“Good God. Did you just confess all?”
Chastity fixed him with a glare. “She is no fool. I could lie to her no longer.”
You could have done, he wanted to rage. Lied and continued our ruse. Then he wouldn’t have to think about never having her in his arms again. He curled his fingers into the smooth wood of the arm of his chair.
“She will not tell anyone, I vow,” she said, lowering her voice to a delicate, soft whisper that made chills run along his skin. He shifted, pushing his chair back so he wasn’t so close. He couldn’t think with her so close. How was he to make a sensible decision when every breath he took was scented with her essence?
“How can you be sure?”
She cocked her head, strands of her brunette hair falling from her pins. “I see you’d rather I shout this secretive information at you.”
He scowled. “I’m not deaf. I can hear you just fine without you clamoring on top of me.”
Her brows rose. “I hardly think I am clamoring and you did not mind me clamoring the other day.”
Images of flesh upon flesh, her hot breath whispering over his skin, the myriad ways they had explored each other seared his mind. He could not fathom how to let her go when his mind was so warped by their lovemaking.
Hell, by her very existence.
“If this information gets out…”
“It will not. I trust her.”
Valentine snorted.
Chastity rose from her chair. “I am no fool. I trust her.” She waved a hand. “I need to leave. I shall tell Mrs. Cooke that I must be with my mother and none shall be any the wiser.”
He shot up and grabbed her arm before she could walk away from him. What was he doing? She was right. She had to leave. It was what they had agreed and he could not let scandal haunt the doorstep of Heath Lodge. Any scrutiny of his life and people might discover his sister’s shame.
Even as she glared at him whilst he gripped her arm, thrills of need shot straight to his cock. It would be so easy to pull her tight against him…
Her eyes locked onto his, and she stepped so close to him that he could hear her breathing. “You need to let me go,” she whispered.
No.
He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
God damn it, he needed to.
His heart pounded. Her lips, so soft and pillowy, were inches away from him. He craved the feel of her tongue against his, her teeth grazing his skin…
“Valentine?” She wriggled her arm against his hold.
Ah. She meant physically let her go. He eased his grip.
“Is something the matter?”
So much, but he did not know how to voice it. He’d continued to lie to her, hiding the fact Julian was his nephew for one. The urge to tell her all gnawed deep inside. Confess his every sin, haul her against him and tell her to stay.
Permanently.
But the only thing that had changed was him. Inside. With her, he didn’t feel jaded and tired. She made him come to life. That didn’t mean their lives were any different, though. If they ever found out what had happened to Julian, he’d return to the country and she’d revel in being back in Society.
He saw her throat bob. What did she want from him? For him to fall to his knees and beg her to stay? Or to tell her yes, go. Now, preferably, before he gave in.
Chastity looked up at him from underneath the fan of her lashes. He saw her lips part, heard the intake of breath. The light from the lamps danced over her skin.
One last farewell could not hurt, could it?
“Yes,” he uttered.
“Something is the matter?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?” she asked on a murmur.
“I never took you in the library.”
She gasped.
He could no longer deny himself. He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her close, and breathed in the scent of her hair. He heard her breath hitch, felt her arch against him. Any remaining restraint shattered.
He kissed her, forcing her lips apart so he could lightly bite the bottom one, his tongue running along her teeth. The air between them thickened, and she was the only thing that mattered.
Valentine pushed her back until she was pressed against the table, and he forced her down, hovering over her as he kissed and gently bit the base of her neck. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and she ran her fingers through his hair, tantalizing him further.
He pulled her back up so she was sitting on the table, and reached under her skirts, stroking the area between her legs. She tilted her head back, a deep moan making blood rush to his arousal, hardening it. He kissed her neck, her jawline, then her eyelids and forehead. He wanted to kiss every part of her, claim every inch.
“I cannot wait,” he told her.
“Do not.” She gripped his arms, digging her short nails into them.
As he kissed her, he pulled down his trousers and pushed up her dress, placing the head of his cock between her legs and stiffening as he entered her. She adjusted her position, lifting to sitting on the table before moving rhythmically against him, one leg wrapped around his waist while the other propped on the chair, keeping her open wide for him.
He pulled her tightly to him, holding on as if his life depended on it while they moved together, perfectly in sync. Their eyes locked, and for a long, intimate moment, held as he thrust himself deeper inside her. The table rocked beneath them with his lunges and a book slid off the edge, thudding to the floor. He could scarcely care. Not when he had this wild, wonderful woman in his arms.
She suddenly gasped and tightened her grip on his shoulders, her brows creasing, her mouth gaping open as she tried to quietly experience her peak.
Seeing her in the throes of passion, he let himself go, growling as he pounded hard into her. He moved faster with hard, quick thrusts, and Chastity gasped out his name as another orgasm took over.
Jaw clenched, he pushed hard into her a few more times before spilling on the inside of her thigh, the sensations so strong he trembled from head to toe. She smoothed her hands up and down his arms. He met her gaze once the pleasure had ebbed.
They both knew it—this was it, their sordid affair was over.
But he could no longer imagine a life without Chastity in it.
Chapter Twenty
“This is a terrible idea.” Eleanor gnawed on the end of the nail while remaining perched on the edge of the sofa. “Maybe we should cease this investigation. It has led nowhere.”
Daylight streamed in from the large window, framing her in a perfect silhouette. Today, her hair had been tied neatly though her gown bore streaks of oil from whatever she had been tinkering with. Chastity concluded that at least her sister was feeling more herself.
Demeter nodded. “I do think this might be an even worse idea than disguising yourself as a maid.” She rose from the seat next to Chastity and stopped in front of Aunt Sarah, who fussed with the thick cloak currently swirled around her shoulders and pinned with an elegant silver broach. Chosen deliberately apparently because it was not jeweled and would not draw attention.
Chastity shook her head to herself. Aunt Sarah would draw attention no matter what she wore. However, she needed someone to come with her to The Eight Bells and she had little desire to take her sisters into such a place.
Besides, her aunt reveled in a chance to be mysterious.
“Will you not be hot in that, Aunt Sarah?” Chastity asked.
She shook her head vigorously. “It is quite thin. Look.” She did a twirl, swishing the cape dramatically.
“Your presence is definitely going to be noted,” Demeter said, sharing a look with Chastity while she straightened the edges of Aunt Sarah’s cloak. “Could you not ask the earl to go?”
“We can do this ourselves.” Chastity lifted her chin.
Let her sisters think this was about pride rather than anything else. Like the fact she feared seeing him again lest she fall straight into his arms or admit to the throbbing ache being apart fro
m him had created.
It was for the best, though. Any longer in his household and who knew what might happen? Well, nothing really would have happened, of course. She wasn’t so silly that she would do something as ridiculous as fall for the man.
However, being away from him was for the best. She had the time to dig deeper into this investigation without having to defer to Mrs. Cooke and with Charlotte on her side, she still had an ear in the house.
No. It was better they do this alone.
“We will be in there but a moment. I wish to speak to this woman who frequents there. I believe she was a, uh, in charge of Daisy Miller’s activities and will know who her…friends were.”
Eleanor rolled her eyes. “We are grown women, Chastity,” she reminded her. “We know what a madam is.”
“Do not remind me that my little sisters are grown.” She smiled. “I would rather not think on it.”
“And I am grown enough to weather this ongoing gossip.” Eleanor rose and put a hand to Chastity’s arm. “They will tire of it eventually though I am so sorry they brought John into this.”
A chill wrapped about her, like a bitter wind eating through her garments. She did not wish to think on her husband, nor the asinine drawings created about her relationship with him.
“It does not matter.” She straightened her shoulders and fixed Eleanor with a determined look. “We will find out who really did this and then those who have been gossiping about you shall look the fools indeed and shall be forced to grovel at your feet. No one messes with the Fallon girls.”
Eleanor gave a begrudging smile. “I know.”
“Shall we?” Chastity asked Aunt Sarah. “We shall not be long,” she assured her sisters. “This woman was there at this time the other week so I am certain we shall find her again.”
Grateful she had not been wrong, Chastity was horribly aware of the eyes upon them when she approached Annie. Still in her corner, still tapping her stick, it was as though she had not moved.
She ran her gaze over Chastity, her eyes narrowing. “You do not belong here this time.”
Chastity glanced down at her relatively simple and modest gown. She did indeed look more like a lady than a mistress but unlike her aunt, she did not see the value in dressing up today.
“This is my aunt—Mrs. Sarah Knighton. We were hoping to talk to you about Daisy Miller.”
“Now why would you still be interested in that poor wretch and why would you bring your aunt along to such a place?”
“Protection,” Chastity answered simply.
“I have an excellent right hook,” Aunt Sarah told the woman.
She eyed Aunt Sarah for a few moments then grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. “I bet you do.” She jerked her head toward a nearby table, where three men sat, slowly sipping their ales in silent camaraderie. “Sit and tell me why fine ladies want to know about Daisy.”
Chastity scowled at the full table until Annie waved her stick at the men and they fled to another table like birds scattering at the sight of her. Once seated, the woman rested her cane across her lap and propped her elbows upon the table.
Chastity explained everything. She had a suspicion this woman would appreciate the honesty. Once she’d finished her story, the woman nodded a few times and remained quiet.
“We think one of Daisy’s patrons could be the killer,” Chastity added.
“As I said before, it would not surprise me but a woman like Daisy cannot expect justice.”
“We should like to give it to her,” Aunt Sarah said. “And we are in a better position to do so.”
“I don’t want no trouble here.” Annie gestured about the inn. “These girls still need to earn and far better we control our own fates than have it in the hands of a man.”
“It will not come back upon you, I swear it,” Chastity assured her.
“Charles Reynolds was his name. Obsessed with her he was. He’d been seeing her for some years too.” Annie shrugged. “If it was any of them, I’d say it was him. You know the type…rich, arrogant, thinking they can’t do wrong.”
Chastity shared a look with her aunt. They all knew Mr. Reynolds. Wealthy and good-looking, he was a staple at many events and even with the Season at an end, he’d be in attendance at London events rather than being in the country. Chastity had spoken with him on many an occasion, and he’d been pleasant and respectful, though they certainly were not friends or even knew much of each other.
“We should speak with him.”
Annie cackled before Aunt Sarah could respond. “You think he will speak to you of his liking for whores?” She gestured to Chastity. “Sweeting, I can smell the privilege coming off you. There is no chance a man shall speak to you of such matters.”
Grimacing, Chastity met her aunt’s knowing gaze. As much as she did not wish to admit it, they needed the help of a man. And, of course, there was only one man they could ask.
∞∞∞
Wonderful.
He had done untold lengths of the pond and now he was hallucinating.
Valentine stroked fiercely toward the stone edge, put a hand to the cool, rough surface, and gulped down deep breaths. His lungs burned, his limbs had turned to blancmange, and his skin prickled from the fierce, biting cold of the water.
None of it worked. Even scrubbing a hand over his face and closing his eyes briefly would not remove the image of her or the gnawing tension in his gut as though he was being eaten alive from the inside out.
Guilt was part of it. Guilt that he had not found out what had happened to Julian.
And guilt about something else. Something he could not put a finger upon. Something to do with the woman currently ducked behind a bush.
He shoved out of the water in one push, snatched the towel, then rose to his feet, and scowled.
Wait. Surely if he had conjured Chastity with his imagination, he would have done a better job. She certainly would not be ducking behind a bush or frozen, with a wide-eyed look upon her. If he was honest, she’d most likely be naked and crawling all over him.
Which meant he was not hallucinating at all. He slung the towel swiftly about his hips, snatched up his shirt, and drew that over his still damp chest. Everyone knew not to come near the pond when he swam. Apart from Chastity, it seemed. Her cheeks were rosy, and her gaze skipped about the gardens.
Well, damn it, if she was going to sneak about his property again, she deserved to be embarrassed. And, bloody hell, it wasn’t like she had not seen every part of him. Intimately.
It was different now, he supposed. It was over. At least, he thought so. They had never really discussed it, but they seemed to have both assumed whatever it was between them was done. After all, they had said it would only happen whilst she was working for him.
Now he could not fathom quite why they had come to that agreement.
Striding over, he glanced about the gardens, which remained blessedly clear and would do so until he returned to the house. Unlike Chastity, none of his servants wished for an eyeful of their master entirely naked.
“How did you get in here?” he demanded. A silly question really. He already saw how capable Chastity was at all manner of surreptitious behavior.
Her gaze trailed down his body, her mouth slightly ajar.
“Chastity?” he prompted.
“Uh.” Her throat bobbed and her grip tightened so hard on one of the branches that it snapped.
Her cheeks were ruddy but the rest of her skin was pale—almost gray. Something was wrong surely?
“What’s happened?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” she replied hastily. “At least not yet.” She ducked lower behind the bush when a bird ruffled its feathers in a nearby tree.
He took her arm and led her toward the stone temple. Tucked against a cluster of carefully placed trees and bushes, the Temple of Athena—erected by his grandfather—offered a place to take tea, shelter from the weather, or as it happened, hide from view of the house.
He led
her up the few steps and into the shady confines of the small stone building. “I cannot have a conversation with you like this,” he explained, releasing her arm.
“Charlotte helped me get in.” She clutched a broken piece of twig and moved it from hand to hand.
“But of course.”
Her ability to make friends with the servants should not have surprised him. Something about her charmed people. He’d even overheard some of the servants saying they missed her, for goodness sakes. He did not think he had charmed a single person in his life—or at the very least his adult life. Who he had charmed when he was younger, he could not say, but he’d had few troubles with women back then.
Another reason for him to shove her from his mind really. They were so different.
Their appearances offered a similar reminder. Here he was, in a damp shirt and towel, his feet bare, his hair wet and out of control and his beard so long it had started to itch.
Chastity, despite being smuggled in and hiding behind bushes, remained polished. He pressed his lips into a smirk. Every inch the lady despite her antics. Her cool blue gown, finished with delicate points of lace and a fichu so wispy it might not exist made her appear younger than her thirty years. She reminded him of a debutante, all innocence and hope. Certainly not the sort of woman who should be spending time with a half-naked, jaded liar of a man.
“And why exactly are you here?” he asked when a breeze swished in between the pillars of the building, reminding him of his damp state.
“I could not think of any other way to see you.” She snapped the twig in half and tossed it to the ground. “You never leave.”
“Not if I can help it.”
“And I could not very well call on you as someone would surely recognize me.”
“Well, you are here now. So what is it you need? Have you discovered something else?”
She bit down on her bottom lip, leaving it slightly red and plump. “You will not like it.”
“Like what you have discovered?”
“Any of it.” Chastity waved a hand vaguely then lifted her chin. “I went to the inn to speak with that lady from before—the one with the cane?”
Temptations of a Duke's Daughter (The Duchess's Investigative Society Book 2) Page 16