“I noticed a couple of private cars attached to the train.” Gawain gestured over his shoulder.
“That won’t do us any good unless we know the owners,” Matilda pointed out.
“Let’s go and see.”
They discovered the first private car was inhabited by Lord and Lady Burnham, longtime patrons of Redcake’s who were also in business with Lord Judah. The couple invited the foursome in, and they spent an hour chattering while Ann cleaned and bandaged Ewan’s arm. Eventually, Lord Burnham suggested they repair to the dining car because they hadn’t laid in supplies.
Ann and Gawain agreed readily. Ewan, with a glance at Matilda, declined.
“Stay here, then, Miss Redcake,” Lord Burnham said. “Might as well rest in comfort. Understandable why you don’t want to be out in public with such goings-on. Have a bit of quiet with your young man.”
Matilda smiled and rested her head against the back of the gilded settee facing one set of carriage windows. As the compartment door closed, she said, “Heaven. Peace and quiet.”
“We don’t get much of that,” Ewan said, settling next to her.
She opened her eyes lazily. “I never did. Ewan, you’ve lived alone for years. How are you going to cope with a household? A wife, servants?”
“And a son,” he said. “A busy boy running through the house.”
She reached over and squeezed his hand. “Yes. I cannot believe we identified some of the kidnappers, and at Mr. Bliven’s funeral no less. I don’t know what it means, but I’m so glad. I feel Jacob will be home very soon.”
“I think so, too,” Ewan said, pressing up against her. He winced as his arm met hers. Standing, he took off his overcoat, exposing the smaller rip in his coat.
“Let’s remove this as well, so I can see the extent of the damage. I couldn’t ask to take a look with everyone else here,” Matilda said, unbuttoning his coat. Gently, she helped him take it off, then took a critical look at his arm. “You’ve taken a beating for me, haven’t you? Eight stitches and now this, plus your knee.”
“The latest is just a deep scratch. I slid against a potato seller’s cart when Hulk took a sharp turn to the right.”
“You’re lucky you weren’t burned.” She kissed the bandages with a featherlight brush of her lips. How brave he had been.
He shrugged, putting on a heroic pose. “All in a day’s work for a secretary.”
She chuckled and kissed an unblemished spot on his forearm. “My hero.”
“I would have liked to slam my fist into Richard Wyld’s self-satisfied face,” Ewan reflected. “I’m not usually a violent man, but under these circumstances I feel quite elemental.”
She ran her hand over his ripped sleeve, feeling the same way. “Can we bend your lust for violence into some other kind of passion?”
He blinked, staring at her, then his lips curved. “Why, Miss Redcake, I do believe you just made an improper suggestion.”
She smiled back and unpinned her hat. Her hair had been done in a rush, and some of the strands came down with her hat, tumbling around her face. He wrapped his hand around the back of her head and pulled her close, angling his face for a kiss.
She met him openmouthed and heated, suddenly burning for his touch. Pulling at his tie, ripping at his shirt, grabbing for his suspenders, she had his trousers open before he’d even finished unbuttoning the frogs closing her black velvet coat.
“Tiny buttons,” he said.
“Not trying hard enough,” she said against his mouth. “How much time do we have?”
“It’s never enough, but it will have to be.” He pulled her coat from her body and turned her to tackle her blouse next, then her corset, after he took her skirt down.
“You are smiling like you managed something miraculous,” she observed.
He went to the door and locked it, then stalked back to her, his wild black curls making him look dangerous. His trousers hung low on his hips without the support of suspenders. He looked mouthwateringly delicious like this. She felt her breasts swell, her nipples harden, the heat surge between her legs.
“Oh my.” She put her hand to her chest.
“You are all mine. I’d undress you completely, but it’s going to be hard enough to get all this kit back on you again.”
“And here I thought I dressed so simply.”
He shook his finger at her.
She pulled at her chemise, lifting it up suggestively, exposing one leg of her combinations. Cocking her hip, she continued to raise the fabric. Her lover’s mouth opened as he began to breathe harder, his gaze fixed on her hips. When she leaned back against the arm of the settee and parted her legs, she could smell her own arousal. She separated the linen between her legs and touched herself. Moisture coated her fingers and she gasped as she brushed her sensitive pearl.
“God, Matilda,” Ewan whispered. “Do that again.”
She brushed her fingers lightly against herself. Her hips arched into the gentle pressure. His mouth closed on her lips and his hand pressed over hers, deepening the pressure. She rotated her hips, gasping into his mouth. He bit her lower lip and groaned, moving the heel of his hand in circles, making her fingers underneath do the same. His lips trailed down her neck, licking and biting, tiny gentle stings. Then he found her collarbone and the slopes of her unfettered breasts.
She cried out. He soothed her with gentle whispers, telling her how beautiful she was to him. His words and hands sent her over the edge and she tumbled into orgasm, her hips jerking against the pressure. While she lay there, panting, her legs spread wide apart, he pushed down the rest of his clothing and knelt between her legs.
His cock jutted starkly away from his body, moisture beading on the tip. She’d never seen anything so masculine. Still half out of her mind with pleasure, she reached for him, wrapping her fingers around his hot flesh, and pulled him between her legs. Her body bowed as he entered easily, like he’d been born to fit her in perfect union.
He groaned as he seated himself fully, then began to move. She could tell he felt confident with her body now, and she craved the feel of his strength surging against hers. Her hands slid along the slick surface of his back, kneading his long muscles before she clutched at his buttocks as the heat began to coil again. Lassitude vanished. Desperate to move with him, she tucked her feet against his legs so she could pulse her hips against his strength. When she broke again, he followed her down, shuddering and tucking his head into her shoulder. She soothed him, whispering words of adoration into his ear, wishing they had all night to be together.
“This will be a frequent event soon, I promise,” she whispered.
“I know.” He kissed her neck and pushed back. “But we can’t rest now. We’ll be discovered.”
He pulled up his trousers and fished out a handkerchief for her. Blushing, she thanked him and did her best to tidy herself.
“And so the messy aftermath,” he joked.
“Ahem,” she said, holding the handkerchief. “I don’t know what to do with it.”
He took it from her and opened one of the compartment windows, then tossed the linen out. “I’m an earl’s heir now. I can afford to consign one handkerchief to the countryside.”
“He’s going to cut you off again, not that it matters. We’ll have plenty of work for you.”
He pulled up his suspenders. “One thing I’m getting with you, for certain, is a modern woman.”
“Is that so bad?”
“No, but I’m going to be an earl. I don’t know that we can avoid Society completely, and neither of us is going to fit in.”
“I’ve had the training to do so,” she said as she attempted to fix her hair while he unlocked the door. “We’re hardly going to be the first couple with some scandal attached to us.”
“Do you really want to be whispered about for the rest of your life?”
Her hands dropped from her hair. What was he trying to say? “That would happen either way, Ewan. I think you’re telling me
you don’t want to be whispered about for the rest of your life.”
He tilted his head. She could see a hint of dark beard on his chiseled jaw. “No, I’m just thinking aloud. I need to be able to say painful things to you without you panicking that I want to end our engagement.”
She put her hand on his arm, careful to avoid the bandages. “I want you to be able to say anything you need to, no matter whether it hurts.”
He bent his head and kissed her forehead. “Nothing is going to stop me from loving you or marrying you. Nothing at all. We’ll face the consequences together. But I do wish things were different.”
She nodded, blinking back tears. “I can accept that. I wish for that as well, but mostly, I just want my son home safe.”
They stared at each other. Matilda noticed the rhythm of the wheels underneath them. She heard the clackety-clacking, felt the vibrations, wondered how she could have ignored all of it while they made love. He took her to another world when she completely concentrated on him, one where none of this reality, this harshness, this pain existed.
She had to do that for him, too, because someday, his problems were going to be larger than hers. She might be running a few factories, raising a couple of children, but he would have hundreds or even thousands of people depending on him. He’d be part of the government, a member of the House of Lords, one of the senior men of the kingdom. She had to be able to support him in his work. At least she knew he was fully capable of it. Her father and Lord Judah had never done anything but sing his praises.
He’d put his focus on her now, damaging his relationship with Lord Fitzwalter to support her. To have all that competence and energy focused on her was exciting and alarming. She’d never had that before, didn’t know how to accept it. In time, coming to him with her problems would feel normal; it would be her ordinary, everyday life. Now, though, it all felt tentative and uncertain.
He squeezed her hand. “Jacob is safe. I know it. We’ll have him back soon. I cannot wait to meet him. I never have, though I did enjoy seeing his portrait at your home. I feel that I would recognize him.”
“Children change so quickly. Even being away from one for a week gives you enough distance to notice certain changes.”
“What did you see?”
“He’d lost weight. His cheeks were thinner. I think he grew a little bit. His legs were longer. It’s funny how the body parts don’t all grow at the same rate. I’ll think his head looks bigger on his pillow, then his cheek will line up against mine in a new way. When he stands next to me, he bumps against some different part of my hip. He’s never the same.”
The door of the private car opened and the Redcakes appeared, along with their hosts. If they noticed anything amiss, they tactfully avoided mentioning it. Half an hour later, the train pulled into the station.
Matilda yawned as Ewan helped her step onto the platform. She hoped they could quickly find a hansom because they hadn’t called for her carriage to meet them.
“Sir Gawain.”
She recognized the Scottish accent and peered through the steam wafting from the train to see Dougal Alexander’s lean body coming toward them. He wore a stern expression that flattened his lips and heightened his cheekbones.
Gawain moved toward him. They clasped hands. “I take it there is news.”
Matilda stopped still. All of a sudden she understood the possible import of Mr. Alexander’s appearance. But if the news was bad, wouldn’t her father have come, too? Greggory? Ewan wrapped his arm around her shoulders, ignoring etiquette completely. Though grateful, she held herself stiffly.
“Yes, sir, there is.” Mr. Alexander cleared his throat. “Ah, Miss Redcake, couldn’t see ye before.”
A porter pushed a laden cart between them. When the man had moved away, Matilda stepped forward. “Tell me,” she urged.
Ann clutched protectively at her arm. Matilda remembered that Ann had lost a baby long ago, when her first husband was murdered.
“You should take your wife away,” she said to Gawain.
Ann shook her head sharply. “I’m fine.” Her voice trembled. “Did you find little Jacob?”
“Nay.” Mr. Alexander shook his head. “It’s Izabela Pickett.”
“What?” Ann gasped.
“The nanny,” Alexander clarified. “A steeplejack found her body at St. Vincent’s Rocks on his way tae the Clifton Suspension Bridge this morning.”
Chapter Eighteen
Ewan groaned. “Poor soul. Where’s that?”
“It’s below the Observatory. Lots of painters go there: photographers, people who are interested in rare plants. It’s not an obscure spot,” Gawain explained.
Dougal Alexander nodded. “She hadn’t been there long.”
Matilda gasped, overcome by the disturbing news. Did that mean Jacob’s body was somewhere nearby, too? She hadn’t seen Izabela at the house to which the kidnappers had taken her. Had she been hiding or imprisoned in a room nearby, not knowing that her death quickly approached?
Ewan and Ann clutched her arm on either side, keeping her stable. Her neck didn’t seem to be able to hold up her head. It hung to her chest.
“Take deep breaths,” Ann urged. “They didn’t find Jacob. Just the nanny. The nanny who took your baby. She deserved to die.”
“We don’t know if Izabela and Jacob were together for long after they left your house that day,” Alexander said. “We have evidence she was in town, alone, the day after. We can’t even know if the two situations are even related anymore. I cannot believe she wasn’t part of the original plot, but time has passed.”
“Where is the body?” Gawain asked.
“The police have her. An autopsy will be done tomorrow morning. We’ll know more then.”
“Are the police searching the area? I remember there’s a cave. And, oh God, the river.” Matilda’s belly clutched.
“It’s too dark tae search now,” Alexander said. “The search will continue tomorrow. I’m so sorry for all the pain this must cause you, Miss Redcake.”
She pressed her hand to her chest and straightened her body, praying for strength. “I am very sorry, too. I cannot imagine whatever brought Izabela to her end, however it happened, especially while expecting a child. Surely she did not expect taking my son to result in her death. I have to believe Jacob is still alive.”
“He is,” Ann said. “I know it.”
Matilda tried to smile at her sister-in-law, but her lips trembled and she ended up clutching the other woman and sobbing. Ewan stroked her back. They stood together for a long time, swaying, until Gawain insisted they enter a cab and go home.
The next morning was a flurry of policemen from all levels of the force, gathering information about the kidnapping and looking into the life and death of Izabela Pickett. Eventually, Matilda had had enough. Ewan could see she wasn’t able to pay attention to the men anymore. He went to Mrs. Miller and asked to have the carriage brought around.
“Miss Redcake needs air,” he told the superintendent, who was sitting with the family, explaining the extent of the search around the bridge.
“The fact that it may have been a suicide doesn’t help us any,” the man said frankly. “She may have been thrown on her beam-ends with guilt after what she had done.”
“She would have been given money,” Sir Gawain said. “What happened to that? Where was she staying?”
The superintendent shook his head. “We are interviewing her mother, her associates.”
“We’ve done all that,” Ewan said.
“I want to go back to the flour warehouse,” Matilda said. “Look at the neighborhood some more.”
“I’ve already had the carriage brought around,” Ewan said.
Dougal Alexander stood. He’d somehow been lounging undetected in a corner. A trick of his trade, Ewan supposed. “I have a list of the houses that match your description.”
Matilda held out her hand. “Yes, that’s what I need to be doing.”
“Give
it to me,” the superintendent ordered. “We’ll look into it.”
“I’m the only one who will know which is the right house,” she said. “So no, that won’t be possible.” She swept from the room, a regal vision in striped black and jade silk.
Ewan followed her with Alexander on his heels, wondering why she’d chosen to dress like a fashionable lady today, instead of her usual conservative clothing. To impress the police? To help her mood? Either way, she was a vision.
In the front hallway, she took a shawl and parasol from Mrs. Miller and patted her arm before going down the front stairs, where the carriage awaited. Ewan and Dougal Alexander climbed in.
“Should we bring in more men? From the factory?” Alexander asked.
“No, we want to do this quietly,” Matilda said. “How many houses are there?”
“Five within four blocks. Go out eight and there are another fourteen. We did our best.”
She nodded. “I will assume it is one of the five, based on where we were when we tried to retrace my steps.” She tapped her half boot nervously on the carriage floor. “I do wish we’d heard something from the London police. Have they found those two men?”
“I would assume not,” Alexander said, then muttered something in Gaelic.
Matilda turned away and stared out the window. Ewan resisted the urge to touch her in front of the other man. She went so far away from him sometimes. In those moments, he was never sure how to get her back. He hoped she would break the habit of so much silent contemplation when they were wed. He wanted her love to be constant and open, not drifting.
Matilda stopped the carriage on the outskirts of the four blocks, and Alexander pulled out a sheaf of papers with the information.
“The first house is down the mews there,” he said, pointing. “It’s the backs we want, not the front.”
“We’ll follow you,” Matilda said, frowning as her skirts almost touched a pile of dog excrement on the cobbles.
They investigated the first three houses the factory men and Alexander had found. Matilda found a reason not to recognize any of them. Ewan could see the fourth, however, gave her pause. They were to the south of the warehouse, in an area they hadn’t visited when they had gone to the neighborhood the first time.
Wedding Matilda (Redcakes Book 6) Page 24