The clock told her she’d been asleep for almost thirty minutes. She felt surprisingly better. A grin crossed her lips. Climbing from the bed, she removed the remainder of her clothes, then slipped back between the sheets. If Malcolm was home in time, they could have a romp before dinner.
* * *
It was twenty minutes later that Malcolm’s carriage rolled to a stop outside his house. With the butler’s psychic powers Malcolm still couldn’t fathom, Corbin appeared at the door.
“Good to see you back, sir,” Corbin declared as Malcolm marched inside. “It appears the weather’s turning again. I can’t say I like the look of those clouds.”
“I quite agree,” Malcolm said as Corbin helped him off with his coat. “The sun never does stay out for very long this time of year.”
“Will you be going up, sir, or can I get you a drink before dinner?”
“I’m going up. Tell Baker I’ll ring when I need him.”
“Very good, sir.”
Climbing the stairs, eager to see Connie, he marched down the hall, but reaching the door to his room, he opened and closed it quietly, not wanting to disturb her if she was sleeping.
“I’m so glad you’re home,” she purred as he entered. “I’ve missed you.”
“You’re awake!”
“You have a firm grasp of the obvious,” she said with a giggle.
“You’re far more chipper than when I left,” he said, removing his coat.
“I feel much better.”
“Are those bare shoulders I see?”
“You’ll have to come over here and find out.”
Grinning, he stepped up to the bed, took hold of the bedcovers, and with a dramatic gesture, yanked them back exposing her nude body.
“Such a naughty girl. What am I going to do with you?”
“I can’t imagine.”
Hastily removing his clothes, he jumped on the mattress, placed his hands on either side of her head, and straddled her legs.
“So... my beautiful wife wants to tempt me.”
“No! Your beautiful wife wants to have her way with you,” she crooned, grasping his manhood. “Ooh, Malcolm, it appears you want the same thing.”
“Indeed I do,” he growled, moving his mouth to suck on her neck.
“Ooh, I love that so much.”
“And this?” he whispered, suddenly biting, eliciting a loud squeal.
“Yes,” she panted, “I love that too.”
“What about this?” he muttered huskily, lifting his head and staring down at her.
“What?”
Wordlessly diving his lips on hers in a fervent, breathtaking kiss, he shifted on his side and thrust his hand into her sex.
“You are a very naughty girl,” he growled, suddenly pulling back, “and I’m an expert at dealing with naughty girls.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Gripping her hair, Malcolm consumed Connie’s mouth with a fiery, demanding, heart-stopping kiss, then abruptly released her and marched from the room. A fiendish grin crossing his lips, he walked the few steps to his salon and jerked the bell cord twice. The double pull told Corbin he was to arrive post haste. Moving to the drinks cabinet, Malcolm poured himself a cognac, impatiently swirled the expensive liquor, and downed a swallow.
He had news for Connie. Big news, but she’d had enough drama for one day. She needed a decadent distraction, and that’s what he was going to give her. When it was over and she was relaxed and lying in his arms, he might tell her then. She’d be tired, and he could comfort her as she drifted off to sleep. He wanted to spare her until morning, but his instincts were telling him not to wait. He always listened to his instincts.
Always.
Taking another drink, he wandered to the window. Staring down at the street below, he recalled the moment when he’d left the house with Frank. They’d been about to climb into the carriage when he’d spied Percy Cavendish walking briskly down the street. Percy had waved urgently, and though Malcolm had pretended not to notice, Percy called his name and quickened his pace.
“Go ahead and get in, Frank, or he’ll keep us here forever,” Malcolm had muttered, then turned around and stepped up to greet his agitated neighbor. “Hello, Percy. As you can see, I’m about to leave. I only have a moment.”
“Ah, yes, forgive me. I won’t hold you up, but I thought you’d want to know right away, or rather, your guest would want to know.”
“My guest?”
“Mildred happened to be looking out the window, and she was sure she saw you returning with Constance Clifford. It was her who tried to pick my pocket that dreadful night, wasn’t it?”
“Percy, I have no time for this,” Malcolm replied evasively, thinking the man was simply fishing for gossip at his wife’s request. “You must excuse me.”
“My apologies, though if Constance Clifford is with you, I’m sure she’d want to hear about this.”
“Hear about what?” Malcolm asked impatiently.
“Roger Witherspoon! I was just speaking to Harry Wilcox at the club. He’s good friends with the duke, you know—”
“Percy, please get to the point,” Malcolm said, interrupting him. “I really must take my leave.”
“Sorry, old chap. Yes, of course. Roger has fallen gravely ill, and I know he and Constance Clifford were once very close. As I mentioned earlier, Mildred thought she’d want to know.”
“When you say, gravely ill, what specifically is wrong with him?”
“They’re not sure. It’s all rather peculiar. Apparently he’s become hysterical,” Percy declared, quickening his speech. “He’s seeing things that aren’t there, and gibbering about all sorts of nonsense, though he’s developed a very high fever, which might account for the delusions. Deathly ill, poor chap. It’s all extremely disturbing. The doctor believes his days are numbered.”
“My goodness, I’m sorry to hear that,” Malcolm replied. “Thank you for telling me, now I really cannot linger another moment.”
“Of course, my dear fellow. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”
Hastily climbing into the carriage, Malcolm passed along the news to Frank.
“First Mountbatten, now Witherspoon,” Frank had murmured thoughtfully. “Odd, don’t you think?”
But Malcolm had only nodded.
His thoughts had been with Connie.
More dramatic news was the last thing she needed.
In his salon and watching the street below, Malcolm sipped his cognac. He still carried the same reservations. The detective’s comment floated through his head.
First Mountbatten, now Witherspoon. Odd, don’t you think?
“You rang, sir?”
Snatched from his reverie, Malcolm jerked his head to the door.
“Corbin, yes. My wife is very tired. We’re going to have dinner here in the salon. Please bring up a tray and leave it on the hall table. Just knock on the door to let me know it’s there and I’ll bring it in myself. Also,” he said, taking a dramatic pause, “please be sure and tell the staff that they should now refer to Mrs. Mead as Madame. She is the daughter of a baron and should be addressed as such.”
“Of course, sir. When would you like your dinner brought up?”
“As soon as it’s ready.”
“I believe it could be served now, sir. Will you be wanting wine with your dinner?”
“Definitely. You can make the selection.”
“Of course, sir.”
Corbin left, and downing the last of his drink, Malcolm placed an additional log on the low-burning fire, then returned to his bedroom.
“Where have you been?” Connie asked the moment he entered. “You left here so quickly.”
“We’re dining in the salon,” he announced, picking up her robe and tossing it to her. “Put that on.”
Excitement shone from her eyes.
“I do love it when you’re like this. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you that.”
“You didn’t have to,” he sai
d, dropping his voice, then stepping forward, he thrust his fingers between her legs and into her womanhood. “I knew it. Already so wet. As I said earlier, you’re such a naughty girl.”
“But isn’t that how you want me?” she whimpered, leaning into him as he continued to tease her.
“Most definitely,” he grunted, his muscled arm coming around her waist and jerking her against him. “There are two kinds of naughty. The willful naughty, which requires discipline, and the salacious naughty, which receives a different kind of attention.”
“Malcolm, you’re making me weak.”
“Then I’d better carry you.”
She expected him to scoop her up, but instead, he bent slightly forward, lifted her off her feet, and deftly flipped her over his shoulder.
“Malcolm! What are you doing?”
She was answered with a hot slap.
“Keep the noise down!”
Moving to the door and opening it a crack to check the hall was empty, he walked quickly to the salon, marched inside, and stood her in front of his desk.
“Bend over and rest on your forearms.”
As she followed his instruction, he raised her robe and let it drape across her waist, then walked swiftly back to lock the door. He didn’t think for a moment anyone would enter unannounced, but he wasn’t about to take the chance.
“So, lovely wife, you wanted to surprise me,” he murmured, ambling back to her. “How considerate.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“You do possess a splendid bottom,” he remarked, smoothing his hand over her cheeks. “It looks particularly marvelous framed by that flowing silk. I think I’m going to have some special garments made for you.”
“Garments, Sir?”
“Drawers with no seat so I’m able to reach beneath your skirts and petticoats and feel your naked flesh.”
“Ooh, Sir.”
“I can just imagine us at a party. I’ll whisk you into the gardens, lift up your dress and petticoats, and gaze at these beautiful cheeks in the moonlight. I might even slide my hand between your thighs,” he muttered, shoving a finger into her pussy. “I’ve never been one to socialize, as well you know, but now I’ll start accepting invitations. Spread your feet.”
As he watched her shuffle them apart, he removed his jacket, then waistcoat and shirt. He was about to take off his boots and trousers when there was a knock. Dinner had arrived. He waited a moment, then moved to the door and listened intently.
All was quiet.
Unlocking it and opening it an inch, he eyeballed the hallway. The tray sat on the hall table as he’d instructed, and Corbin had left. Quickly stepping from the room, he picked it up and carried it into the salon, placed it on the coffee table, then hastily closed and locked the door.
The momentary risk had excited him.
He grinned.
The notion of the seatless drawers began to take hold. He found the idea of fondling Connie in a forbidden room at a ball or in the shadows of a garden under the moon a thrilling prospect.
Sitting down on the chaise lounge and gazing across the room at her naked derriere, he pulled off his boots, then gratefully removed the remainder of his clothes. The prospect of the fantasy becoming a reality had fired through his loins, and his cock was rock hard.
“Tell me, naughty wife, where can I find such a seamstress,” he asked, walking back to her and delivering some solid smacks for the sheer pleasure of it.
“Ow, uh, I’ll have to think about it, Sir.”
“She must be a woman of discretion,” he said thoughtfully, pushing a finger into her drenched, hungry passage. “She’ll be paid handsomely, of course.”
“Ooh, Sir,” she moaned, wriggling her hips.
“Ah, yes. You want my big member pounding you,” he declared, adding a second finger and propelling it in and out.
“So much, Sir.”
“Do you like the idea of wearing seatless drawers? I’d secretly caress you when we’re out in society,” he continued, his free hand squeezing and pinching her wonderfully plump cheeks. “Tell me the truth, not just what you think I want to hear.”
“Yes,” she squeaked. “I’m ashamed to admit such a thing, but yes, Sir, very much. It’s so sinful and outrageous.”
“Exactly,” he growled, withdrawing his fingers and placing his rigid manhood at her entrance. “Sinful,” he repeated, grasping her hips and plunging inside her. “Outrageous! It certainly is,” he persisted, thrusting with slow, strong strokes. “Let’s not forget scandalous, possibly illegal. Then there’s sitting at the dinner table. All the while you’ll be aware of your naked backside beneath your dress. Dancing in the ballroom, you’ll have a mysterious twinkle in your eye, and I’ll be waiting for the chance—the place—the moment to do the unthinkable.”
As he’d delivered his salacious speech, her breathing had become ragged, her moans had grown louder, and she’d started bucking back to meet his quickening thrusts.
“Please, Sir, tell me more,” she begged. “Please, Sir, what else might you do?”
The lewd plea fired through his brain. Her erotic soul was just as depraved as his.
“I will grope my way beneath your garments as we hide in the shadows,” he continued, his voice a deep rasp. “I’ll torment your clit, but you’ll be forbidden to make a sound. I’ll rub it, and rub hard, until you’re near your orgasm,” he growled, abruptly pumping harder. “When I finally let you climax I will cover your mouth with my hand to stifle any cries you cannot suppress, but that, my naughty wife, will be just the beginning.”
“The beginning, Sir,” she gasped. “What more could there be?”
“I’ll turn you around,” he panted, his heart pounding as he closed his eyes and imagined the scene, “spread your cheeks, and thrust my cock between them. I’ll enter your dark portal and—”
“Ooh, Sir, I’m going to—”
“And ram you with my manhood,” he exclaimed, pushing a finger into her forbidden back hole, “just as the pirate did his wife!”
But the paroxysms of pleasure had her in their power. The spasms shuddered through her body, and as she howled out her ecstasy, his climax shot forth from his loins, his deep groans so loud, they drowned out her high-pitched wails.
* * *
Connie melted, falling like a rag doll into a heap on the floor.
His heart thumping so hard he thought it would leap from his chest, Malcolm collapsed next to her. As she rolled into him, he languidly lifted his arm so she could rest her head in the crook of his shoulder.
Silent minutes ticked past.
“What now?” she breathed, slowly coming back to life.
“Dinner,” he muttered. “I’m starving.”
“I meant, uh, the drawers. Are you really going to have them made?”
His lips curled.
“Most assuredly, and I think I know just the woman to sew them.”
“I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” Connie grunted, shifting against him to study his face.
“You mustn’t concern yourself. Her name is Helen, and she’s the wife of a friend. They belong to a club I occasionally frequent, Top Hats and Tails, but I’ll tell you about that later. Right now I intend to dine with my beautiful, naughty wife.”
“I hope the food hasn’t become too terribly cold.”
With his help she struggled to her feet, then slipped on her robe as he pulled on his trousers. Together they moved across the room and sat on the chaise in front of the coffee table. Lifting the silver covers off the plates, they found whole poached salmon resting on a bed of lettuce, and a variety of vegetables and sauces.
“Excellent,” he declared. “Shall we both eat from the one dish?”
“Why not? No one’s here to watch, though my mother wouldn’t approve.”
“Would you like some wine?”
“Yes, please.”
The bottle had been opened, and as he poured, he heard Connie take in a long breath.
“Tired?” he asked, handing her the glass.
“Very, but Malcolm, I need to ask you something. The thing is, it’s a bit unusual.”
“Everything about our situation is unusual. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“After you left with Frank, I fell asleep, but I woke up and had the strongest feeling something had happened. Not to you, but something that caused you to be concerned for me.”
“That’s extraordinary,” he said, staring at her and shaking his head.
“You mean I was right?”
“I was going to mention this at some point tonight, I just wasn’t sure when, but apparently the time is now. Connie, I heard some rather unfortunate news about Roger. He’s become gravely ill. So ill, I’m afraid he...”
“He might die? Ooh... I just had a chill.”
“That’s what I was told,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Are you all right?”
“Fine. Like I said, I just felt a chill. He looked so strange when he was about to attack me in the shed.”
“You said his skin was pale and his eyes were red.”
“It was more than that,” she said quietly, her face crinkling at the memory. “The best word I can think is deranged. Actually, that’s the perfect word to describe him. He was deranged.”
“Good Lord. I wonder what happened to him.”
“Malcolm,” Connie began thoughtfully, “Samuel Mountbatten died suddenly from an unexpected heart attack, now Roger is horribly sick with some inexplicable illness. It’s all rather odd, don’t you think?”
“That’s exactly what Frank said. Odd, don’t you think?”
“Really?”
“Those exact words referencing just what you said. First, Mountbatten dying, then Roger falling desperately ill. I have to agree with you both. It’s very odd indeed.”
“You don’t think it has anything to do with the curse of the Statue of Kharute, do you?”
“I don’t believe in curses,” he said solemnly, shaking his head.
“I don’t either, but I’ll be glad when that statue is out of our hands and back where it belongs.”
“Connie—I forgot to mention—I stopped in to tell Edith the news about Roger on my way home. She’d just received a note from Edward. The historical society has called an emergency dinner meeting this evening to honor Samuel.”
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