by Ann Lacey
Thora’s eyes widened. Lord Huntscliff!
“Sshh, please don’t speak,” he said softly. “Someone’s coming.”
Nodding that she understood, he lowered his hand from her mouth, then swiftly shut the door of the storage room. Without windows, the room was dark as night, allowing anyone inside to peer out undetected into the larger workroom through the cracks of its widely spaced wooden planks. A second or two later, she heard footsteps.
Someone was entering the boathouse. Peeking out between the poorly constructed door boards, she saw Cecilia Boothwell. Thora gave a relieved sigh and was about to leave their hiding place and greet Lady Cecilia when Huntscliff stopped her.
“Wait,” he whispered.
Obeying, Thora did as he asked and mutely observed Cecilia.
The young woman seemed agitated. Her arms were folded across her chest while her fingers drummed the upper portion of her arm. She began to pace, taking short quick steps and pivoting sharply at her turns. She was waiting for someone. Abruptly, she stopped and turned to the open door of the boathouse as an annoyed-looking Mr. Sandler Leedworthy entered.
“Cecilia, I don’t know why you asked me here,” Leedworthy said gruffly. “As I told you the other night, I have no interest in continuing the affair. As far as I’m concerned, it’s ended.”
“Ended,” Cecilia repeated in a voice sounding dangerously calm for a woman who had been rejected. “Because you’re suddenly besotted by dull, little Floris Langless? Oh no, darling, it’s not ended until I say it is.”
Leedworthy took a deep breath, as if to control his temper. “Don’t talk about Floris!”
Cecilia’s lips curled. With a provocative sway in her hips, she closed the gap between them. She laid her hands on his chest, then slowly slid them up and around his neck. “If you want Floris, Sandler, you’ll have to wait until your wedding night before she gives you what you want . . . what you need. Why bother with that little mouse when I can give you what you want now?” she purred, pressing her breasts against his chest.
Leedworthy closed his eyes, letting out a soft groan, then quickly shook his head. “Stop it, Cecilia. We both know its Mannington and a title you seek. Your mother made it quite clear months ago when I asked to court you that she would never approve of someone beneath her daughter’s station. So stop wasting your wanton ways on me.”
But Cecilia continued to press herself like a thin layer of paste to poor Leedworthy, her lips planting kisses on along his neck. Softly she murmured, “When have I ever heeded anything mother says? Who’s to say I can’t have both?”
Thora’s mouth fell open. Cecilia’s mention of her brother had Thora seeing red. How dare that shameless tart think she’d ever trick Nyle into consorting with the likes of her? Thora’s hands balled into fists and she was tempted to burst from her place of hiding and confront the trollop and her goggled lover.
It was as if Huntscliff sensed her intention, for he took her hand in his larger one and gave it a gentle squeeze. His touch dispelled her anger and replaced it with a startling warmth that traveled from her hand to her very core. Standing inside the dusty storage room next to this tree-sized man, he radiated a calming security similar to finding shelter in a raging rainstorm. It was a good feeling, one she wished she could savor, but at the moment her attention was centered on the couple in the outer room. She watched Cecilia purr like a feline, her fingers weaving themselves into Leedworthy’s hair, dragging his head down to meet her hungry lips.
Leedworthy struggled to resist. All at once, he grasped Cecilia’s arms and pushed her from him. “Stop it, Cecilia! We’ve had our fun, but it’s over. I’m going back to the manor house and to Floris.”
Cecilia’s eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t leave now if I were you, Sandler. I could make your life miserable if I wanted to.”
“Don’t threaten me, Cecilia,” Leedworthy shouted. Behind his glasses, his eyes grew hard as he warned, “Or you’ll regret it.”
Cecilia spat out a curse as Leedworthy turned from her and marched out of the boathouse. She clenched and unclenched her hands and stamped her feet on the wooden floorboards, spitting up wood shavings and dust onto the hem of her gown. Roughly she brushed her skirts clean. She looked about, then picked up the first object within her reach. An empty paint bucket. She grabbed the bucket and flung it against the wall, creating a loud thud. Then she stormed out of the boathouse.
Sandwiched together in the darkened storage room, Garren, with unsettling awareness, sensed every emotion Thora experienced as she viewed the scene with Cecilia and Leedworthy. He felt her shock at seeing Cecilia in her true licentious form, felt her stiffen with outrage when her brother’s name was spoken, and felt her quake with anger at Cecilia’s plans to snare, then cuckold Nyle. Garren was certain if he had he not taken her hand to halt her, she would have flown from their place of concealment and confronted the pair.
As Cecilia headed toward the open door of the boathouse, he knew they would soon leave their hiding place. He became overwhelmed with the urge to kiss Thora, to take her into his arms, press her body close to his, and run his fingers through her lovely, dark tresses.
Her scent this day was that of fragrant lilacs, and he found it intoxicating. He was drunk with the burning desire to taste those petal pink lips. He needed to kiss her more than he needed his next breath. When the last strings of his restraint snapped, he looped an arm around her slender frame and pressed her to him. Gazing down into eyes wide with surprise, he felt her stiffen then slowly surrender as his lips met hers. The softness of her lips was maddening, taking him to some distant realm where his only thoughts were of Thora, her curves molded against him and her sensuous mouth on his. A guttural moan sounded at the back of his throat and his kiss grew deeper and more passionate. He could stay forever this way.
Garren’s unexpected kiss stunned Thora. “What are you—?” Her words were stifled when his lips covered hers and he began to kiss her as if it was the last kiss he’d ever place on a woman’s lips. Huntscliff, who she remembered as a steady, calm, reserved lad was suddenly out of control. His unexpected actions had her in a quandary. How could she push him away when yesterday she had dreamed of his kiss? But he had taken her off guard and it slowed her reason. It wasn’t as if she were a schoolgirl who had never been kissed. She had felt a man’s lips on hers before. Viscount Simon-North for one, but with him it had been a skill that she was certain one so handsome had developed into a well-practiced talent.
With Huntscliff it was different. His kiss was filled with an unnerving hunger, an unleashed raw desire that seeped from his body into hers, stirring a need that fired her most intimate places and demanded her response. Locked in his embrace, with their bodies crushed together, mouth-on-mouth, her resistance melted like snow in bright sunlight. The fire he had started spread through her, and she answered his kiss with equal ardor. Instead of pushing him away, her hands clung to his wide shoulders as if she was drowning and he was her only hope of staying afloat. His tongue prodded her lips apart and she took it into her mouth with a want that both excited and frightened her.
A sudden noise from outside the storage room shook them from their frenzy, and they parted as if they’d both gripped a hot poker. From between the slots in the door’s wooden boards they saw it was Mason Greenstreet and gave a sigh of relief.
Looking up at Huntscliff, Thora whispered, “Why did you kiss me?”
Garren swallowed hard. Thinking he had overstepped his bounds, he tried to contemplate a coherent reply, but with the taste of her mouth still lingering on his lips, his brain had turned into soup. Frowning, he said the first thing that popped into his head. “My apologies, Thora. I was afraid that you were about to say something before Lady Cecilia took her leave, and I thought it the quickest way to stop you.”
“Oh,” Thora said. So he only kissed me to quiet me. How st
upid of me to imagine it might be something else. “I’m getting out of this horrid room,” she said, curtly pushing the door open with such force that it swung wide and slammed against the wall.
“Well now, there you are, Miss Mannington!” Mason said with a start. “Your brother sent me out looking for you. He was worried at not finding you at the manor,” Mason said as his eyes widened at the sight of Garren following her out of the storage room.
What was wrong with the man? Thora wondered peevishly. Hadn’t he ever seen someone leave a hiding place before? “Thank you, Mr. Greenstreet. I’ll be getting back to the manor now. Will you please escort me, Lord Huntscliff?”
Mason eyes moved from Thora to Garren. Lady Thora’s cheeks were a bright pink and Huntscliff looking like he was fevered. Their behavior had him grinning until Garren flashed him a dark, threatening scowl.
“Of course, Thora,” Garren answered.
He led her out of the boathouse with Mason trailing behind them. When they were out of the man’s earshot, Garren leaned down to whisper in Thora’s ear, “Since we are working together, don’t you think you should call me Garren?”
Still piqued at the reason he gave for kissing her, Thora gave him a harsh glare. “I would rather keep our association on a professional level, Lord Huntscliff,” she snapped.
“As you wish, Lady Thora,” Garren replied, slightly disheartened.
They walked the rest of the way in silence.
Chapter 5
After receiving a tongue-lashing from Nyle for leaving the manor unprotected and only after promising never to do such a foolish thing again, Thora was dismissed from her brother’s study. Like a scolded child, Thora went upstairs to her room sulking and threw herself across her bed. Luckily Lord Huntscliff had chosen to stop at the front steps of the manor to wait for his colleague, Mason, who had lagged behind. It had spared her the further humiliation of Huntscliff witnessing her upbraiding. She could imagine him jesting to his colleague of the drastic action he was compelled to take to keep her tongue still.
Unbeknownst to Thora, it wasn’t Garren who’d done the jesting but Mason. “Was like finding a mouse in a closet back there in the boathouse!”
“Don’t you mean mice?” Garren asked.
“One mouse.” Mason grinned. “The other’s a much larger rodent.” The heat of Huntscliff’s stare had him back-stepping until he realized that the big man’s menacing glare was not meant for him but for someone or something behind him.
Turning, he saw Viscount Radley Simon-North and Marquis Calder Brightington approaching from the direction of the stables, deep in conversation. He was only able to comprehend a few words at this distance but instantly knew what had put the scowl on Huntscliff’s face when he heard one of them utter Thora’s name.
Later, during the midday meal—a light fare of freshly baked breads, fish patties with leeks, and a variety of cold meats and several cheeses Thora sat with Lord Avery Flemington, purposely avoiding Lord Huntscliff. Her actions did not go unnoticed by the sharp-eyed Mason Greenstreet or by her brother.
Thora decided to continue her sleuthing. Even though it took great inner strength to speak her friend’s name, her smile never wavered as she queried Lord Flemington. “My lord, on your last visit to the manor, did you by chance dance with Ivey?”
Lord Flemington appeared taken back, shock written all over his face. “Lady Thora, I am well aware how deeply you were affected by Ivey’s terrible tragedy. Are you comfortable discussing your friend even now?”
“Oh please, Lord Flemington,” Thora pleaded, “it would give me such peace to know that she had been enjoying herself that evening.”
In a soft, consoling voice, Lord Flemington answered. “I’m sure she was. I didn’t have the opportunity to dance with her, but Viscount Simon-North and Marquis Brightington had the pleasure, and I do believe Mr. Leedworthy took her across the dance floor. You see . . .” He suddenly faltered, staring down at his plate. “It took most of the evening for me to summon the courage to ask Miss Mayfield to a waltz that night.”
Thora watched the brawny man as his eyes lifted and tentatively stole glimpses of Lauryn Mayfield. How someone so fierce in the boxing arena could be so timid with a female was something Thora found utterly adorable, and she gave him an endearing smile.
Seeing her expression from his seat two tables away took Garren by surprise. The tenderness she displayed for Lord Avery Flemington had him wondering if she had deeper feelings for the man. Garren put down his fork and pushed his plate away, his stomach now in knots. He genuinely liked Flemington, but he was still a suspect.
Inwardly, Garren muttered a curse. Why does that woman insist on putting herself in danger? Nyle had been right to ask him to come here. Thora needed looking after.
Turning from Thora and Flemington, he glanced over at another table where Cecilia Boothwell was lively engaged in conversation with Viscount Simon-North. No doubt, he mused, looking to replace her lover. Her former love, Sandler Leedworthy, sat alone with his back stiffly turned from Cecilia. Laughter from the next table stole his attention and he found Marquis Brightington had said something to amuse the Lady Mayfield and her daughter, Lauryn. Each man painted a guiltless picture, yet one of them was a predator waiting for his chance to strike. Garren could feel it in his bones.
After lunch, the ladies retired to their rooms to rest before the evening’s concert at the Langless estate while the men headed to the game room. Sandler Leedworthy sought out the nearest corner to read. Nyle begged off from playing cards with Lord Flemington and Lord Brightington and went to his study to catch up on some correspondence that needed his response, while Viscount Simon-North and Garren had decided on a game of billiards, both agreeing to a sizable wager.
As he chalked his cue, Garren casually remarked, “I heard the last time Somerville opened his home to guests someone was murdered.” He then studied what many women considered a handsome face, watching for a reaction.
For the briefest moment, Simon-North’s eyes traveled toward the two men playing cards, Lord Flemington and Marquis Brightington, before answering light-heartedly. “Yes, that’s right, Huntscliff. You weren’t here that time. You missed all the fun.”
“Fun? Strange word to use when talking about murder,” Garren prodded, wanting to take hold of the man and either punch, kick, or strike him for his callousness at the death of Thora’s dear friend.
“Sorry, poor choice of word on my part,” Simon-North said apologetically. “It was just at the time the sweet child went missing I thought that she was just playing a trick and would suddenly appear, laughing at all the ruckus she had caused.”
“Where were you when it happened?” Garren inquired as he took his shot.
“Right here playing billiards,” Simon-North returned evenly. “Played one of my best games that night. Won ten pounds from Brightington. You should have heard him squawk.”
Without putting down his cards, Marquis Calder Brightington turned his sandy-haired head toward the billiards players. “And I plan to win back those ten pounds,” he said, his pale green eyes holding a glint of confidence as he stared at Simon-North.
Garren forced a laugh. Their alibis were firm and unshakable. He continued to play, but his mind was not on the game, resulting in him being easily overtaken by Simon-North, who was an exceptionally good player. They played another game, and he was again defeated. Deciding he’d had enough, he went upstairs to dress for the night’s outing. When he had finished, he conferred with Nyle and Mason regarding the scene at the boathouse between Cecilia Boothwell and Sandler Leedworthy, omitting the most disconcerting part—kissing Thora.
In her room, Thora lay on her bed, wide-eyed and staring at the ceiling. The memory of Lord Huntscliff’s stimulating kiss had her wondering what would have happened if Mason Greenstreet hadn’t interrupted. What a terrible fool
she had made of herself thinking that Lord Huntscliff’s kiss had been one of passion. Yet it hadn’t felt impersonal. She could have sworn it was more! If that’s the way he kisses in the course of his duties as an investigator, then what, she dreamily wondered, would his kisses be like when truly aroused?
Rising to her feet, Thora ordered herself to concentrate on matters more pressing than Lord Huntscliff’s kisses. First, she would confirm that Lauryn and Cecilia had their police rattles before leaving for Lord Langless’s estate. Even though she was cross with Cecilia, she still felt obligated to ensure the girl’s safety. She would have to remember to check with Floris once she arrived at the Langless estate. Secondly, she would seek out each man who danced with Ivey, Viscount Simon-North, Marquis Brightington, and even though it would be hard for her knowing what she did about him, Mr. Sandler Leedworthy. Perhaps Ivey had mentioned something to one of them, something innocent but important. Something that could provide her with a clue. Thirdly, she would do her utmost to avoid the speech robbing lips of Lord Huntscliff
Later, when she had finished dressing, Thora stepped to her window and peered out. A line of carriages stood outside Mannington Manor’s front doors waiting for their passengers. Before going downstairs, she stopped by Lauryn and Cecilia’s rooms to remind them to carry their rattles. Both girls were still in their petticoats when she visited them.
“I wouldn’t go anywhere without it after what happened on the terrace the other day,” Lauryn vowed. Cecilia, on the other hand, was not as obliging. She rolled her eyes, called her a worrywart but eventually agreed to carry, in her words, “the ugly thing.”