Maria blinked. What sort of cat and mouse was Quentin McCallum playing, that he spoke in such a cavalier tone? As Jude tucked her hand around his elbow, his expression bespoke an urgency, a purpose he wasn’t yet revealing, although his instruction to the butler brooked no doubts.
“McCallum, I’m counting on you to keep the town house—and Mrs. Booth—under control, the way Jason intended when he hired you. Mother’s in no condition to manage a second household—and, as we all know, Father handled the finances.” He smiled purposefully at the servant. “I’m sure we’ll all be glad to have Jason home again, as Lord Darington, because he will see to such everyday details as your…pay.”
Quentin’s single raised eyebrow spoke volumes. “I wish you and Miss Palladino Godspeed and all the help you need to fetch him back! I’ll remain loyally at my post no matter how long that might require.”
“Thank you, Quentin. My brother depended on you, and I’m pleased his trust was not misplaced.” Jude paused inside the town house doorway. After a moment’s thought, he addressed Rubio, who’d entered behind them. “Perhaps you’ve not considered it, but your presence on the voyage would be immensely helpful, Palladino. My brother revealed himself today because of your influence rather than any power Polinsky wielded.”
“Jason knows I’m not making a play for his mother.” Rubio allowed the butler to remove his cape. “And while your invitation suggests an adventure like I haven’t enjoyed in years, I have many upcoming appointments with clients to—oh my. What a wonderful likeness of Maria!”
Her brother stepped farther into the foyer to gaze at the portrait that hung above the mahogany table: in the light from the lamp, Maria’s voluminous wedding dress glowed warmly and the roses Jude had so skillfully tinted in her cheeks gave her an ethereal, angelic air. Her brother turned to look at her and then at the likeness again. “My compliments, Jude! You’ve truly outdone yourself. No doubt whatsoever about who’s the queen of this house!”
Maria’s cheeks tingled. While her brother often complimented her, the portrait had apparently stirred something he’d never noticed. “And thank you to Quentin for getting it hung,” she remarked. “I second Jude’s suggestion that he be entrusted with the running of this household in our absence. Mrs. Booth and I have both relied upon him to…carry on as only a younger man is able.”
As soon as the words left her mouth she realized how improper they sounded. The three men around her smiled indulgently. “Might I suggest you change into something less…funereal, dear Maria?” her brother said. “And McCallum, if you’d request some refreshment, I’ll wait in the parlor. If I meditate upon sailing to America to find Jason, perhaps I’ll receive an answer by the time you come downstairs, dear sister.”
“Excellent!” Jude loosened his tie. “Perhaps wearing Jason’s clothing will help me with our discussion, as well. I need all the assistance he can give me.” He gestured for Maria to precede him up the stairway.
As she ascended, she felt his gaze on her backside, heard his breathing accelerate more than climbing the stairs required. His reason for changing clothes made perfect sense: who wanted to wear black as they planned a voyage? Yet Maria sensed an ulterior motive—
Jude pinned her against the wall as they stepped beyond the first landing. “I don’t know how you do it, minx,” he murmured as he reached up her skirts. “Ever since Father’s service, I’ve wanted to yank down your—”
She gasped as her opera drawers landed around her ankles.
“—and bury myself inside your hot, wet cunt.”
The words struck like lightning, words spoken the way Jason would’ve said them—made more dangerous because their voices echoed in the stairwell. “Jude, really!” she whispered, pointing frantically toward the first floor. “What if Mrs.—?”
“Yes, really! And quickly! Quentin and your brother know damn well why I wanted to change clothes, so let’s not keep them waiting.” His eyes glowed in the dimness of the upstairs hall as he helped her step out of her drawers. “If this isn’t what you want, you’d better speak up, Maria. I’ve had to be so fucking patient since Jason disappeared, because Mother’s watched me like a hawk! Do you know how badly I need you, Maria?”
Had his words goaded her? Or was it the desperation with which he spoke them? Jude had always been the more sensitive, lingering lover, yet this risky opportunity made her pulse race. The day before her wedding, when she’d bedded both brothers, seemed like a distant dream…she’d spent so many nights alone in this house where other bedsprings creaked and other lovers met each other’s needs….
When Jude sent her black veiled hat sailing up the stairs ahead of them, her heart soared with it. Too long she’d gone without this sort of play. “In here!” she whispered, motioning toward the bathroom. “Jason’s bedroom is directly above the parlor and mine’s above the dining room, so—”
Jude steered her ahead of him, into the little room where he’d wooed her on the eve of her ill-fated wedding. Instinctively they moved, latching both bedroom doors and then tossing towels to the floor to muffle their movements. With a wicked grin, Maria twisted the sink spigots, so the water gurgled in the drain. “Here’s to a few moments of clean living,” she quipped. “How shall we do this?”
Her lover glanced at the bathtub, the water closet, and then the large cabinet where linens were stored. “Off with your dress!” he whispered. “No more of this awful black garb, when pale pink skin becomes you so much better.”
“Off with your clothes, too! We came upstairs to change, after all.” Maria quickly unbuttoned the fitted gown of black bombazine, watching as Jude’s somber suit coat and trousers landed on hooks beside the door. He’d shrugged out of his white shirt and was peeling down his union suit by the time she stepped out of her dress: the flush in his cheeks matched the heat she felt in her own face…the illicit excitement of sating each other’s hunger while her brother awaited them made her throb all over. She widened her eyes, asking what came next.
Jude gazed avidly at her: she was clad only in her black stockings, pumps, and a fancy corset from her trousseau. “Up you go,” he murmured as he lifted her to sit on the linen cabinet. “Why haven’t we thought of this before? This is precisely the right height—”
Maria spread her bare thighs and tipped back in his embrace. Her pulse pounded so loudly she wondered if anyone downstairs could hear it.
He stepped in and stopped with the tip of his cock in position. “Damn, but you’re lovely, woman. And such a sport about it, too, that I—”
She pulled him into a kiss that made them both squirm. Their impassioned sighs mingled with the gurgling of the water as they rubbed their bodies together. The rasp of his coarse hair against her silk corset only inflamed her more, and his skin felt like warm velvet as he wrapped his arms tightly around her. His cock teased at her curls, prodding her mound while denying her that surge of entry she sought. Despite the need for speed, Maria allowed herself to exhilarate in Jude’s affection—and in his brazen way of expressing it.
“Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if we didn’t find Jason,” Jude murmured.
“But we will,” she assured him between kisses, “and the three of us will continue as lovers. But right now it’s you I need, Jude. I’m so wet I might slip off the cabinet—”
She stifled her gasp against his bare shoulder as he plunged inside her, tipping her back to find the best angle. Biting his lip and clenching his eyes shut, Jude concentrated on stroking her with his cock. Maria clutched his shoulders to suspend her body so the cabinet wouldn’t bump and creak. He felt needy, this man who’d claimed her so quickly. Jude rode her faster, stiffening with the intensity of holding back, of remaining quiet as he thrust and then eased away…thrust and then—
“I want to feel you squirt, hot and hard,” she muttered near his ear. “Want you to spasm deep inside me, like a dog rutting a bitch in heat—clutching and fucking—knowing she won’t let go of his red-hot cock until he’s satisfied h
er. And then—”
“Jesus God, Maria!” Jude held her hard against his body as he rocked relentlessly, caught in the throes of an orgasm that triggered her own.
Maria ground her hips against his, inhaling hard to keep from screaming, flying on the verge of absolute madness until his low gasps subsided. Together they caught their breath, careful not to knock against the cabinet.
“We’d better dress—”
“By now they’re wondering where we are and—”
“Begging your pardon, Miss Palladino. Would you like lemon cakes with your tea, or the fresh jelly tarts I baked this morning?”
Maria gaped at Jude as his grip tightened around her. She pried herself from his arms to turn off the water. “Yes! Both!” she exclaimed toward her bedroom. “Thank you for asking, Mrs. Booth.”
Was that a sly chuckle coming from the other side of the door? “And do you suppose Mr. Darington would enjoy fresh strawberries with clotted cream?”
As Jude opened his mouth, Maria clapped her hand over it. “Yes, please! Strawberries would be lovely!”
“The least I can do, considering all the shock and sadness of these past few days.”
Why didn’t the damn housekeeper leave her to that shock and sadness, then? Step away from the door and go downstairs?
As if you don’t know! How will you face her, knowing she’ll remark about—
“Mr. Darington, sir, shall I find you a fresh shirt and trousers from Jason’s armoire while you’re washing up?” Quentin spoke from Jason’s room, and as she and Jude scrambled for the same washcloth, Maria swore the butler was laughing. In cohoots with Mrs. Booth, no doubt—and, for all they knew, the two servants had been listening at the bathroom doors for several minutes. Jude covered his own mouth this time, nodding at the door where the housekeeper might still be hovering.
“Thank you, Quentin,” Maria replied with exaggerated patience. “I’m sure he’ll choose something when he returns. Gentleman that he is, he’s allowed me to freshen myself first.”
Again they heard no footsteps or movement. What if they unhooked the doors and came face-to-face with those two foxes, who seemed determined to catch them at a game they themselves knew well?
And what does that matter? Didn’t Rubio just declare you the queen of this house?
Maria inhaled, bolstering her nerve. “If you would be so kind, Quentin,” she continued in a honeyed voice, “would you go downstairs and inform Mrs. Booth that my brother Rubio prefers chocolate to tea? It sharpens his focus when he listens to his spirit guides.”
“All right, I shall, milady. Will there be anything else?”
Maria rolled her eyes. Was there no end to this butler’s brazenness? “No, I think not! Tell Rubio I’ll be with him in two shakes of my tail!”
“An image we’ll all enjoy, I’m sure. As you wish, milady.”
At least this time they heard the butler moving toward the main door of Jason’s room—or was that a ruse? Even if she emerged first, to dress, would the servants hover in the hall to confirm Jude’s presence in her private quarters? What a nuisance, to be so closely watched! She was tempted to send them on holiday, except Jude had already told the butler to be in charge while he sailed to America.
Maria pressed a precautionary finger to her lips. Jude nodded, reaching for his clothes. Quickly she wiped between her damp thighs with the washcloth, and then unhooked the door. When she peered into her room, she saw only the sunny yellow walls and the furnishings…no sign of Mrs. Booth or her accomplice. She selected a dress of apple green taffeta—a gown with a pink flounced overskirt and bodice ruffles that always lifted her spirits—and then checked her mirror. It was too late to recoif her hair, so she hastily repinned a few loose tendrils. Then she tapped on the bathroom. “Coast looks clear,” she whispered.
“I’ll be down momentarily, love. You were wonderful!”
Maria glowed all the way down the stairs. She might have taken an unladylike ride, seated on the long, glossy banister, had she not seen Quentin awaiting her in the vestibule. He held a silver tea tray with a plate of cakes and tarts, and the bone china cups Mrs. Booth preferred for these afternoon refreshments. “Thank you, Quentin, but I requested a pot of chocolate for—”
“And Mrs. Booth’ll be along with it shortly,” he replied in a tight voice. He glanced around them and then fixed her gaze with his dark eyes. “Might I inquire what shall happen to Miss Crimson’s column, if you leave London in search of your Lord Darington?”
Leave it to this busybody to ask about that! Maria studied his face for any ulterior motives, and then checked to see that no one else could hear them. “Why do you ask? Why is it a concern of yours if—”
“Your readers will fear the worst, Miss Crimson!” he breathed. “If you don’t report on His Lordship’s funeral, and the séance Mr. Polinsky conducted at Lady Darington’s request—”
“Only two of the events I intend to write up, when I get a moment,” she whispered brusquely. “And why wouldn’t Miss Crimson go on holiday now and again? Everyone else does!”
“For weeks? Without any assurance of her return?”
“I won’t become Johnny Conn’s hostage—although it sounds much the same as living here, where I’m constantly spied upon!” She caught herself and lowered her voice. “I’ll inform my editor I shall be writing from afar, sending my posts to him by way of the transatlantic cable—”
“At the risk of someone else intercepting them? Perhaps using them to discredit Miss Crimson while you can do nothing to prevent it?”
Maria straightened to her full height, trying to capture the thoughts that spun so wildly in her mind. “What are you after, McCallum? If you’re wasting my time to catch Jude when he—”
“I could write your columns while you’re away, Miss Palladino!” Quentin’s slender face lit up with unabashed glee. “I’ve read every one of your pieces, committed the best ones to memory from sheer admiration and rereading! So why shouldn’t I become your—your ghost writer?”
Her jaw dropped. Again she peered around the vestibule to be sure Mrs. Booth wasn’t coming with the tea and chocolate—and an ear for such an incriminating secret. “Where on earth did you get that idea?” she rasped. “But more important, what will give you entrée to the social affairs and parties Miss Crimson frequents? I pride myself on never reporting what I’ve not seen and heard firsthand!”
“Didn’t I figure out your identity, your delivery method, before you were even slightly aware?” Quentin lowered his face to within inches of hers. “To whom else can you entrust your responsibility for the truth? Your reputation as a journalistic visionary?”
“That’s the most outrageous—”
“But confess! My proposition’s the answer—the one method of preserving all you’ve accomplished with your writing.” The young butler popped a lemon petit four into her mouth when she tried to protest. “I could send you the gossip from my forays, by way of the cable, and then deliver your written posts to the Inquirer. But your career—your audience—will be the furthest thing from your mind as you search for Jason, even if such a strategy could remain timely. Week-old gossip is about as relevant, as fascinating, as rubbish left to rot on the curbs!”
Maria couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This opportunistic butler believed he could share her social favor, her glory, by writing under her name! As though readers wouldn’t know the difference in reports written from a man’s viewpoint, after trusting Miss Crimson to deliver the dirt in her inimitable way these past few years! It sounded like a subtle form of blackmail, the way this young swain had so thoroughly considered the angles of her absence and then positioned himself to—
Footsteps on the stairs made them step away from each other.
“We’ll talk later!” Maria muttered. She strode toward the parlor, pausing to assess the room from the doorway: her brother stood in profile to her, looking out the window. His faraway expression bespoke a trancelike state he invoked to receive
information from his spirit guides…or to convince others he was lost in his own thoughts rather than delving into theirs.
Rubio knew she was Miss Crimson. Just as he knew both Jude and Jason Darington were her lovers. But with Jude descending the stairs behind her, it was no time to trot out the secrets they each kept, because what might Mrs. Booth reveal to Lady Darington after their ship set sail? If Jason’s mother learned of her role as the gossip columnist, Maria would lose far more than her reputation as a writer: the pirate she brought home might not marry her, at his mother’s insistence. And then where would she be? Especially without Phillip Darington to defend her.
Lost and alone…with no one to blame but myself.
“Your tea, Miss Palladino. And the chocolate you requested for your brother.” Mrs. Booth gave a stiff curtsy from the opposite arched entryway to the parlor. A sly light glimmered in her eyes as Jude entered the room. “You two must surely be…exhausted, after the trials and tribulations of this fateful day. One can only guess what might change now that Phillip, Lord Darington, has passed on, with the heir to his title nowhere to be found.”
“And we shall correct that situation by week’s end, Mrs. Booth.” Jude strode to the housekeeper to take the tray. “We no longer require your services today, so why don’t you and Quentin enjoy some time off? Miss Palladino, her brother, and I have a great deal to discuss about fetching Lord Darington home, and we will not be interrupted—or spied upon. Thank you.”
The old woman pursed her lips, but Jude’s purposeful gaze kept her silent. Indeed, he waited for both servants’ footfalls to fade down the hall before he turned toward Maria and her brother again. “High time my brother returned, if only to discipline his domestics!” He set the tray on the table with an unceremonious clatter of the pots. “Far too presumptuous they’ve become, trapping us in the bathroom and then pretending each didn’t know what the other was doing! I would dismiss them, except we’ll rely upon them while we’re gone. Mum couldn’t stomach interviewing new ones in her present state. Father always did that.”
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