by Amanda Quick
She gasped when she felt the first stirrings of dampness between her legs. A liquid heat pooled there, making her wildly restless. She clutched at Artemas’s bare back, savoring the strong, muscled feel of him. His thick, unyielding manhood pressed against her upper thigh.
He slid one hand up the inside of her leg to the hot, full place where sensation built steadily. He eased a finger slowly, deliberately into her cleft. A shock of energy sang through her.
“Artemas.”
“Some risks,” he observed on a note of husky satisfaction, “are indeed worth taking.”
“I have come to the very same conclusion, sir.”
She had already forgotten how to breathe in a normal fashion, but when he caught hold of the hem of her gown and pushed the material up to her waist, she thought she would never require air again.
He paused long enough to unfasten his trousers. Then he pushed his shaft into her palm. She curled her fingers around him, fascinated by the sleek, hard feel of his rigid member.
She heard him suck in his breath at her touch.
Encouraged by his swift response, she tightened her grip. Artemas tensed. “If you continue to do that, we will both be disappointed.”
Startled, she hastily released him. “I am sorry. I did not mean to hurt you.”
He gave a short, choked laugh and lowered his damp forehead to hers. “I assure you I am far beyond ordinary pain at the moment. But I would not wish to end this too quickly.”
She gave him a tremulous smile. “Nor would I. Indeed, I would quite enjoy spending the rest of the night in this fashion.”
“If you can even think of spending several hours enduring this degree of torment, you could give lessons in self-control to a Vanza master.”
“Good heavens, are you indeed in torment?”
He kissed her throat. “Yes.”
“I had not realized,” she said anxiously. “I would not wish you to suffer, Artemas.”
He gave another wicked laugh. “You are too kind, my sweet. I shall avail myself of the mercy you offer.”
He shifted slightly, settling deeper into her. She did not realize how he had altered their positions until she suddenly felt his shaft pushing slowly, relentlessly against the damp, heated place between her legs.
She shivered again. “Artemas?”
“So much for your own self-mastery, eh?” He sounded amused. “It’s all right, my sweet,” he added hoarsely. “I cannot wait any longer, either.”
He moistened himself in her humid heat and then he drove himself into her in a single, solid thrust.
She had known enough about the matter to expect some small pain, but she was not braced for the feeling of being filled and stretched to the very limits of endurance.
“Artemas.” She could hardly speak. His name emerged as little more than a squeak.
He had gone utterly still above her. “Bloody hell?”
She realized she had started to pant like a small dog. “Would you please, uh, remove yourself? There appears to be some sort of problem.”
“Madeline.” A great shudder went through him. Every muscle in his body was as taut as a drawn bow. “Why didn’t you tell me? How is this possible? Damnation, you are a widow.”
“But never truly a wife.”
“The solicitors,” he groaned against her breast. “The annulment. I never realized that it might be based on fact.”
She set her teeth and pushed at his shoulders. “I am well aware that this is my fault, but in my own defense, I can only say that I did not realize you would be such a poor fit. Kindly dislodge yourself immediately.”
“Don’t,” he said very urgently when she heaved against him. “Please, do not wiggle about like that.”
“I would like for you to remove yourself at once.”
“This is not quite the same thing as throwing me out of your drawing room. Madeline, I warn you, do not move.”
“How many times must I tell you that I do not take orders from you.” She twisted beneath him, attempting to escape his crushing weight and the intense fullness between her legs.
It was as if she had branded him. He started to pull back but something went terribly wrong. His big frame convulsed heavily against her.
He gave a low, muffled groan.
Alarmed, she sank her nails into his shoulders. She held herself very still, not daring to move, as he pumped himself into her.
When it was over, he collapsed on top of her.
A great silence fell.
“Bloody, frigging hell,” he said with great depth of feeling.
Gingerly, she took stock.
“Artemas?”
“What is it now, madam? I warn you, I do not think my nerves will sustain any more shocks this evening. I may have to send you upstairs for your aunt’s tonic after all.”
“It is nothing, really.” She moistened her lips. “Just that, well, I wanted to tell you that this position is no longer quite so uncomfortable now as it was a few minutes ago.”
For two heartbeats he did not move. Then, very slowly, he raised his head and looked down at her with grim eyes.
“I beg your pardon?” he said with ominous politeness.
She managed a small, placating smile. “It is all right now, truly it is. In spite of my initial impression, I do believe you fit quite well.”
“Bloody, frigging hell.” This time the oath was uttered so softly that it was almost inaudible.
She cleared her throat. “Perhaps you would like to try it again?”
“What I would like,” he said through his teeth, “is an explanation.”
He eased himself out of her body and got to his feet. A sense of loss and dismay went through her as he turned his back to her and closed his trousers.
Without a word he handed her a large, white linen handkerchief. Mortified, she took it from him. She could only be grateful that her heavy, quilted wrapper had absorbed most of the evidence of their recent activities. At least she would not have to face the knowing look of the housekeeper in the morning.
She put herself to rights as best she could, took a deep breath, and got to her feet too quickly. Her knees promptly gave way beneath her. She reached out to grab hold of the scrolled end of the settee arm. Artemas caught her and steadied her with surprising gentleness, given his obviously foul mood.
“Are you all right? “ he asked roughly.
“Yes, of course.” Anger and pride came to her rescue. She retied the sash of her wrapper. She realized she was still holding the handkerchief he had given her. She glanced down and saw that it was stained. Embarrassed, she hastily shoved it into her pocket.
Artemas released her and went to stand in front of the fire. He braced one forearm on the mantel and gazed down into the flames.
“There was talk that your father had made inquiries about an annulment,” he said flatly. “Now I comprehend that you truly had grounds.”
“Yes.” She gazed forlornly into the fire. “But in truth I would have accepted any way out of the marriage.”
He met her eyes across the room. “Deveridge was impotent?”
“I cannot say.” She shoved her cold hands into the sleeves of her wrapper to warm them. “I know only that he had no interest in me. Not in that way. Unfortunately, I did not discover that truth until our wedding night.”
“Why did he marry you in the first place if he could not perform the most fundamental duties of a husband? “
“I thought I made it clear that Renwick did not love me. He had no interest in marriage. What he wanted was the deepest, darkest secrets of Vanza. He believed that my father could bestow them on him by teaching him the old tongue.”
Artemas’s hand tightened around the edge of the mantel. “Yes, of course. I’m not thinking clearly. You must forgive me.”
“You’ve had a difficult night,” she ventured.
“One might say that.”
“I could fetch some of my aunt’s tonic—”
He gave her a look
. “If you mention that bloody tonic one more time, I will not be responsible for my actions.”
She was starting to grow irritated. “I was only trying to help.”
“Believe me, madam, you’ve done more than enough for one night.”
She hesitated and then decided to try to explain what little she knew about Renwick’s behavior. “I told you that I searched my husband’s laboratory one day.”
Artemas gave her a sharp glance. “What of it?”
“I had a chance to read some of his notes. It appeared that he had convinced himself that his impotence was brought on by his dedication to Vanza. He wrote that he had to concentrate all of his life’s energy on his studies in order to unlock the ancient alchemical secrets of the philosophy.”
“I see.” Artemas drummed his fingers on the mantel. “And you had no clue that he was not interested in his husbandly duties until your wedding night?”
“I know that it is hard to understand, sir.” She sighed. “Believe me, I have gone back to the weeks before my marriage a thousand times in my mind, asking myself how I could have been so foolish.”
He frowned. “Madeline—”
“All I can tell you is that Renwick was a mad demon who had the appearance of a brilliant angel.” She hugged herself. “He thought he could charm us all. And he succeeded for a time.”
Artemas’s jaw jerked. “You fell in love with him?”
She shook her head. “With hindsight, I could almost believe that he used some sort of magic to hide the truth of himself. But that explanation is too easy. I must be honest—Renwick knew precisely how to seduce me.”
For the first time since the incident on the sofa Artemas looked coldly amused. “Obviously he did not overwhelm you with passion.”
“No, of course not,” she shot back. “Passion is all very well in its way, I suppose. But I was never so young or so naive as to mistake that sort of thing for true love.”
And she must not make that mistake tonight, she reminded herself grimly.
“Of course not,” he muttered. “No woman possessed of your unique temperament and strength of mind would allow such a trifling affliction as passion to sway her good sense and sound logic.”
“Precisely, sir. I have many quarrels with the philosophy of Vanza, and as you know, I do not approve of it.”
“You’ve made your feelings on the subject very clear.”
“But I was raised in a household that was guided by Vanza principles, and I confess some of the philosophy’s disdain for strong passions did rub off on me.” She hesitated briefly. “Renwick was clever enough to comprehend that. I fear he wooed me with a tactic that was infinitely more alluring than passion.”
“What the bloody hell is more alluring than passion to a woman of your temperament, madam? “ He slanted her an odd, glittering look. “I admit to a great curiosity on the point.”
“Sir, I do not understand your tone. Are you annoyed with me? “
“I don’t know,” he said with startling honesty. “Just answer the question.”
“Well, the thing is, he pretended to be enthralled with my intelligence and learning.”
“Aha. Yes, I see it all quite plainly now. In other words, he made you think that he loved you for your mind.”
“Yes. And dim-witted idiot that I was, I believed him.” She closed her eyes against the memories. “I thought that we were destined for each other. Twin souls united in a metaphysical connection that would transcend the physical and allow us to unite on a higher plane.”
“That is a devilishly strong bond.”
“Actually, it proved to be merely an illusion.”
Artemas looked down into the flames. “If even half of what you say is true, then Renwick Deveridge was indeed quite mad.”
“Yes. As I said, he was able to conceal the fact in the beginning. But after our wedding night it became increasingly obvious that something was dreadfully wrong.”
“Insane or not, the man is dead and buried.” Artemas continued to gaze into the fire. “Yet it would appear that someone is attempting to make us believe that he has returned from the grave.”
“If it is not Renwick’s ghost, then it must be someone who knew him well enough to imitate him. Someone who is also Vanza.”
“We must enlarge the scope of our inquiries to encompass Deveridge’s past. I shall set Henry Leggett to work on the matter in the morning.” Artemas turned away from the fire to face her. “In the meantime we must deal with the situation that now exists between us, madam.”
“What do you mean? “
“You know very well what I mean.” He glanced at the red settee and then looked back at her. “It is obviously too late for me to apologize for what took place in this chamber tonight—”
“There is no need for an apology,” she interrupted swiftly. “Or if there is, it should come from me.”
He raised one brow. “I will not quarrel with that.”
She flushed. “The thing is, sir, in a sense, nothing has changed.”
“Nothing?”
“I mean to say, I am still a widow with a certain reputation. I am living under your roof. If word gets out, people will no doubt assume the worst, that we are engaged in an affair.”
“That assumption is now correct.”
She gripped the lapels of her wrapper more securely and raised her chin. “True or not, as I said, nothing has altered in our situation. We are in the same position we were in before the, uh, events occurred on the settee.”
“Not quite.” He started toward her. “But we will not discuss the matter any further tonight. I think we have both had enough excitement for one evening.”
“But, Artemas—”
“We shall deal with this at another time.” He took her arm. “When we have both had some sleep and a chance to think. Come, Madeline. It is time you went back to bed.”
She tried to dig in her heels. “Surely we should make plans. There is the business of searching Mr. Pitney’s house—”
“Later, Madeline.”
He tightened his grip on her elbow and steered her toward the door. When they went past the small end table that sat next to the wing-back chair, something small and shiny caught her eye. She glanced down and saw the object Artemas had been toying with earlier.
Before she could question him about it, she found herself at the door.
“Good night, Madeline.” His gaze softened slightly as he ushered her through the opening. “Try to get some sleep. I fear you have been deprived of a good night’s rest for too long. Plays havoc with the nerves, you know. Just ask your aunt.”
He kissed her with surprising gentleness and then he shut the door very firmly in her face. She stared at the closed door for a long time before she turned and made her way up the stairs to her room.
As she climbed beneath the covers she thought about the small object on the end table. She was almost positive that it had been a watch fob with a small, gold seal dangling from the end.
Chapter Eleven
A Stranger had entered the house. His worst fears had come true. They had sent someone to stop him.
He had known for years that he was being watched by the Strangers, had understood that he was being stalked and spied upon. He had long since ceased trying to explain to his friends why he could no longer trust anyone. They believed him to be mad, but he knew the truth: The Strangers haunted him because they were aware that he was getting close to the greatest secrets of Vanza. They were waiting for him to discover the scientific knowledge that had been concealed by the ancients. When he uncovered it, they intended to move in on him and steal it.
The fact that one of them had entered the house tonight meant that he must be very, very close to a great revelation.
He clutched the volume he had been studying when he had first detected the intruder. His hands trembled around the old book as he pressed his ear to the wall. Thank God for the secret passageway in which he stood. He had built it years ago shortly afte
r his wife had died. He had been much younger and far more fit in those days. Done all the work himself, of course. Couldn’t trust the carpenters and laborers. They could easily have been spies for the Strangers.
Even in the old days he had sensed that he would one day make a great discovery in the ancient texts of Vanza. He had understood that he would need to protect himself. The Strangers had begun to watch him early on. At first the feeling of being spied upon had been sporadic. But gradually it had become a constant sensation. He had made his preparations. Today he would employ them.
He stood perfectly still in the dark passageway, willing his mind into the Strategy of Invisibility. He was alone in the old stone mansion. Until recently he had allowed the housekeeper in only twice a week, but even then he’d kept an eye on her every minute when she was in the house. Above all, he’d made certain that she never tried to sneak down into the basement. He took care of the cooking himself. Not the work of a gentleman, of course, but when one was being watched by the Strangers, one could not afford to stand on ceremony. One did what one must. The great aim of deciphering the secret knowledge at the core of Vanza was infinitely more important than his gentlemanly pride.
The floor creaked in the hallway on the other side of the wall. The Stranger must have concluded that the house was empty, because, although he had entered very stealthily, he was now making a good deal of noise for a Vanza-trained man.
Inside the passageway Eaton Pitney smiled grimly.
Obviously the ruse he had concocted to convince his neighbors that he had gone off to rusticate in the country had worked, although not quite as he had intended. He had hoped that if the Strangers believed him to be at his estates, they would leave town in an attempt to follow him and he, in turn, would have a bit of peace.
Instead they had sent one of their number to search his home.
He heard a muffled thud. It was followed by other, similar noises. It took him a moment to understand that the Stranger was on the floor above. He permitted himself a small sense of satisfaction. Did the intruder think he was so foolish as to leave his notes lying about where they could be easily found and stolen?
The younger generation of Vanza-trained men had a few things to learn from their elders.