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

by Lisa Andersen

  The Duke looked at her in disbelief, and then smiled indulgently. “That it is, my lady.”

  She reached over and placed her hand on his shoulder. “You will kill him,” she said calmly. “I know you will.”

  “You are so unlike other women, Katherine,” Harry said. “You are not weeping or begging to be rescued. In fact, you do not seem that shaken at all.”

  “Either he will kill us or we will kill him,” Katherine said. “Crying and weeping won’t change that at all.”

  Harry shook his head and smiled. “Come here,” he said. “I want to kiss you.”

  She inched over on the seat and looked up at him. Taking one hand from his sword, he placed it on the back of her neck and pulled her toward him inexorably. Their lips touched, their teeth clicked, their tongues danced. She grabbed his thigh and rubbed her hand up and down, lust taking hold of her. The Duke breathed heavily but then broke off the kiss. “We must deal with this first,” he said. “Or else—”

  The door crashed open, almost coming off its hinges with the force. A man entered. He was short and stocky and held the same saber the man who attacked Katherine had held. Katherine unsheathed her rapier from her cane and stood next to Harry, whose had already risen to his feet and had his sword pointed toward the man.

  “I want nothing to do with you,” the man said to the Duke. “It’s her I want.”

  “Why?” Katherine said reasonably. “What have I done to you?”

  “It was your father!” he blurted, in his London accent. “Before he died, we met at an inn and played cards together. I was just back from the war and I bet everything I had on the game. And I won! But did he pay? No, the coward fled the inn, hoping I would never find him! That was years ago, but I didn’t forget! Years later I was in the same inn when some fellow mentioned that some Lord Ellsworth had died. I asked – not knowing, mind you, that this would be the fellow – who he was. The innkeeper told me that it was the man who had played at cards so often in this very inn. So I travelled to this fellow’s house, broke in, and there above the fireplace was a portrait of the very man who had cheated me! I started with the cousin, but you’ll all pay for what that trickster did!”

  “You are not a soldier,” Harry said, taking a step forward. “I have met soldiers. They are honorable, tough men. You are just a coward you kills women.”

  “And five guards,” the man said smugly. “Plus, honorable men? What bloody war have you been fighting in? I don’t see honorable men. I see scared boys and old men herding them like cattle.”

  “Enough talk,” Katherine said, pointing her rapier. “If you want to fight, then fight.”

  “My-my,” the man said. “You are nothing at all like your cousin. She was all tears and moaning, begging, saying she would do anything for her life. She couldn’t believe it when I cut her throat.”

  “Coward,” Harry grunted. “Fight me!”

  Harry lurched forward, his sword a blaze of movement. The man jumped back and parried with his saber, yelling in surprise. Harry moved quicker than any man she had ever seen. His sword seemed to blur the air: to be everywhere at once. At once he seemed to strike and parry, never giving an inch. Katherine watched, captivated, scared to intervene in such a practiced dance of war. Harry pushed the man across the library until he was backed up against the wall. The man grunted, and made to swing—

  Harry stepped aside and thrust his sword into the man’s stomach. The man grunted, smiled madly, and then fell forward. Harry stepped back, ripped a piece of cloth from his shirt, and wiped his blade clean. “That’s done, then,” he said.

  Katherine walked across to him and threw her arms around his neck. “You were fantastic!” she beamed. “You were unstoppable.”

  The Duke hugged her back, pulling her close to him. “I believe I have finally found a lady as mad as me,” he said. “You are not scared, Katherine?”

  Should I be scared? Yes, I suppose I should. I suppose I should be crying and wailing, begging for the madness to stop. I suppose I should be bemoaning the awful state of things. I suppose I should be acting the lady and asking to be excused so I can bathe for five hours and watch the filthiness of life from my very soul. But, oh, how very boring! How crudely oppressive! If I want to live, should I not live? If I want to be, should I not be?

  “I am not scared, Harry,” Katherine said. “What do we do now?”

  “Now I send for someone to clean up this mess. I will send a pigeon into the town.”

  “And then?”

  “And then,” he said, locking his eyes on her, “I will come to your bedchambers. Go there and wait for me.”

  “Yes, my Duke,” she said, turning on her heels and walking past the dead man.

  *****

  Katherine waited for two hours before the Duke arrived at her room. During the time, sleep was impossible. She kept imagining how he looked during the fight, strong and purposeful, full of life. He had been like an unstoppable machine; the other man had not stood a chance. Katherine propped herself against the headboard and watched the door. When it finally opened, sunlight was beginning to shine in through the window.

  “It is all sorted,” the Duke said. “The body has been removed, and the library has been cleaned. That madman will never hurt anybody again. I am glad to see that you are awake, Katherine.”

  “Why is that, Harry?” she said.

  “I think you know why,” he said, and strode across the bedroom. He stood before her, his hard cock plain to see through his britches. He reached down and grabbed her wrist, and then placed her hand upon his cock. She squeezed, feeling the hardness of it, the hugeness of it. “Rub it,” he said, in his do-not-argue voice. She rubbed it up and down over his britches, faster and harder. “I want to be inside you, my lady.”

  “Do it, then,” Katherine said, rubbing his cock even harder. “Do it, Duke. Do it.”

  He lifted her from the bed and placed her on her feet. Then he reached around her pulled her dress over her head. Quickly, he took off her under garment so she was standing there naked. He reached up and rubbed her breasts, squeezing them together. Her nipples hardened at his touch. Hot pleasure pulsated. He let go of her breasts and undressed quickly, until he was naked as well. They stared at each other for a moment. His body was as muscular as his clothes had suggested. Here and there, scars dotted his body, faded and pink and white. She ran her had along them, wondering what battle he’d caught them in.

  “You make me so hard, my lady,” he breathed, tracing his hand down her stomach to her womanhood. He pressed her clit with his finger. “Get on the bed.”

  She climbed onto the bed and opened her legs, looking up at him. He leaned over her and maneuvered so their bodies were close. Then he reached down and rubbed his manhood, pushing it toward her womanhood. She was wet, and eager, and ready, and he slid into her easily.

  She had never felt such a manhood. It was huge and reached into the sweet spot inside of her like none of the other men ever could. He thrust deep inside of her, slowly at first, and then quicker and quicker. Soon he was pounding into her, his cock spreading her lips and pushing pleasure through her.

  “Yes, Duke, yes,” she breathed into his neck. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  “My lady!” he cried, as he thrust into her even quicker. “Oh, my lady.”

  She bounced up and down with the motion of his thrusts, pushing her womanhood down upon him, feeling his cock, huge and dominating within her. Pleasure built with each thrust, until she was lost to the world and utterly enthralled in the act. She focused on the heat his cock created in the sweet spot inside of her, the deep, pervasive heat. She focused on it until nothing else was real. And then the pleasure released, and her womanhood tightened around him as it all washed over her.

  “My lady,” he grunted. He reached down and grabbed her breasts, tweaking her nipples.

&n
bsp; “Spill it inside of me!” she cried wildly. She had never done this before. She had always finished the man with her hands. But this was a Duke. This was the most powerful man she had ever been with. She wanted him. She wanted all of him.

  He grabbed her breasts, compressing the flesh, and then he thrust into her one final time and grunted. “Ahhhhh!” he moaned, rolling onto his side.

  Katherine wiped sweat from her forehead and rolled onto her side, so her head rested upon his chest. Her eyes were already closing. She had already been exhausted from the night. Now she was even more tired. The Duke cradled her head and stroked his hands through her hair.

  “You are a dangerous woman,” he said. “You are a very dangerous woman.”

  “You are a dangerous man,” she replied. “You are the most dangerous man I have ever met.”

  “It seems we make quite the couple.”

  “Yes,” Katherine agreed. “It seems it does.”

  When she was nearly asleep – in that half-awake state that often provokes the most lucid thoughts – a thought came to Katherine which she had not expected at all. I will never sleep with another man again, she thought. It was a startling thought, one she had never even considered before. But once it came she knew it was the truth. She knew no other man could compare to the Duke, to what they had just done. She knew that it was the best lovemaking that existed. And she wanted to do it again and again and again; and never would another man be able to stop that urge from her. It wasn’t that she wanted to give herself to him. She wanted them both to take something from each other.

  “Is this love?” she whispered when she woke, thinking the Duke was still asleep.

  But he wasn’t. “I think it may be, my lady,” he said, and kissed the top of her head. “I think it may be. If love is finding your counterpoint in another, I cannot imagine another woman so suited to me as you are. If love is discovering that you know nothing about that which you assumed you knew everything, then this is love. If love never want to leave this bed, my lady, then I confess I am in love with you.”

  She kissed his hard-muscled chest.

  *****

  Three weeks passed as though in a dream. Mother heard that the man had been killed, and had written to Katherine to ask her to come home, but Katherine couldn’t think of anything worse than leaving the Duke right now. Harry often talked about returning to France, but Katherine could tell that he had no desire to leave her. Anyway, he had served for years. He had more than proved himself.

  One night, after their lovemaking, Harry pulled her to her feet. “Get dressed, Katherine,” he said. “I have ordered a dinner to be prepared for us.”

  Katherine jumped up and dressed herself in her finest gown. She looked at herself in the mirror: still the same dark, dangerous countenance. But was there a hint of love behind it all, a spark of something more humane? Once she was dressed, she went to the dining room to join the Duke.

  He was dressed in his finest military garb, something she had not seen since first coming here. He stood and kissed her on the cheek, not caring that a servant may see. Katherine returned his kiss and they sat opposite each other at the table. “These weeks have been mad,” he said. “They have been truly mad. When you came here – when my betrothed’s cousin came here – I never imagined that I would — that this would happen. I never for a moment imagined that events would take this turn. I thought you would merely be an acquaintance, and that is all. I never dreamt of this.”

  “And yet here we are,” Katherine said, sipping wine.

  “And yet here we are,” the Duke echoed. “I must admit, and perhaps it is an awful thing to say, that I chose the wrong cousin. You are, Katherine, the most dangerous, mad, unconventional woman I have ever met. I love you, and I do not want you to leave the Castle. I know your mother is asking for your return. But I believe I have a strategy that will stop all that. Lady Katherine Ellsworth, my lady, I wish you to be my wife.”

  “Truly?” Katherine said, unable to hide her surprise. She had given some thought to this in the first week after the madman had been killed, but nothing had come of it so she had discarded it from her mind. He wants me to be his wife. The Duke wants me to be his wife! But it wasn’t in Katherine’s nature to get giddy, so she said calmly: “I accept.”

  She hesitated, and then pushed forth: “It is for the best, Duke,” she said. “I have been meaning to tell you…” Just say it! “I have been meaning to tell you that I am with child. I am pregnant with your child.”

  Harry jumped across the table and pulled her into his arms. Katherine squealed and allowed herself to be carried around the dining-room. The maidservant came in, looked around, and then tactically retreated. Harry set her down and beamed at her. “I am so happy,” he said. “War, death, heartache, and now I am happy!”

  “I am happy, too,” Katherine said. She was happy. She was as happy as it was possible for her to be. The future no longer looked dreary and boring. How could it be, when she was going to be the Duke’s wife? “Shall we retire for the evening?”

  “Are you not hungry?”

  “Oh, I’m hungry,” Katherine said, stroking the front of his britches. “That is why I wish to retire.”

  Epilogue

  Christopher ran around the garden, chasing butterflies and screaming like the maddest little boy in the world. Elizabeth (named after her deceased relative) bounced over to Katherine. “Mother,” she said, “I was talking to Christopher and he said you and Father met when a crazy man tried to hurt you. Is that true? Father told him that a crazy man was on the hunt for you and Grandmother! But that can’t be true, can it? That is like something out of a novel!”

  Katherine laughed aloud at her daughter’s perceptiveness. Had she herself not thought the same exact thing when it was all happening, all those years ago when she and Harry had fallen in love in the strangest circumstances, when all the social mores and constructs had fallen away and they had become two animals hungry for each other? “Listen here, dear,” Katherine said, leaning forward. “Your father and I met in the most normal circumstances you can imagine. We walked in rose gardens and he talked to me of flowers and—and, why are you laughing?”

  “You’re lying, Mother!” Elizabeth squealed, her cheeks red. “Isn’t she, Father?”

  Harry emerged onto the porch. Katherine turned to him as he kissed her on the cheek and squeezed her shoulder. Even now, after all these years, she was looking forward to bedtime. “Oh, no,” Harry said. “You see, it was the most normal and romantic circumstances one can imagine. I wrote her poetry. Yes, Elizabeth, I did! Don’t look at me like that!”

  Elizabeth giggled.

  “I did!” Harry went on. “And I knitted for her! Yes! I was quite the craftsman!”

  Harry had lost none of his handsomeness in the intervening years. Katherine looked at him with a deep love that would have shocked her years ago, before she met him. It was the kind of love she had never thought to feel.

  “Liar! Liar!” Elizabeth cried.

  Katherine let her head fall back and a smile touched her lips. She closed her eyes. Sunlight glowed red on her eyelids, and the sounds of her husband and her children came to her ears like birds tweeting. Perhaps one day he would tell the children the story of how they had met, perhaps one day when they were older and knew more of the world.

  But for now, she thought, let them have their dreams of roses and poems.

  Let them think it is all a fairytale.

  As Bad as You

  The wind blew through the open window, fluttering the thin, flowy curtains and chilling the cozy bedroom. The room itself was small but well decorated, with a big family painting above the small wooden fire place.

  With a huff, Emily rose from the king sized bed, gathering up her skirts and marching over to the open window. Long blonde hair fell in her eyes as she stood on her toes to s
hut it, pale hands stretching upward.

  As the window slid closed, Emily spotted something from the corner of her eyes. Not something - someone. Specifically, a young man she had seen before. Eugene Partridge. He climbed out of an elegant, expensive horse-drawn carriage, brushing down his black trousers. Even from such a distance, his shock of pale blonde hair was evident.

  Not a moment later, Emily’s mother shouted from the stairs, “Emily sweetheart! The lovely Eugene Partridge is here!”

  Emily grimaced. He was intent on marrying her, despite Emily’s clear disinterest in such an agreement. She had told her mother time and time again she knew exactly who to marry - and it wasn’t him. Still, she had to be civil to the man, and at least pretend she was interested, to keep the peace. So she gathered up her energy and drifted downstairs, biting on her lip so hard she thought it might bleed.

  Eugene sat on one of the overstuffed sofas in the living room, back straight and head high. He looked impassive - bored, even - but he smiled brightly when his dark green eyes landed on Emily. “Hello, Emily dear,” he greeted fondly.

  “Eugene.” His Christian name sounded odd on her tongue. She didn’t think she would ever get used to calling him so informally.

  “I had thought we could go out together today - there’s a lovely little place in town, and I think it would give us a wonderful chance to get to know each other.” Eugene simply beamed, gesturing for Emily to sit across from him.

  “I would love to, but you see I’m so busy today,” she replied, wincing at how false she sounded. Lying had never been a talent of hers. “I’m very sorry.”

  “You mean to say you cannot spare me a few hours? I’m sure-”

  Emily’s mother - Adele - laughed loudly as she opened the front door with a flourish. Even though the living room door was between them, Emily could hear her clearly. That in itself wasn’t unusual - she was a loud woman - but the sound of a man’s voice was odd indeed.

  Emily would have recognized that voice anywhere. Roland Everard. A smile graced her features as she leaned forward unconsciously, eager to hear his voice.