“Let me see. Well, yes, I’m acquainted with them all,” she murmured, then lifting her eyes, she added, “and you would be too if you made the effort to go out more.”
“Believe me, right now I’m wishing I had, but please check the list. Who might be at the party?”
“Edward Simington! He’ll definitely be there. Do you remember him? Surely you must.”
“Remind me.”
“If you were home from school and he came to visit me, he’d never stay very long because you made him nervous. Oh, and the other thing, I’d keep him waiting. Mother always scolded me for it.”
“Oh, yes,” Malcolm said with a chuckle. “I’d give him my evil eye when you weren’t looking.”
“You did? Malcolm! Why? I’ve always rather liked him.”
“He’s not right for you.”
“I’ll decide who’s right for me and who isn’t,” she exclaimed. “Besides, how can you possibly know such a thing?”
“Because, dear sister, I know you, and you’d eat him alive for breakfast.”
“Possibly,” she admitted with a giggle. “We’re almost there,” she remarked, staring out the window. “What do you want from Edward?”
“Remember how we used to work together to convince your father to give us what we wanted?”
“Of course! We had so much fun. One of us would plant a little seed in his head, then the other would make a comment to support it, he’d think about it, then—voila.”
“Except tonight we have only minutes, not days. I want Edward to start a conversation at the dinner table about Egyptology. There’s a missing statue. It was stolen from the museum.”
“Is that what this is all about?”
“I think so,” Malcolm said vaguely.
“I remember the newspaper reports.”
“I want him to raise the subject at the dinner table.”
“That shouldn’t be difficult, but why?”
“I want to sprinkle seeds in the gossipmongers’ garden,” he replied with a wink, “then rattle the bushes and see what drops out.”
“Ah, I see.”
“I also want him to ask me about hiding Connie, and it has to come from him. You can’t bring it up.”
“But, Malcolm, why do you want to draw attention to that?”
“It will give me the opportunity to deny it in front of everyone. Not only are eyes watching my house, I’m being followed. It has to stop.”
“How very disturbing. I certainly wouldn’t like strangers hovering around. How scary for you and Connie.”
“I simply must turn down the heat. I need to focus on plotting my course without constantly looking over my shoulder. That’s one of the reasons I’m leaving for the country in the morning, but I’d like to get my defense out tonight. It will go a long way to settling things down while I’m gone.”
“You’re going to our country house? I’m jealous. I wish I was going with you. I’d love to get some fresh air. Connie’s joining you, I assume.”
“She is,” he murmured, unable to suppress a smile.
“Malcolm!”
“What?”
“I knew it. You like her. I mean, you really like her.”
“We’ve arrived,” he declared as the carriage rolled to a stop.
“Don’t avoid the question!”
“You didn’t ask me anything.”
“You do like her! I can see it! Tell me. You do, don’t you?”
“Possibly.”
“Finally. It’s about time you stopped flitting around.”
“I don’t flit.”
“Gallivanting, then.”
“Edith, the door’s opening.”
“I couldn’t be happier,” she whispered with a cheeky grin. “When all this is over, I’ll thoroughly enjoy having another female on my side. We can gang up on you.”
“At your peril,” he warned.
“You don’t scare me!”
“Sadly, this is true,” he said with a sigh.
As they climbed from the carriage, the first few drops of rain hit the cobblestones, sending a footman scurrying forward to shelter them with an umbrella. Walking quickly forward, they stepped inside the grand home.
“Damn, I forgot to ask. Remind me. Where are we again?” Malcolm muttered under his breath.
“How could you forget?” Edith scolded. “Lord and Lady Cheltenham.”
“First names?”
“Malcolm! You are so bad.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“John Hector, but he likes to be called Hector. Her name is Mary Victoria, but she prefers Her Ladyship, and Malcolm, promise me you’ll behave.”
“I always behave in public. It’s only in the shadows I get up to mischief.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” she whispered. “No whisking some hapless, weak-kneed woman off into a corner somewhere.”
“Edith, my dear,” Lady Cheltenham gushed, walking up to greet them, then darted her eyes to Malcolm. “As I live and breathe. Malcolm Mead. I’m truly honored you’re here. How did you convince him to leave his house, Edith?”
“I needed no persuading,” Malcolm said graciously, taking the woman’s gloved hand and offering a quick nod of his head. “The honor is all mine.”
“Such a gentleman,” she cooed, then tilting her head to the side, she looked him up and down. “I’d forgotten how well built you are. We never need worry with you around.”
“I can assure you, I will always step up if anyone attempts to cause you, or any lady, a problem.”
“So I understand. The thought almost makes me hope someone does,” she said with a sparkle in her eye. “Edith, dear, Edward Simington asked if you’d be here. He’ll be so pleased to see you. Such a nice young man.”
“Yes, he is. I’m looking forward to having a chat with him myself.”
“Why don’t you both go into the reception room and have a drink before dinner? Most everyone’s here, and the gong will sound soon.”
“Thank you, Lady Cheltenham. I’d rather enjoy a snifter,” Malcolm said, bending slightly forward and smiling at her.
“What a charming devil you are.”
“And what a delightful hostess you are, Your Ladyship. Come along, Edith. A drink awaits.”
The woman tittered as he took Edith’s arm and guided toward the open doors.
“You are incorrigible,” Edith whispered, “but I do love being in your company.”
Entering the luxuriant room, Malcolm spotted Edward near the fireplace, but to his surprise, he also spied a woman he’d had the pleasure of spanking several months before.
“Edward is standing by the mantelpiece,” he murmured. “You know what to do.”
As Edith glided toward her admirer, Malcolm moved through the guests, nodding and smiling as he passed. His sheer size made him stand out, and the gathering was a small one, accentuating his presence.
“Malcolm,” the woman said with a broad smile. “How lovely to run into you.”
“Hello, Millicent. How have you been keeping?”
“My goodness. Why so formal?”
“I’m not going to call you Silly Milly here,” he said quietly.
“Mmm, probably wise.”
“I heard you tied the knot. Is your husband here?”
“No, and now that you are I’m glad of it,” she said with a cheeky grin. “He’s abroad. India. He decided to buy a tea plantation.”
“Why didn’t you go with him?”
“You can’t be serious. All that damnably hot weather? No, thank you. I much prefer drizzly London. What about you?”
“Nothing particularly exciting.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard, but you wouldn’t happen to have a free afternoon, would you?” she purred. “Just to be clear, I don’t mean for tea and finger sandwiches.”
“Millicent! You naughty girl. You’re a married woman!”
“When has that ever stopped you?”
“You need a good wall
oping,” he whispered.
“Precisely.”
“That’s your husband’s responsibility now, but if you’re really desperate, stop by one of those underground spanking clubs. I’m sure you’ll find a gentleman there willing to oblige.”
“That’s a thought,” she said wistfully. “I haven’t been to one of those places in ages.”
“But enough of that. What is it you’ve heard?”
“You know very well,” she replied. “Your encounter with Percy Cavendish and that murderess.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“You really don’t know?”
“Please tell me what’s being said.”
“Word has it Lord Cavendish had Constance Clifford in his grasp—that’s the girl wanted for killing her parents, or didn’t you know that?”
“Of course I know that, but this is absurd. Please carry on.”
“He had her, and you pulled her away. She hasn’t been seen since, and it’s said you’ve been harboring her in your house.”
“For goodness’ sake!”
“It’s not true?”
“How minor incidents get blown up into major news stories is beyond me,” he declared. “And people wonder why I don’t socialize much. It really is quite infuriating.”
“I thought the story sounded—”
But the dinner gong sounded, cutting her off.
“Farfetched,” she finished.
“I need to quash this ridiculous rumor immediately. Milly, will you do me a favor?”
“If I’m able to, of course.”
“Ask me about it at the dinner table.”
“Really?”
“Then I can tell everyone here exactly what happened, and how exaggerated the story has become.”
“I’ll be happy to, Malcolm.”
“There’s Edith,” he remarked, seeing Edward escorting her into the dining room. “Will you excuse me a moment?”
“Yes, but only if you promise to escort me in.”
He smiled and nodded, then moved quickly across to join Edith as she ambled toward the dining hall.
“Hello, Edward,” Malcolm said politely as he approached. “You’re looking well.”
“Good evening, Malcolm. As are you.”
“May I borrow Edith for a quick word? I promise to bring her right back.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Edward replied, meeting Malcolm’s eyes with surprising intensity.
“I’ll keep her less than a minute,” Malcolm assured him, taking Edith’s elbow and pulling her aside.
“Malcolm, what’s going on?”
“I’ll explain later, but asking about the gossip about Connie and me is under control. All you have to do is get Edward talking about Egyptology and the missing artifact.”
“I feel as if I’m in the middle of an undercover operation.”
“You are.”
“Oh, yes, I suppose I am.”
“Quick, go back to Edward. Almost everyone’s gone in.”
As she hurried away, Millicent sashayed up to him.
“Malcolm, will you escort me in now?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
Hoping she’d be on the opposite side of the table so she’d have to raise her voice to ask the all-important question, he offered his elbow. Running into her was a stroke of luck, and Malcolm was a great believer in luck. If things fell into place easily, it boded well for more fortuitous events, and eventually a successful outcome. He’d found the statue and uncovered Monty’s identity, but most important, he’d met an astonishing young woman who was stealing his heart.
* * *
Connie had eaten dinner in the small dining room with the drapes closed, then retired to her bedroom. She’d almost opted for the library, but changed her mind when she thought about the book hidden away in the bottom of her raggedy bag. Now lying in her bed, A Pirate’s Pleasure in her hands and the lamp burning on the nightstand, she devoured the scandalous prose.
“I shall fuck ye and I shall fuck ye hard,” the pirate bellowed, ripping off his wife’s blouse, “but first I’ll be reddening your fine, ripe arse.”
“But husband, why do you treat me so cruelly after being gone so long?”
“You no longer need to pretend with me, woman. You want my callused hand slapping your naked bottom,” he exclaimed, jerking down her billowy skirt, “and you need my swollen manhood thrusting hard. I’ve learned much on my travels.”
Yanking her over his lap, he spanked her vigorously, then tore her drawers into shreds and continued without pause, ignoring her squeals and flailing arms.
“Your state of arousal tells me all I need to know,” he growled, shoving his long, thick finger inside her and pumping it in and out. “That’s right, wife. Cry out, cry out your pleasure, but I’ll not fuck ye until I hear ye begging.”
Searing heat gushed through Connie’s body, and a warm flood washed between her legs. She longed to slide her hand against her pussy, but Malcolm had made it clear she wasn’t to touch herself. Knowing if she read much more the temptation might prove too great, she closed the wicked book and tucked it under her pillow, but a moment later a naughty smile crossed her lips.
“You made me a promise too,” she breathed. “You promised to come and see me when you got back. Oh, Malcolm, you’re going to be met with quite a surprise.”
Chapter Seventeen
Watching Edith flirt with Edward across the dining table, Malcolm marveled at her acting abilities. If he didn’t know better he would have believed she was genuinely attracted to him, but he had other things to think about. Millicent had just brought up the subject of Constance Clifford’s disappearance after the brutal murder of her parents.
“Malcolm, I understand you’re the one who let her get away,” she exclaimed with a laugh. “Please tell us what happened?”
All eyes turned toward him.
The time was at hand to put the rumor to rest.
Quickly and effectively he explained the young pickpocket wasn’t Constance, but a teenage street urchin who had somehow managed to get her hands on a decent dress.
“It was quite sad,” Malcolm declared with great sincerity. “I suppose she thought she could blend into the neighborhood, but the garment had seen far better days. Not only that, it was much too big for her. It hung on her like an old sack. That’s how she got away. I’d grabbed the side of it, and when she pulled back it ripped in my hand and off she went. I wasn’t about to chase her through the stormy night. I have no idea why Percy Cavendish thought she was still in my house.”
“So you actually managed to get her inside?” Lord Cheltenham inquired.
“For about thirty-seconds, but the front door was still open and my butler wasn’t there to help. The silly girl bolted. I would have given her a cup of tea and allowed her to explain herself.”
“Blasted rumors,” Lord Cheltenham exclaimed. “You see, Mary?” he continued, turning to his wife. “I told you there was nothing to it. Malcolm isn’t the type to harbor a murderess.”
“But how can you be sure it wasn’t her?” Lady Cheltenham pressed. “From what I understand, Percy was quite convinced.”
“I’ve never met Constance formally, though I vaguely remember seeing her a time or two,” Malcolm replied, “but this girl was far too young. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen years old. Mind you, it was a dreadful night. Percy wouldn’t have seen her as clearly as I did in the light of my home.”
“Actually, before you started talking about this, Edward was telling me something rather fascinating about Constance Clifford,” Edith said eagerly. “Tell them, Edward.”
“I’ve always found this intriguing,” Edward said dramatically, raising his eyebrows as though he was about to deliver a fanciful tale. “Only a few days prior to the night of the murder, an extremely valuable treasure was stolen from the British museum. I’m sure you all remember the newspaper reports.”
“Of course,” one o
f the guests exclaimed. “It was a priceless artifact.”
“Indeed, but the treasure itself was never identified, and I happen to know it was the Statue of Kharute.”
Several of the guests gasped, and the table immediately broke into lively conversation. Malcolm sat back and let the chatter continue until there was a lull, then seized the opportunity.
“I know nothing about Egyptology or this statue,” he began, “but as I listened to everything that was just being said, I had a thought.”
Glancing around the table, he smiled at the rapt faces waiting eagerly for him to continue.
“Well, for goodness’ sake, don’t keep us in suspense,” Lady Cheltenham said urgently.
“Stealing a precious item from the British museum wouldn’t have been carried out by common thugs. It would have taken careful planning.”
“A master criminal,” Lady Cheltenham exclaimed, her eyes wide and fixated on Malcolm.
“Exactly, Your ladyship. A master criminal. Let’s call him Mr. X.”
“Oh, I like that,” one of the other ladies said excitedly. “Mr. X. Just like a character from that wonderful new author Arthur Conan Doyle. You must have heard of the detective he writes about. Sherlock Holmes?”
“Yes, indeed,” Malcolm said quickly, not wanting the conversation to be diverted. “Edward, you said this statue has never been recovered.”
“No, and here’s the thing,” Edward continued fervently, his eyes lighting up as he spoke. “I have a friend who works for the Metropolitan Police. He’s just as interested in the disappearance of the statue as I am, and he claims it hasn’t surfaced anywhere. There’s not even a hint of where it might be. Lady Prudence is right. This really is a mystery worthy of Sherlock Holmes. Maybe the police should enlist the aid of the author.”
“That’s fascinating,” Malcolm said, delighted Edward was giving him even more fodder to use. “It actually makes my theory that much more viable. Who is Mr. X? What would he be like? He wouldn’t be an everyday criminal; in fact, I suspect he hides behind a cloak of respectability, and steals only rare, one-of-a kind pieces.”
“But what does that have to do with the Cliffords’ murder?” Edward asked.
“I’m getting there,” Malcolm replied. “You mentioned they were keen Egyptologists. What if Mr. X ordered his men to hide the statue at the Cliffords’ property after they stole it?”
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