Romance: Detective Romance: A Vicious Affair (Victorian Regency Intrigue 19th England Romance) (Historical Mystery Detective Romance)

by Lisa Andersen

  “No,” Rebecca agreed. “She is very old-fashioned sometimes.”

  “And you are modern?”

  “No—not in that sense. I am merely, as a woman, not the same breed as my mother.”

  “No interesting women are,” His Grace, Edison, said.

  “Edison,” Rebecca said. “It is a lovely name.”

  “Thank you.” He inclined his head. “I must admit to something, my lady.”

  “Rebecca!”

  “Rebecca, I must admit to something. My reasons for asking for this small piece of privacy are not only to converse. I believe you are a lady out of sorts, in a way. It was that first meeting when we danced that proved it to me. Do you remember, when I fled the floor?”

  “I remember.”

  “I was trying to batter you down with words, to beat you down. It was horribly cold of me, but, alas, horribly cold I can be. I find I can be quite the brute at times – I was not jesting about that – and for sport I was trying to beat you down with words. But you beat me, Rebecca. You beat me like I had never been beaten! I felt then, in that moment, like my soul had found recognition in another. And a great wave of emotion passed over me. Yes, that was what it was—a wave. It was a most overpowering feeling. And so I had to flee. I had not felt so since returning from the war. I feared for my constitution. Yes, you may smile!” He grinned at her.

  “You sound as though you are in a novel, Edison.”

  “You mock me!” he cried, but his voice was full of playfulness.

  “Never!” Rebecca laughed.

  Edison bowed his head. “I tell you this because I am going to tell you something else. I wish to hear your opinion on it. I do not have to ask for it, of course, but I wish for it anyway. I mean to ask your Father for your hand in marriage. I am three-and-thirty, have a sizable estate, a solid reputation as a soldier, and Dukedom. I believe your father – and your mother, who has his ear I am sure – will say yes to this proposal. And that is why I am talking to you of it now. Would you wish me to make such a proposal, Rebecca? Would that please you? I could not condemn a woman like you – a free spirit – to a life with a man in whom she has no interest.”

  “You wish to marry me?” Rebecca breathed, her heart hammering in her chest.

  “I do,” Edison said. “I knew it as soon as we danced, but after these meetings I am sure of it. I believe you are the only person who will be able to cope with my moods, with my indulgence in caprice.”

  “I must know more,” Rebecca said, with a calm she did not at all feel. “What form does your caprice take? I believe I must know more, Edison.”

  “You see!” Edison grinned widely. “Here I am, a Duke and you a Lady: a good match for you but anybody’s standards. And still you want to know more. It is a wonderful thing.”

  “You are not angry?”

  “Not in the least, Rebecca. Ask me what you would.”

  “What form does your caprice, your moods—what form do they take?”

  “I am gripped with nightmares of the war, of watching my friends die. Sometimes I will wake at night in a sweat, and my breath will come with stunning alacrity. I will grip the pillows and wail into the night.”

  “Edison!”

  “It is the truth!” he cried carelessly. “It is just the two of us, and I am not ashamed to speak the truth here!” He went on in more measured tones: “After one of these nights, I might lock myself in my study for days or even a week and smoke and be among my memories. If a footman or maidservant tries to talk to me – about some business concerning the estate – I am distant and will not utter a single word to them. This you must know before contemplating my proposal.”

  “Is there more?” Rebecca said.

  “More?” Edison tapped his cane. “Is that not enough?”

  “My imagination is a traitor,” Rebecca said. “I imagined a thousand ghastly scenarios, so that yours now seems minor.”

  “You diminish me.”

  “Yes, perhaps I do. Should I apologize?”

  “Absolutely not. It refreshing to be diminished, when I am so often mythologized.”

  “I am glad I can refresh you, Edison.”

  He paused, and then leaned forward slightly. “So, would such a proposal appeal to you? I would not ask your father if it would not interest you. It would be a prison of sorts, if that were the case, because I am sure he will say yes. It would be simply impossible not to.”

  Rebecca knew she was in a unique position. She had never been proposed to before. Men had always been intimidated or frightened of her, much to Mother’s dismay. But if they had proposed to her, she would be married by now. There was no question about it. As close and she and Father were, he would not turn down a good match. And the lord would not have consulted her on the matter. In her hands lay her destiny, her own destiny, to be done with what she wished. She could cast Edison aside, if she wished, cast him aside and wait for—for what? Wait until she slowly became more and more like Miss Garnet Leverton?

  “I would say yes,” Rebecca said, and as soon as she said it she knew it was the truth. “If a proposal was made, I would do everything in my power to get Father to agree to it.”

  “Okay,” Edison said. “That settles it then. Shall we walk back? Your mother has cast us at least one-hundred glances since we stopped here.”

  “I can call you Edison once more before we start back, and Mother cannot here. It feels conspiratorial.”

  “You and I and the wind—what a team of conspirators we make!”

  Rebecca giggled and together they started back toward the elder Emersons.

  *****

  “Hmm,” Father said, a day later, leaning over the letter. “Hmm, what a letter!”

  “What is it, husband?” Mother said.

  He handed her the letter. After a minute or so, Mother handed the letter to Rebecca. It read—

  Dear Lord Emerson,

  I have greatly enjoyed visiting with your daughter, sweet Rebecca. It would gladden me greatly if you would grant me her hand in marriage. I promise to do everything in my power to ensure her comfort, safety, and happiness if you accept my proposal.

  Yours faithfully,

  Brigidier Edison Wells, Duke of Waltren

  “Oh my!” Rebecca exclaimed.

  Though she had known it was coming, reading it like this made it all more real. She read through it thrice more and then handed it to Auntie, who had been casting curious glances over the top of her knitting. Father leaned back and sucked on his pipe, and Mother looked to Father and waited.

  Eventually, Father said: “What are you feelings on this, daughter?”

  “I wish to marry him,” she said without delay.

  “Good,” Father said, and sighed gratefully, “Because we cannot think of refusing.”

  “No,” Mother said. “We truly cannot. He is a Duke! Oh, Rebecca, three-and-twenty – and I had lost so much hope – and now you go and get snapped up by a Duke! How did you do it, dear? Perhaps you can tell my sweet sister.”

  “Mother!” Rebecca laughed. “I am sure Auntie does not wish to be goaded.”

  Mother smiled: a warm, content smile. “Husband, you must write to him immediately. Our daughter is to marry a Duke! Oh, what an honor this is!”

  That night Rebecca was lost in reveries of marriage and children and love. Edison may have his faults, she reasoned, but what man did not? Anyway, Rebecca was sure she was more than a match for them.

  *****

  “No!” Eddy screamed. “No, get away from me!”

  Rebecca bolted upright and turned to her side. Her husband was clutching the blanket in a tight ball in his fists, looking wide-eyed into the darkness. Rebecca rose from bed and walked around to his side, kneeling before him. “It is okay, my love,” she said. “It is okay. Calm do
wn. Breathe. That’s it, my love. Just breathe.”

  A thin stream of moonlight came in through the window and illumed his muscular shoulders, tensed from the pressure of the nightmare. He rolled onto his back and smiled grimly.

  “Was it bad?” Rebecca said.

  “It is better now,” Eddy said. “Much better. Thank you, for not fearing me.”

  “Fearing you?” Rebecca said teasingly. “How could I fear such a weak man?” She nudged him playfully. “Brigadier indeed.”

  He smiled and then rose up on the bed. He clasped her neck and brought her lips to his. She breathed deeply as they shared the kiss. His tongue danced in her mouth and her hands roamed over him. Six months they had been married, and still he found it hard to control herself when he kissed her like this. Her hands moved down his torso to his manhood. It was rock-hard and huge, making the blanket stand up.

  “Oh, my lady,” he breathed. “My lady.”

  “Your Grace,” Rebecca said. “Would you mind terribly if I rubbed you there? Is it awfully scandalous?”

  “Quite, my lady,” he said, kissing her neck. His lips were warm and wet. “It is quite scandalous.”

  She kept rubbing his manhood, gripping it in her hand, moving up and down, up and down. Then the Duke, her glorious husband, lifted her as though she weighed nothing and placed her in the bed. He laid her on her back and leant over her, his arms by her head, hard and taut with muscle. He reached down and touched her womanhood. Instantly, pleasure moved through her: hot, pervasive, right. Her husband’s touch was the sweetest thing there was.

  He rubbed her for a time. She closed her eyes. The pleasure was white-hot within her. She breathed deeply as he rubbed her, his hands on that special spot of pleasure on her womanhood, that hot spot that made everything warm and fuzzy. She closed her eyes tight and focused on that spot, and then the Pleasure came, the big Pleasure, the Pleasure that captivated her for a time, washed through her. She couldn’t help but moan. She knew it was unladylike to moan, but she couldn’t help it. And anyway, she knew Eddy didn’t mind.

  After the Pleasure had taken her, she touched his manhood and guided himself inside of her. He pushed deep into her easily. It was nothing like their wedding night had been, when they were both new to this and fumbling and awkward. Now they knew each other’s bodies, knew where to touch, how to touch. His manhood went deep inside of her, deep into the other sweet spot within her womanhood.

  “Oh, my lady,” he moaned. “My lady, my lady, my lady…”

  He thrust into her again and again. The Duke of Waltren, Brigadier Edison Wells, made love to her fiercely. She shifted her hips with his movements, pushing her womanhood down upon him, something she’d learnt soon after the wedding night heightened both of their pleasure. She pushed down as he thrust up, and they writhed in complete unison, sharing the pleasure of their bodies.

  The Duke gripped her shoulders and thrust into her with animal fierceness now. His breaths were quick and hot on her neck. His moans were loud in her ears. She closed her eyes and all she could see was white and all she could feel was the pleasure of his manhood within her. Another wave of Pleasure came, seizing her and throwing her out of physical reality; for a moment she felt as though she floated above the room, watching the lovemaking below. Then the Pleasure passed, and her breath was becoming less frantic.

  The Duke grunted once more, and then spilled his seed within her. He rolled aside and laughed. “I never dreamed,” he said, “that nightmares could be banished so easily, Rebecca, my love.”

  “I am glad to be of service, Your Grace,” Rebecca said, running her fingertips up and down his torso.

  “No, I am the one who is glad,” Eddy said. He touched her lips and wiped sweat from her forehead. “You are quite unlike any woman—anywhere.”

  “And you are quite unlike any man. Our marriage, I think, is a largely unusual one.”

  “How is that?”

  “We’re happy.”

  “Yes,” Eddy said, smiling once more. “Yes, we are, aren’t we?”

  *****

  Edward skipped over to her and pulled at her skirts. “Mother!” he cried. “Mother! Mother! There is a rabbit! Look!”

  Rebecca looked to where her son pointed. Sure enough, a rabbit had crept onto lawn and was poking its nose into the grass, its little ears wiggling. “Can I pet it, Mother?”

  “If you wish,” Rebecca said. “Just be careful.”

  Edward skipped over to the rabbit and carefully extended his hand. Father blew plumes of smoke from his pipe. “This is a lovely place, daughter,” he said. “I wish Mother could have seen it.”

  “As do I, Father,” Rebecca said.

  Mother had died a year ago, had just dropped one day and never arisen. Father said once that it was because she had succeeded in her life’s work; Rebecca was married and there was nothing left for her to do. Rebecca didn’t believe that for a moment, but it was a nice thought. Auntie Garnet sat on the lawn with them, her hat pulled low, leaning over her knitting.

  “She often spoke of you, before the end,” Father said, looking meditatively at his grandson. “She spoke about your fiery wit when dealing with the suitors before your husband. She said she was glad none of them had been able to stomach you. Yes, stomach you! Your mother could be as fiery as you when she wished! Where do you think you got it from! She said she was awfully glad that His Grace had been the one to match you, and nobody else! And I cannot blame her!”

  “Father, he has said you may call him Edison.”

  “Call a Duke by his Christian name!”

  “I insist, Father,” Eddy said, emerging onto the lawn. He looked up at the blue sky and smiled contentedly. He had been smiling like that more and more of late; and the nightmares had come with less frequency too. He looked down from the sky to his son and his smiled grew even deeper. “The two of you,” he often said at night, when it was just the two of them, “are the reason I am at peace, Rebecca. I knew being with you would be the savior of me, but I did not dream that I could banish my demons.”

  “Love has saved you?”

  “I suppose it has. How novelistic!”

  “You are absolutely French.”

  “Do not tell the general, my love!”

  They often bantered about things they had no business bantering about. Half their conversations had the potential for scandal, and the other half were deep and full of love. The Duke used to lock himself in the library alone. Now, if a mood took him, he brought Rebecca with him, and the two of them would spend days reading novels and old manuscripts. The Duke had been a withdrawn, cold man; and in many ways he still was. But not to Edward or Rebecca or Auntie or Father. It was the outside world to which he showed his cold face now. To them he was simply Edison.

  “I find it difficult to believe you are my son,” Father said, smiling at Edison. “A Duke, my son-in-law!”

  “Yes, Father, your disbelief is legendary,” Edison said, sitting beside him. “The very heavens could collapse before you – the clouds could fall from the sky – the stars could land at your feet – and still you would deny that they exist.”

  “Daughter! This man is awfully insulting!”

  But they were all smiling, and no real harm had been taken or given. They lived apart from the harm that the outside world offered, with its snide remarks and stifling social constructs. They had to live by them when entertaining or attending social functions – they were not rebels – but when alone, in their home, they allowed themselves a dangerous degree of freedom. Even Father tolerated remarks which in days gone by he would have condemned.

  “I was thinking of the walk we took after our wedding,” Edison said presently. “Do you remember, Rebecca? It was around your father’s estate, but we were alone. We were husband and wife. Do you remember? I often wish we could take that walk again, as it was,
that we could go back and do it all again.”

  “I remember,” Rebecca said. “I remember like it was this morn.”

  *****

  Rebecca held the strong arm and walked beside the man, but she found it hard to believe that His Grace, Brigadier Edison Wells, Duke of Waltren, was truly her husband. But he was. They had just been married in town, and now they were walking the grounds of Father and Mother’s estate, unchaperoned. It was the first time she had been really alone with Edison. At first they didn’t say much, only commenting upon the weather (which had cooled) and the ceremony (which had been traditional and private). They walked away from the house into the woods until they came to the pond.

  “I wish to kiss you,” Edison said.

  “Here?” Rebecca said, looking around.

  “You are my wife,” Edison said. “Why should I not kiss you here?”

  Rebecca looked boldly up at him. “Kiss me, then,” she said. “Kiss me anywhere you wish.”

  Edison took her face in his hands and brought her close to him. He kissed her fully upon the lips and Rebecca kissed him back. It was awkward at first, neither of them knowing precisely what they were doing, but then something deep-rooted took over, and they kissed long and hard. When it was over, they were both red-faced and flustered.

  “We will be happy,” Edison declared, turning from her and gazing at the pond. A group of ducks moved lazily across the water, and Edison tracked their movements for a time. “You know,” he started, and then faltered.

  “Go on,” Rebecca urged.

  “In the war, there were horrors. They were horrors so terrible that after a while one became numbed to them. The first time you see a dead body—will this not frighten you?”

  “You could never frighten me.”

  Edison nodded. “Very well,” he said. “The first time you see a dead body, you are seized with dread. Your entire world pauses, and you are captured with a sort of hopelessness. And then you see another, and it is a little easier. By the tenth body, you cease to be shocked anymore. You cease to be anything. You are simply there. That is all. I used to lay awake at night, after my friends had died, after I had lost my last shred of optimism, idly wondering if I would ever find somebody who could instill within me a renewed sense of hope. Perhaps out there, there is somebody, I would think, who can penetrate this wall around oneself.