Maiden Lane

by Lynne Connolly

  He hugged a watery chuckle against my hair. “I’ll make sure you don’t. I can’t do this without you, you know that, don’t you?”

  I backed up, drawing him with me. “If you hadn’t come to me, I’d have come to you.”

  He lifted his head and smoothed back a strand of my wayward hair. “What a pair we are.” He smiled, the warmth in his eyes something few others ever saw. He kissed my forehead, his lips soft against my skin, then the tip of my nose, then my mouth. A gentle kiss of love that changed into something else when I opened my mouth and sucked his tongue in, stroking it with mine in an invitation that he knew, but seemed fresh every time.

  Ribbons whispered undone and then the soft click of hooks as they slid free from the eyes, all helped by Richard’s gentle hands. I don’t even know if he realised he was doing it, but I didn’t intend to stop him. I let my stomacher fall between our bodies and land on the floor. My fichu fell away, giving him access to my breasts, but he slid his hands around my waist, under my gown, and drew me closer. I wore the small panniers I preferred, the ones I was helping back into fashion, but my skirt still rose a little at the back when he crushed me close to his body and brought his head down to kiss me again.

  Not a gentle kiss this time, but one fuelled by passion and need. I returned it, opening my mouth for him, tasting him, that wonderful flavour that was his alone, one I craved and one he gave to me without measure. His hands moved up my back, and because I wore my soft leather stays, I felt his touch through them. When he touched my bare back, above my stays, I shivered and he groaned into our kiss.

  His hands tightened on me then relaxed completely, and he lifted his head. “I only meant to apologize. You frightened me, my love, and the fault lay with me, not with you.”

  “No.” I cupped his jaw, the prickle of his stubble tickling my hand with delicious reminder of his masculinity. “I was at fault. I put our child at risk as well as myself. I should have known better.”

  From the flash of surprise in his eyes, I realised he’d temporarily forgotten the child. His intensity on me I found flattering but a little daunting. When he said, “I’m yours,” he meant it to its full extent. He said it now, gazing into my eyes, his sincerity transparent. His sapphire eyes with a fine ring of darker blue around the edge fascinated me. The most eloquent eyes I’d ever seen. “So you need to rest now.” His low purr suggested anything but rest. He took my hand and led me to the bed, his hand firm in mine, his eyes burning. His chest heaved when he took a couple of deep breaths.

  I waited by the side of the bed. “Rest with me.”

  “I fear you won’t get much peace.” This was as hard for him to leave me as it had ever been. I revelled in it and knew exactly what he was going through because it was the same for me. I could cope, but together we became one, whole. Complete.

  “I will, eventually.”

  I saw the moment he gave in, the soft smile and the way he drew me back to him. “You’re a witch. A seductive, wicked witch. You have me completely under your command, in—your—spell.” He kissed me in between each word and ended with a luscious kiss on my lips, but he drew away before I could hold him tight and move in. “Turn around.”

  He slid my gown off my shoulders. I heard the rustle when he threw it aside. It fell to the floor. He loosened the drawstring of my petticoat with a deft twist and pull, and he dragged it open so I could step out of it, and then he tugged the tape of my panniers free so they dropped away too. That went the same way as the gown. He dragged me against him, and I realised he’d shed his coat when I saw his arms, covered only with fine linen, curl around my waist. He unhooked my stays at the front, taking his time to caress my skin, warm under my shift. I leaned against him and he held me close, slid his hands up my body to cover my breasts, now barely shrouded in delicate lawn. He cupped them, lifted them and stroked his thumbs across the nipples. They hardened at his touch, sensitive already from my pregnancy, now achingly needy. I gave him a little moan, telling him what he did to me.

  “I’m never so happy as when I’m making love to you. I didn’t know what happiness was before you taught me.”

  He nuzzled my neck, sending shivers through me. “When we culminate our love together, that’s our place, Rose. And I fear you’ve made me crave it so much I can’t do without it for long.”

  “You’ll have to, soon.”

  He kissed the point where my pulse throbbed on my throat, flicking his tongue out to touch it, caress the delicate spot. “I know. All the more reason to store it up now. I’ll miss making love with you very much, you know that, but more than my satisfaction I want you whole, and happy, and alive.”

  “And I you. Never forget that.”

  He sucked and released, leaving me gasping for more, but he soothed the spot with his mouth. “If I do that any more, you’ll be wearing velvet bands for a week to cover the mark.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You will.” He released my breasts to smooth his hands down my body, heating me, making me aware of my own curves, the way my body’s lush swells excited him. He reached my knees and then came back up, bringing my shift with him. I lifted my arms so he could pull the garment off over my head, leaving me in my shoes and stockings and nothing else. He spread his hands over the small of my back, his soft sigh telling me he was looking at me.

  Immediately, my body heated, preparing itself for him. At his gentle urging, I turned around and let him feast his eyes on the front of my body. “So lovely,” he said. “To know you so well is to marvel at every change in your body. Even when you’re not enceinte, every day brings a subtle change.”

  I laughed. “You mean I’m getting older every day.”

  He raised his regard to my face. He wasn’t smiling. “Nearer to goddess.” A chill swept through me at his words. I couldn’t do that for him. But then the sun broke through and he smiled. “I thought that would unnerve you. Come here, wife, lover, beloved, mi adorata, all those things, but not goddess. I wouldn’t burden you with that.”

  I sighed on a smile and went into his arms, where everything was good and nothing distressing ever happened.

  He helped me up on to the high bed and took off my shoes and stockings for me before stripping his clothes off faster than he’d taken off a single one of my garments. I lay on the bed, my legs a little apart so he could continue his visual feast if he wished—and he wished. His eyes devoured me, swallowed me up. And then, as naked as me, he climbed up and straddled my body, his erection a strong column jutting from his body, the tip wet with his essence. I licked my lips and he groaned low in his throat, a sound that never failed to push my arousal up even more.

  “Worth adoring,” he said, his mouth quirking up on one side in a smile that reminded me that he wasn’t being entirely serious. Perhaps he should have been a poet and written one of those mock-epic pieces that Pope was so fond of. He cupped his hands gently over the mound of my stomach. The baby responded to his touch. I felt a swirl and he gasped. “Some men still believe women are the inferior sex. I think they’re afraid of this, what you can do. It’s the ultimate power.”

  He glanced up and must have seen the tears that misted my eyes. I loved him so much I couldn’t bear it sometimes. The light from the windows gilded his short, tousled curls, ruffled into disarray when he’d taken off his wig and thrown it on to my dressing table, the faint sheen of his chest, caused by the light sprinkling of golden hair, and his manhood, standing proudly—it all looked perfect. I’d heard men compared to marble statues, but I couldn’t think of anything less like Richard. He was so alive, so strong, conveying all the frailties and strengths men had, that I couldn’t imagine him immortalised in stone. I’d seen him in paint, of course, as I’d seen myself, but that seemed a representation of a point in time. Or several. Our wedding portraits currently adorned the Long Gallery at Eyton, if it could be called adorned. I’d rather have a painting as he was now, on his knees, naked, gazing down at my body, his hands moving gently over me, the
warmth sending currents to my core.

  I lifted my hands and gripped his forearms, guiding his hands to either side of my body, forcing him down, closer to me. And I smiled up at him. “I love you. Join with me, Richard, my husband, my love. Let’s celebrate what we have. Life and each other.”

  His shaft touched the edge of my sex and the connection sent shivers of awareness through me. “Your wish is ever my command, my lady, my mistress, my wife.” With the last word, the broad head of his erection slid down my wet crease, so wet I was aware of dampening the sheets underneath me.

  He pushed gently, then a little harder, and he lodged inside me, not stopping until he filled me up. Only then did I feel complete. With my beloved husband deep in my body, moving, gently at first, watching me as he often did, to gauge my response or to enjoy it.

  Although I was becoming better at donning a mask on social occasions, and he was a master of it, we never did it here in our bed. We never had, and we’d made love for the first time remarkably quickly after we’d first met.

  “I seduced you that first time,” I whispered, enjoying the sensations coursing through me, moving my body in response to his. I let my legs fall open and lifted my feet to curl my legs over his thighs, hold him there.

  “I know you did.” He kissed my cheek, my throat and dropped a gentle kiss on my mouth. “You’ve never stopped since. Not once.”

  I laughed and arched up to him when he reached a particularly sensitive spot and grazed it with every stroke. “Oh, Richard, that’s right, that’s perfect!”

  He bent his head to kiss me and continued that relentless thrusting, never-ending. I returned his kiss, cupped the back of his head and threaded my fingers into his hair. Curving my hand around his skull, I marvelled that it contained such a brilliant mind, and such a generous one, before he stopped any rational thought I might have had by increasing his thrusts and driving me higher.

  I arched my back, cried his name and felt that perfect moment of stillness before the world erupted around me. Brilliant colours flashed around us, and I lost all sense of myself, passing into a different world, which I shared with one other person only.

  The sudden cessation of movement and the way his face froze told me he’d reached his perfect moment. Hot jets inside my body followed by shudders gave me the surrender my body yearned for, and to my shock, his orgasm started another in me, and we came together, the apogee we always strived for and occasionally achieved.

  I KEPT A LARGE POCKET watch in a stand on my night table, and when I woke from a light, refreshing doze, I could glance over and check the time. Half past three. Past time to dress for dinner, but I didn’t think we’d be going out or even going far. We should appear at various places but they could do without us. I lay on my back and Richard on his side with his arm around my waist and his head nestling against my shoulder, his breath hot on my skin. The clock, a repeater, chimed the half hour. It didn’t disturb me and Richard could sleep through anything, though he’d wake like a cat at an unusual sound or occurrence. I liked the chimes. It meant I could tell the time in the dark, and during the last part of my previous pregnancy, I hadn’t slept well.

  We’d enjoyed afternoons together since our honeymoon, when we’d adopted the habit of taking what the Spanish called a siesta. My afternoon rest, approved by my physician, was in reality an excuse at this stage in my pregnancy. I felt robustly healthy at this time, and I don’t think I needed the rest. But I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

  When I turned my head, I saw him watching me, his blue eyes full of soft humour. “We’ll have dinner here, in your sitting room, shall we?”

  “Probably best,” I agreed.

  He kissed my shoulder and smiled. “You make everything better.”

  I laughed. “If only I could.”

  The events of earlier in the day flooded through me in an instant and I saw that poor man, laid out, choking. “How is he?”

  Richard immediately discerned my meaning. “Elijah Jones? He’s fine. A little weak, and certainly disorientated, but I have him safe. Not so Norris, one of the men Alicia set to guard him.” His mouth settled in a grim line. “Another person whose death we can lay at Julia Drury’s door.”

  “You think she did it?”

  “I know it. She probably heard we had him and decided to eliminate him. She doesn’t care who else she kills, or what havoc she causes as long as she gets her way.”

  I sighed in relief. At last he understood. He’d once refused to believe that a woman could be completely devoid of feelings, unable to understand how Julia could so ruthlessly pursue her own affairs. Blaming much of her misdemeanours on Steven had worked for a while, but no more, it seemed. Steven had behaved spinelessly, but now his conscience had turned. “Do you have our witness and his guard safe?”

  “Yes I do. In a place she won’t find them. I’ve given orders to find anyone Julia has a grudge against and warn them or offer to help them. She has to go. We have to do something to stop her.”

  A chill invaded my heart. Yes, I knew that. “We can lay information against her?” I asked, heavyhearted.

  “If we can persuade Drury to withdraw his alibi. Remember, he said he was with her that night. If he sticks to that story in court, he can condemn the other witness and challenge him, one man’s word against another.” He lifted up on to one elbow and gazed down into my face. “I need him to withdraw that alibi. We’re collecting witnesses to the fire, and I’m hopeful of catching the man who set it. She surely won’t try to kill that one.”

  I caught my breath. “It’s what she does. Finds someone disposable and disposes of them.”

  He traced around my left nipple with his finger. It obligingly rose to his touch and a little of my interest in the conversation dissipated. “That’s why we have someone watching their house. If she leaves, they’ll follow. If anyone leaves, someone will follow. That man or woman will help us in our case.”

  “You won’t—”

  He bent and kissed me, touching his lips on mine softly, sweetly. “Not if I can help it. Julia Drury can’t continue. I thought Steven had more to do with it, but I’m satisfied that without her, he won’t.” He grimaced. “I can hardly believe that I’d contracted to marry such a person. I thought marrying a cold, hard woman meant that the philandering I intended to continue with after my marriage wouldn’t hurt her. She assured me it wouldn’t. We made a cold bargain, that she’d bear me two sons who were indisputably mine and then we’d leave each other alone.”

  “Instead you got me.”

  His solemn expression momentarily turned into a smile. “How lucky can a man get?” He kissed me again, but returned to his previous pose, leaning on his elbow. “I won’t let anything harm what we have. Not even the making of heirs. If this little one is a girl, I don’t want us to try again unless you’re perfectly well. I’ve seen women worn down with trying, marriages destroyed by the lack of an heir. We have an heir to the estate in my cousin and his child. It might not suit my mother, but I want you safe. I need you safe.”

  After an interval of soft caresses and love talk, I brought up the subject of Julia again. “I don’t want you to kill her or be responsible for her death.”

  He shook his head. “I can promise to do everything I can to avoid it. That’s why we’re collecting witnesses. We have Elijah Jones safe, in the house Freddy usually uses for his stable of mistresses, actually, a little house in Richmond. Jones is dressing as a servant and keeping indoors. The servants I’ve put in place there are actually his bodyguards. If we find the person who set the fire who can swear that Julia paid him or her, I’ll put them somewhere else, find a different house. To put all our assets under one roof doesn’t make sense.”

  “Expensive.”

  “Worth it. She’s killed more people than Jonathan Wild.”

  “An exaggeration, surely.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. We’re looking for Abel Jeffries’ widow too. I’m sure she’ll bear witness that Julia
Drury had her husband killed.”

  “So you want to bring her to justice?”

  He nodded. “It’s always my preference. Her death will hurt no one but her father, and that can’t be helped. If we don’t stop her, she’ll ruin him, so he’d suffer from that. Steven is spending more time with him. He can’t bear witness, she’s his wife, but he can keep out of the way while we build our case.”

  “What about Susan?”

  “I want to keep her out of it too. She needs a clean slate to marry her Sir Andrew.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  THE NEXT DAY BROUGHT us Susan, without Sir Andrew. Richard had come home to share a pot of tea and his news, which wasn’t a great deal, but he had hopes of tracking the fire-setter down before Julia did. We were preparing to go upstairs to dress for dinner when Patterson brought us the startling news that we had a visitor. Richard quirked a brow when I picked up the scrawled note and told him who it was.

  “We’d better see her.” He sighed. “Though I had meant to wear my new emerald green coat, but I need time to match it to a waistcoat and jewels.”

  So I laughed as Susan made her entrance. The expression on her face made my laughter fade into nothing. I’d never seen her so open, so vulnerable. Tearstains marked her cheeks and her red-rimmed eyes told that it was no sudden and swift burst of sobbing. She’d been crying for some time. Her pale face, free of paint or powder, appeared drained, and her eyes showed a lost openness that made my heart ache.

  “Susan, please, come and sit down.”

  She moved across the room as if walking on hot coals and sat on one of the two sofas our parlour contained. Richard occupied an armchair, although he’d risen at his daughter’s entrance. “Can I get you anything? Tea, brandy perhaps?”

  I daren’t ask what had brought this grief on to her, afraid it might be her brother’s death. She’d known him up to the age of fourteen, and then they’d separated, and he’d only reintroduced himself recently, but Richard and Gervase had spent twelve years apart and still had a bond nothing could break this side of death. I exchanged a telling glance with Richard. Should we tell her? I thought not. It would only make matters worse.