Thornbrook Park

by Sherri Browning

  “Marcus.” Eve dropped the flowers, rose on her toes, and cupped his face in her hands, the roughness of a half-day’s growth of beard scratching her palms. She dropped a light kiss on his nose.

  “I want to undress you.” His voice was a velvet whisper as he returned her kisses, blazing a trail down her décolletage. “I need to see you. All of you. Just once.”

  “Just once.” Just one more kiss, one more time. She dreaded the day that they finally kept their word, but that day was not upon them. She worked at the buttons of his shirt. “I want to feel your skin on mine.”

  He pulled her body against his and kissed her, his hot, open mouth covering hers, devouring her. She tangled her tongue with his, daring him to go deeper, molding her body against his so that she could feel the length of his erection. His longing, pressing against her, was as undeniable as her own need curled into a tight coil inside her.

  She eased his shirt down off his shoulders, exposing his bare, muscular arms and chest. Her fingers traced his shrapnel scars and ran over his taut, rippled stomach and down to the trail of golden curling hairs that led under the waist of his trousers. His hand covered hers, encouraging her, helping her undo his clothes. Her breathing slowed as his trousers eased down his hips, tan skin giving way to white as he became exposed. She nearly gasped at the beauty of him standing before her like her own Roman god.

  “You should have been named for the god of love,” she said.

  “But Cupid is a terrible name.” He laughed. “Besides, Psyche couldn’t look on Cupid, and you seem to be enjoying the sight of me.”

  She blushed. “I am. But Psyche is from Greek mythology, with Eros. There’s no equivalent for the Roman.”

  And a good thing, she thought with a pang. Psyche’s punishment for looking at Eros was to lose him, a situation that mirrored their reality all too closely. She had to give him up, sooner rather than later.

  “Your turn, my lady. Let’s get you out of these clothes.” He embraced her and began to unfasten her gown.

  “But it takes so long to get them on again. Perhaps you could just lift my skirts.”

  “Suddenly shy, Mrs. Kendal? Would you deny me my heart’s desire? I don’t think so.” His breath was warm on her cheek, his lips so close.

  “Sophia might come looking for me.”

  “Not here she wouldn’t.” He paused from unbuttoning her to trail a finger along her collarbone. “Besides, she’s probably napping until dinner.”

  “Or Gabriel could come in search of you.”

  “Gabriel”—The gown undone, he gave a tug and it slipped down her shoulders—“is still shooting. I’m the last thing on his mind.”

  “We left Alice alone with Mr. Winthrop.” Instinctively, she caught the fabric before it slipped to pool on the floor. He took her hands, dropping kisses on her palms, and the gown fell.

  She heard his breath catch as he looked her over in her corset and petticoat. “My own good fortune is all I can think of at the moment. Come here.”

  He kissed her again as his skillful fingers toyed with her laces, loosening her stays and leaving her bare in his arms in a matter of minutes. He stood back to have a look.

  Naked before him, she did not shy away or cover herself. She let her arms fall to her sides while he took her in, heat in his amber eyes.

  “You’re exquisite,” he said. “Beyond my imagination.”

  The slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He urged her to the bed and fell atop her gently. Finding her mouth again, he parted her lips with his tongue. She reached for him, but he gripped her arms and pulled them back over her head, pinning them to the mattress with one hand, while his other hand quested. He stroked her neck and shoulders, and paused at her breasts before taking one nipple between his fingers and rolling gently. He followed with his mouth, laving, circling his scorching tongue around her swollen bud, and then he moved lower.

  Her stomach tensed with anticipation and her desire coiled tighter. He let go of her arms and dipped his head to her navel and lower, causing her to tremble. His hand covered her mound, his fingers parting her slit to his touch, and he slipped them inside her one at a time, pushing deep and pulling back with a smooth, rhythmic motion. She moved against him.

  “More.”

  “As intended.” His voice was husky and thick with need, but she could hear the smile in his voice even with her eyes closed.

  He parted her legs wide, dipped his head lower, and blew on her, her delicate nub quivering against the sudden stream of air. He cupped her buttocks and pulled her into his mouth, feasting on her like a starving man. She arched against him and cried out, then prayed no one had heard her.

  “Marcus,” she said. She needed to feel him inside her, filling her. He took another moment to kiss her more intimately than she’d dared hope until her need spiraled out of control, snapping like a whip. Colored lights began to pop behind her eyes. Only then did he straighten up, grip her by the waist, and slide her to him, his hips meeting her own.

  He laced his fingers with hers, lowered his hips, and entered her slowly, as if savoring every inch. Inside her at last, he began to move and she moved with him, the two of them in their own private dance. She savored the feeling of him against her, skin to skin, as she tangled her legs around his waist and shifted so slightly that she was in his lap, pulling him tighter against her, deeper inside her. He held her against him, one arm curled around her waist, as they found their release together again and again.

  Spent, she settled snugly at his side and let the bliss wash over her.

  It was then, as Marcus pulled the sheet up and tucked it around them, nudging her into his arms to rest her head on his chest, that the door opened and the footman, George, entered. He nearly tripped over the sunflowers and Eve’s discarded gown, caught sight of them, and dropped his bundle of laundered shirts to the floor. They’d made love in the library and in the open outdoors, but they were finally discovered in a proper bedroom, of all places. Her stomach turned.

  “One word of this to anyone, George, and I can no longer promise you that promotion.”

  “Captain Thorne, I wouldn’t dream of—Mrs. Kendal?” George averted his gaze and backed toward the door. “No, I’m sorry. I won’t speak of it. Of course. I’m sorry.” He left the room as quickly as he’d come in.

  “The servants will all know of it by dinner,” Eve said. “What have we done?”

  “I think George can be relied on for his discretion.”

  She shot Marcus a look, one eyebrow raised.

  “Seriously. He’s a good sort, and I believe willing to accept a bribe. Our secret is safe.”

  “But for how long?” She sat up. “I should go back to my room. Before word spreads. What if he comes back with Gabriel?”

  He urged her to rest on him. “I’m telling you that George can be trusted. I know the servants well enough. Stay with me. Just a little while longer.”

  Resigned, she dropped her head to his chest. “Just a little while. Just one more kiss, one more… We have to stop. Once and for all.”

  He stroked the bare skin of her back. “I’m not convinced that I can.”

  With a sigh, she sat up and pulled away. “Then I will. For your sake and mine. You need to secure the farm and Alice’s affections. It’s not going to happen as long as you’re angling to get me back to your bed.”

  “Eve.” She feared an argument. Would he try to convince her to stay? But she turned around to look at him. All too relaxed, he rolled onto his stomach to face her, lying crosswise across the bed. He propped his chin on his hand and showed no concern for covering his stark, white backside. A slow smile tugged at the corner of his lush lips. “I’ll see you at dinner, then?”

  She sighed. How utterly adorable he looked, and how devastatingly sexy at the same time. She wanted to go back and roll between the sheets with him all afterno
on.

  “Yes. Later.” Instead, she gathered her things and stepped into his adjoining room to dress as best she could and make her escape. There would be no avoiding him as long as they remained under the same roof.

  ***

  Eve did not go to dinner.

  Instead, she sent a note with her apologies and stayed at her writing desk, absorbed in her work for half the night. The other half, she spent pacing the floor, unable to sleep. And then she began to pack, just a few things in a black leather case so that she would be prepared to spend some nights at Averford House. She could not face Sophia, not after what she’d done with Marcus, not yet. She would have to confess eventually, but better that she took some time to get her affairs in order first. If she couldn’t recover her money, she could see about finding a position somewhere. There was no shame in finding employment. Better to provide for herself than to rely on the charity of friends.

  At first light, she made her way to Sophia’s room and slipped a note under her door, explaining her temporary escape to London to investigate her finances. From there, she made her way to the train station, opting to walk instead of waking Dale at such an early hour to drive her. It was a pleasant walk, the air crisp and refreshing, the smells of autumn in the air. Only once did she fear the sound of footsteps behind her, following close, but she turned to discover that she trailed a branch that had somehow become attached to her skirts. She laughed, freed it, and walked on.

  In London, she headed straight for the office of Marcus’s detective friend, Tom Reilly, and hoped she would find him in.

  “It seems fortune is smiling on me nearly as brightly as the morning sun,” she said when he answered the door. “You are here, Mr. Reilly. And I hope that you have the time to help me.”

  “I’ve never turned down a pretty woman in need of my assistance,” Mr. Reilly said, smiling in a way that enhanced the deep dimples in his cheeks. “And I’m not about to start now. Marcus has been keeping me up to date on your case, and I’ve made a few discoveries. Shall we abscond to an inn for some breakfast, and I’ll fill you in?”

  “That sounds delightful, Mr. Reilly. I haven’t eaten.”

  He grabbed his coat and hat, and took her arm, but somehow she didn’t feel that same familiar warmth she’d felt while walking arm in arm with Marcus. A pity. With his dimples and twinkling eyes, Mr. Reilly would have made a charming and available long-term companion for her future lonely nights in London.

  Over breakfast, he grew more serious as he informed her of his findings. He waited until she’d nearly finished eating before he placed his hand over hers. “I feel you should know that they’ve found a body.”

  She pulled her hand away to stifle her gasp. “Mr. Strump’s body?”

  He nodded. “The wife identified him, though she seemed reluctant to do so. At first, she claimed it wasn’t him, and then she blamed her misidentification on grief. Poor man’s head was bashed in before he was dumped in the Serpentine.”

  “Did you tell Captain Thorne?”

  He shook his head. “It’s not the sort of news for telegram or telephone. I wanted to tell you in person. And here you are.”

  “Here I am.” She smiled weakly.

  “Curious, though, when Mrs. Strump came in to have a look at the body, she gave her name as Lawson, Mrs. Leona Lawson.”

  “Lawson?” Eve felt her mouth drop open, and there was no hope of concealing it this time. “But that’s—”

  “Yes, Captain Thorne informed me of your run-in with your former landlord. I’ve been investigating him as well. It struck me as odd when Mrs. Strump initially identified herself by the wrong name. It’s the kind of thing to raise flags. After Marcus telephoned yesterday, I investigated further and turned up the most interesting connection between the two.”

  Eve thought back to her unusual visit at the Strumps’ house and the hat on the hook. “He’s her brother.”

  “So they say.”

  “What do you mean? He’s not really her brother? They’re only pretending to be blood relatives?” She gasped as she made the connection. “Is he really her lover?”

  “Very good, Mrs. Kendal. But that’s not the whole of it. I did some more checking. It turns out that Mrs. Leona Strump was formerly Mrs. Leona Lawson, born Leona Gibson.”

  “But how could she be Leona Lawson? Unless—”

  “Yes, they’re married. Her marriage to Mr. Strump isn’t on the records, not legal. But her marriage to Oliver Lawson is right there in ink, recorded for all time. Along with their arrest records, of course.”

  “Arrests? Lawson and his wife, both?”

  Mr. Reilly nodded. “For fraud. They were caught selling interest in a supposed inn in Brighton, meant to attract vacationers to the seaside. One of the investors finally decided to go enjoy a stay at the inn he’d invested in, only to find nothing at the address but a pile of sand. He alerted authorities, and they used a deception to catch the Lawsons.”

  “A deception?”

  “Detectives went in pretending to be potential investors and caught the Lawsons in the act. Oliver took the fall for both of them, claimed the wife was his innocent dupe in the affair. He served a few years in prison, and Leona was waiting for him when he got out. That’s when he started buying land in India. I think he realized it would be harder for authorities to keep tabs on him there. We think that’s where he hid half of their money in the first place. The investors were never paid back, due to Lawson’s lack of funds upon his arrest. Probably unaware of Mr. Lawson’s background, Mr. Strump was acting as his solicitor for the land purchases in India.”

  “I believe it is through Mr. Strump that my husband and Mr. Lawson met.”

  “At some point, they must have decided to defraud Mr. Strump and convince him to marry Leona in a bogus ceremony, with Lawson posing as her brother. Unless Strump was in on it all along, which seems unlikely.”

  “I see where you’re heading with this. The diamond mine is a fraud. It doesn’t exist. My money’s all gone.” She didn’t feel as empty inside as she’d believed she would. Deep down, she’d probably known it all along.

  “I’m sorry. Yes.”

  “I might have gotten the poor man killed.” Eve’s heart sank. “When I went in asking questions, stirring Mr. Strump to action. If he didn’t realize the mine was a fraud, he might have discovered it that night when he started looking into Ben’s investments.”

  “Don’t blame yourself.” Mr. Reilly placed a hand on hers. “With those two, it was probably inevitable. Nasty characters. They’ll get theirs eventually.”

  “Eventually?” She raised a brow. “Why not now?”

  “There’s nothing to tie them to the murder so far. I’ll keep investigating, of course, and I have some of Scotland Yard’s finest on the case with me. We do have a potential murder weapon, a bookend found wrapped with the body in a rug. As for the fraud, it’s even harder to prove, considering the supposed mine is in India and the fraud most likely took place there.”

  “Let me guess. The bookend is gilded?”

  “How did you know? It’s a gilded monkey.”

  Eve shuddered. “If you’d been in the Strumps’ house, you would know. The Lawsons killed him. I’m certain. Can’t your investigators get in and have a look around?”

  “We’re working on it.”

  “Tell me more about this deception that nailed them the last time they committed fraud. I think I might have some ideas of how we could get them again.”

  “Mrs. Kendal, I must say, you’re quite a surprise.” His gray eyes sparkled with mirth. “I like the way you think.”

  “It shouldn’t be too surprising, Mr. Reilly. They took my husband’s money, my money. If I can’t get it back, I should at least have the pleasure of seeing them imprisoned for the rest of their God-given days.”

  ***

  “What’s the n
ews?” Marcus asked as he came to the breakfast table, meaning both around the world and in their household. He expected that George could be trusted, but what if he were wrong?

  “Finland has given women the right to vote.” Gabriel shook his head disapprovingly. “They expect some of them will now run for office.”

  “Women? Running for office? Lady Alice will celebrate the news. We’re sure to follow suit eventually. The world is changing.”

  Gabriel rolled his eyes over the top of his paper. “I won’t be the one to tell her.”

  Marcus sifted through the fruit bowl in search of a shiny, red apple. “I’m sure she follows the reports.”

  “Are you sure from intimate conversations? How are you faring with Lady Alice?”

  “Well enough.” Marcus shrugged, giving up on the fruit. He would find plenty of apples at Tilly Meadow. He had made a weak attempt to flirt with Lady Alice at last night’s dinner, but his heart wasn’t in it. He’d been preoccupied with thoughts of Eve and their phenomenal afternoon lovemaking. Her absence at the table signified that it wouldn’t happen again. She’d cut him off. One of them had to do it. Clearly, she was stronger than he. She was extraordinary…

  “Marcus? Would you care to answer, or have you taken to ignoring me?”

  “Sorry. I was mentally making plans for my day with Brandon at the farm.”

  Gabriel shook his head. “That’s exactly what I asked you: ‘Are you headed to the farm with the boy today?’ And your answer could have been, ‘Yes, Brother, I am.’”

  “I sent George to wake him, get him ready, and gather up his things. He should be down at any moment and we’re off. Bill, have we any coffee?” Marcus asked the footman, eager to discourage more conversation with his brother. He felt his mood darken with every word between them.

  “Of course, sir. I will bring some immediately.”

  His brother favored tea, a pot of which remained on the table in front of Gabriel. Sophia floated in wearing a black frock with white sleeves, a high white neck, and a wide red sash.