overwhelm her.
She’d been given permission—nay, she’d been ordered—to sleep with the one man she’d truly cared for. She was to seduce him, and wasn’t that funny? All he had to do was look at her, touch her, and she was seduced.
Tonight would be for her and Del. She would make sure he knew everything, and between them…well, perhaps this would be the beginning of a new part of her life.
No, she mustn’t think that way. It was too late for a future, but not too late to grab for a little joy in the present.
On that thought she smiled and rang for her maid. She wanted hot water and towels, in order to prepare herself for a mutual seduction.
*~~*~~*
The fall of night meant little to Merrill Ringwood. For him, science knew no time limits, and experiments must be completed regardless of what the clock on the wall said.
This particular night was a good example. He’d worked very hard on the small piece of jewelry that was now positioned on a piece of dark blue velvet in the center of his workbench.
Two large lamps sat on either side of the fabric, illuminating the brilliance of the twisted gold wires and elegantly incised silver disks, tiny but perfect in every detail.
A large magnifying glass on a stand stood above the piece and it was through this that Ringwood peered, frowning as his hands carefully used tweezers to position several tiny beads in their even tinier cups. These beads cradled a central stone rising above them, a nicely cut ruby with dazzling variations within its depths.
It wasn’t an expensive stone, by any means, and Ringwood had requisitioned it a while ago, believing at some point that the physical properties of rubies might contribute some useful facet of his thonirium research.
Only one tiny bead remained, a translucent white, just like its fellows. Although there was nothing distinguishing about it, Ringwood knew this was his piece de resistance. This bead, on the surface seeming to be one of a dozen small polished moonstones, was not a product of the earth’s geological forces.
It was a product of Merrill Ringwood’s brilliance.
It was pure thonirium.
He was cautious by nature, since his profession—dealing with explosives—mandated a steady hand and abundant patience. Not every experiment was completed in ten minutes.
In fact, there were many ideas in his mind that would take years of research to complete. Part of his mind wandered over those concepts; now that he had the financial resources, perhaps he could indulge himself by initiating one or two.
Fortunately, the thonirium bead didn’t have to be handled with anything other than the ordinary care.
It was dropped into its retaining cup, the delicate petals of gold leaf were pressed against it and it was secured by one tiny pin.
The last of the bead ‘flowers’ was in place.
Ringwood stood, pressed a hand to his back, and grunted as he stretched and pushed the magnifying glass to one side. Before him, on the velvet, was what he hoped was a respectable sarpech—an ornament for a traditional Indian turban. Or any other place the owner chose to wear it, he assumed.
The reference volume showing such pieces lay opened on the far side of his workbench, but once he’d completed the design on paper, it hadn’t been needed any further.
It was garish, in his opinion, but that alone should assure the success of his plan, since Thakur Sahib had displayed a tendency toward all things tasteless and vulgar. In all likelihood, his jewelry was genuine and priceless. But worn in such overwhelming abundance, it all seemed tawdry.
The piece on the worktable, the sarpech, would be a gift, accompanied with a note that would ensure Sahib wore it for the demonstration.
The demonstration, in turn, would ensure that Sahib never inflicted his hideous persona on anyone else.
A terrible accident, they would say. Until the brilliant professor announced that some of his experimental components had been stolen. He would foster the rumors, of course. Make sure one or two servants overheard him telling others how that Indian chappie had pestered him about thonirium and visiting the laboratory.
And how he never locked the door at night, because everyone at Harbury was quite trustworthy. It wasn’t until those foreign visitors arrived, he would point out…
Yes, the plan was flawless. Even if the man’s servant tried to cause a fuss. After all, who would question the word of a true Englishman over the mumbled utterances of an ignorant savage?
The small detonator rested peacefully on a table by itself. It was little more than a tiny energy pellet, two electrically charged pods that would create a tiny little burst of invisible power when touched to each other. The miracle of this creation was beyond even Ringwood’s comprehension; but something here beneath Harbury Hall had enabled this device to not only be fabricated, but to function.
The energy source had been processed using their unique system of piping and ductwork; he’d had a challenge to understand it, but once he’d set up his own series of containment jars, and inserted it into the power system, everything had sprung to life in an amazing display of captured energy. The thonirium samples were more pure than even he could have hoped for, and their responses extraordinary.
The detonator had almost seemed thrilled to be activated.
Stupid thought, he chastised himself. It was probably the excellence of the equipment or the unique elements of the power supplies.
Whatever it was, it worked. And it was about to eliminate a most annoying foreigner who had been useful in the past, but was now becoming just a nuisance. Besides, he could well be viewed as an enemy, given the conflict currently underway in his home country. So Ringwood decided his plan qualified as a patriotic act.
He gave his creation a final wipe with a soft cloth and then placed it in a silk lined box he’d prepared earlier. The lid would be secured with a ribbon and the note tucked beneath.
He reread his words one final time.
“My gratitude, Thakur Sahib. Your generous gift will enable me to
make great progress with my experiments and it is my sincere wish that the results will benefit both our peoples. I offer you the attached as a small token of my profound thanks, and hope you will honor me by wearing it today. I look forward to meeting with you and I will be in the topiary walk near the forest at four p.m. tomorrow afternoon.
Yr obedient servant, Merrill Ringwood.”
Yes, that should do it perfectly. Ringwood smiled, happy with the wording. He’d been polite and grateful, everything a gentleman would be when presented with an extraordinarily large check. And he had included a charming and appropriate gift in return, while scheduling a time for a meeting. He knew Sahib would realize this would be the requested demonstration.
All neat and tidy. It was a plan worthy of Ringwood’s intellect, and he was quite proud of the stratagems and attention to detail.
Glancing at the clock, he realized it was past ten at night, and for a minute he cursed at the lateness of the hour. Then he realized that since there was a house party in progress above, in the Hall itself, the residents would of course still be up, drinking or dancing or doing whatever people like that did at house parties.
He didn’t particularly care what was happening, only that he could get his gift delivered before the morning.
He finished the wrapping, addressed the note and secured it to the flat box. Then he left his laboratory, wondering about the correct way to deliver something like this.
Fate blessed him.
“You. Girl. Come here.”
It was the young maid he’d spoken with. The one who, thanks to her friends, had survived to live another day. Not that she knew it, of course, but perhaps it had been destiny, since now she could be extremely useful in another way.
“Yes sir?” She curtsied.
“Take this to the house. Find the butler and ask him to deliver it to Thakur Sahib. Do you understand? It is very important and a priceless gift. Handle it carefully and do exactly as I’ve told you.”
She curtsied again. “Yes, sir. Take this to Mr. Malcolm upstairs in the Hall and tell him it’s for...um..Thicca…”
“Thakur Sahib. The Indian gentleman.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you. Thakur Sahib, the Indian gentleman.”
She parroted his words back to him in a relatively acceptable imitation. He sighed. “Good enough. Run along now. Do as I’ve said. If the gift arrives where it’s supposed to, there’ll be something in it for you. Tomorrow. After four o’clock.” He grinned. He couldn’t help it.
“Very good, sir. I’ll be off then.” She curtsied again and hurried away.
Ringwood returned to his lab, and sat quietly, letting a sense of accomplishment sweep away his tensions.
He’d done it. Phase one was complete. If all went well, by this time next week he’d be presenting papers in Whitehall. And from that point on…well, the sky really was the limit.
With another smile, followed by a yawn, he extinguished the lights in his laboratory, pocketed his detonator, and headed off for a good night’s sleep.
*~~*~~*
“It’s for the Indian gentleman, Mr. Malcolm. From that Professor Ringwood in the laboratories. He give it to me special to give to you.”
“Gave it to you, girl.”
“Yes, sir. That’s what I said.”
The butler sighed, but took the package. Portia was a little disappointed that she’d not been able to deduce what was inside, nor had she been able to unseal the note attached to it.
What kind of a spy was she anyway, that she failed at such a simple task?
“Very well, Jones. I shall see that Thakur Sahib receives it tonight. You may go.”
“Thank you sir. You says his name ever so good.” She dipped a curtsey and scurried away, hoping she hadn’t overdone the whole accent and ignorant maid act.
But then again, people saw what they expected to see. The odds were definitely in her favor. However, there was something untoward in this entire episode. Her sixth sense was busily sticking tiny pins in the back of her neck, and when she thought of that smile on Ringwood’s face, the hairs on her body prickled as well.
She prayed Burke would be taking his morning walk and that she could catch him early. It just felt like information he should have.
Chapter 10
It was a tastefully wrapped box, certainly.
Thakur Sahib looked at it, small in his manservant’s oversized grasp. He didn’t keep Abu for his conversation, but for his physical presence. The mammoth body tended to dissuade unpleasantness.
He nodded once. “Give me the note and open it.”
His man obeyed, and under the gaze of his master carefully freed the box from the ribbons, passed the paper over, and lifted the lid of the box to reveal what was clearly a sarpech styled after the Indian fashion.
Abu made a slight sound as the jeweled ornament glittered in the candlelight. His master, however, was unimpressed.
“Gaudy.” He picked it up and examined it. “Poor quality ruby. Looks like it was second cut and probably heated.” He dropped it into Abu’s hand. “What do you think?”
The man peered at it. “Nice?”
Thakur Sahib paused. “I could give it to you.” He watched the greed flood Abu’s eyes. “But it is too paltry a gift for the services you have rendered me.”
He turned away toward his bureau and picked up one of the more brilliant jewels resting there. “Here. This is better.” He tossed it to Abu who dropped Ringwood’s gift and caught the diamond-bright flare heading toward him.
“Master.” He was breathless as the enormous jeweled feather shone like fireworks.
“Little enough for my strong right arm.”
Abu bowed deeply. “My life for yours.”
“I accept.” Sahib bowed back. “Now take your prize and get yourself to bed.”
“And this?” Abu retrieved the ruby sarpech.
“Hmm.” Sahib took it and studied it. “I’ll keep it. I believe I have a use for it.”
After his servant had left the suite, Thakur Sahib returned to his study of the gift. He wondered why Ringwood selected this particular ornament and whether he knew of Indian customs or had a relative who traveled.
He admitted he knew little of the scientist, just that he was the world’s best at what he did. That was the only thing that really mattered, of course, but this night Sahib admitted he might possibly have erred in not learning more of the man with whom he was doing business.
Life had trained him to suspect everyone. He had killed those he did not trust, and thus far those instincts had served him well. Threats had been eliminated, along with a few innocents, but their fate never kept him awake at night.
One must do what needs to be done to achieve one’s goals. That was his mantra, his vinay, to be recited each dawn and each night.
Trust, to him, was misplaced foolishness. He did not trust Ringwood, a man who could be bought for relatively little. Were there not others with more to offer who could also buy such a man?
He put the bauble on his desk, next to the note. He would certainly make sure to honor the professor’s kindness. Although not exactly in the way Ringwood expected.
For the next hour, he unwound the tensions in his body by engaging in a variety of meditative stretches and positions, using the soft blankets he found in a chest at the bottom of the large bed to cushion his limbs against the hard wood floor.
He was relaxed, sweating a little and tying a loose robe around his waist when a light tap on the door announced the timely arrival of the woman.
She had been a fortuitous find and he hoped she would execute tonight’s mission in her customary efficient manner. He disliked drama and was delighted to have found himself a mistress who shared that opinion.
He opened the door and ushered her inside with a brief movement of his hand, pleased to see she obeyed immediately.
He closed the door and turned to look at her.
Her hair was loose on her shoulders and down her back, held away from
her face by two small clips.
She wore a light robe, the shade of a dusky sky at sunset. Not quite grey and not quite pink.
He approved, since he’d purchased that fabric himself. He recalled tearing one nightgown made of the same bolt of fabric during a night of extraordinarily energetic sex.
It was a good memory and put him in a good frame of mind.
“Open the robe. Slowly. Then drop it.” He moved away a little to allow the candlelight full access to the nude body she revealed.
His cock thickened as the silk tie loosened and she parted the lapels, revealing her full breasts with their intriguingly dark areolae. He had enjoyed them on many occasions, finding pleasure in her breathy response to his bites and pinches.
He urged her onward with his hand, ignoring his own arousal. This was for business. Pleasure could wait.
Finally, she was naked, the silk a pool around her feet.
“Yes. I believe this will render the foolish Englishman speechless.” He moved forward and ran fingers down over her belly to her sex, stroking the soft naked skin of her mound and then forcing apart her labia with his fingers.
“You will fuck him, of course. Allow him inside you. It cannot be avoided if you are to make him believe your attraction. Perhaps you will let him in here too.” He pulled at her buttocks as he rounded her to stand behind her. “A rare treat, I would assume.”
Absently he rubbed the head of his erect cock against her rosy hole.
She remained silent, a living statue, waiting for his next touch. Which was exactly as it should be.
He ignored the fading bruises—every woman he’d ever known bore them with stoic acceptance. To him they were normal.
He cupped her cheeks, squeezing them and pulling them apart, feeling the desire to thrust his cock between them and fuck her right here growing stronger.
He let her go, reminding himself of his goals.
“The drug is powdered. Add the entire package to his wine when he’s not looking, wait five minutes and then ask these questions.” He picked up a small piece of folded paper and tucked it into her cool hand. “Secrete this in your robe somewhere.”