Punish Me With Roses - a Victorian Historical Romance

by Juliet Moore

  He had been speaking to her all day and could imagine her kind, seductive voice as though he could hear it right then. But he also heard her laborious intakes of breath. She was having a hard time breathing, just as he was. It was awe inspiring. Every sense he possessed had been gloriously satisfied...except for one.

  Even though they were only inches apart, they still hadn't touched.

  He didn't think she could inflame his desires any more, until she did. She moved.

  Closer.

  Their lips met with the spark of fireworks. He knew he couldn't restrain himself any longer. While he was hot and calm before, now he was burning with energy. He kissed her with far more strength than gentleness. She responded just the way he'd wanted her to, with little gasps of pleasure and no misplaced arms to bar his progress. He moved on.

  The longer he kissed her--and it hadn't been very long at all--the more reason he lost. This wasn't an artful seduction. Or perhaps it was.

  He was being seduced.

  She wriggled beside him and he pulled her onto his lap. He opened his eyes and glanced at her through heavy lids. She opened hers as well and gifted him with a look of scorching surrender. Good lord, if she didn't move her skirts out of the way, he felt he would die.

  He moved his hands down her back and gripped the sides of her waist with hungry fingers. He imagined it bare beneath his touch, silky smooth and prime for his mouth. His breeches became even tighter then. He had to wonder if busting one's breeches was a faux pas.

  Right then, it was a serious concern.

  Chapter 4

  She had never felt so anxious in her life.

  She was kissing Alex, responding from instinct more than anything else and loving it. His lips felt so soft and so right pressed against her own. Her entire body was hot, burning for him.

  But she also felt a kind of frustration.

  A wonderfully pleasant feeling had settled over her body, and while it felt good, it wasn't complete. She thought there was something missing. She needed him to keep kissing her or she would scream. She wanted more of him, but she didn't know what else he could give her. Victoria knew what sex was, but Georgia, the only adult who would talk to her about such things, had told her that it was a sinful thing to do if one wasn't married. So that couldn't possibly be what she desired, could it?

  There was also a niggling fear at the back of her mind. It was at war with her pleasure, trying to tear her away from the absolute bliss that she was experiencing. What had they been talking about before he'd kissed her?

  She almost couldn't believe what was happening to her. It was no wonder that she'd forgotten. She felt so warm, so hot that she wanted to take off her dress and feel his rough clothing against her bare skin. What a naughty thought!

  But he was so desirable...

  What had she forgotten? She asked herself the question over and over again but each time she came close to remembering, he'd surprise her with the movement of his tongue or the shifting of his hands. Then she'd be lost in passion once again. It was simply too much for one woman to handle.

  His lips left her mouth then and she opened her eyes. His face was flushed and his gaze piercing. Tremors went through her body at the prompting of his aroused perusal. He looked her up and down, and no indication that he was taking anything more than a breather.

  If he had wanted to stop, she didn't think she'd be able to restrain herself from begging him to continue.

  "Oh, Alex..."

  "Don't speak, Victoria," he whispered, caressing her cheek with the edge of his hand. "You don't need to say anything."

  And then, in the middle of her tumultuous reverie, she remembered. I've made a huge mistake, she thought, suddenly wishing that her mind had remained as blank as an old maid's dance card. She had revealed something from her all too recent past.

  He knew her name was Victoria Clavering!

  The deaths at Blackmoore would likely be in the papers and what if her name was mentioned? He would know that the charming girl he'd seduced in her uncle's drawing room was really an experienced murderess who'd killed two men.

  What if he too was realizing what she'd said at that very moment?

  She reached around him, gripped his back, and pulled her to him. This time, she kissed him. But she wasn't leading for long. It wasn't difficult to inflame his desire again, if ever it had died down. What she knew for sure was that she couldn't allow it to, because then he'd have time to think. Time to remember.

  Even through her haze of ardor, she heard a sound in the foyer. Reflexively, she jumped away from Alex, almost falling onto the floor in her haste. They looked toward the door in sync and saw John Fyn push it open with his foot.

  His arms laden with fish, he stared and said, "I thought I heard someone."

  Her breathing still shallow, she replied, "We were having tea."

  "Right." He turned around. "I'd better get this fish cleaned and salted." Then he left.

  "I'm sorry, Victoria," Alex said as he stood, looking in the direction her uncle had went. "I think it's time that I leave."

  Although that was the last thing she wanted, she had too much pride to argue. Besides, she told herself, he was probably right. Her uncle hadn't actually seen anything, but he wasn't born yesterday. "I'm sure that would be best."

  He nodded, then left.

  She was left alone with her thoughts, with her questions, and with her fears.

  Why had Alex asked her so many questions? She didn't want to think she had anything to fear from him, but that had always been a possibility. Since the first night, especially on that night, she'd been careful about what she'd say. She didn't like taking chances with her safety, even though it seemed highly unlikely that Alex could intend to harm her. She had to think about it logically. If he knew anything about what had happened at Blackmoore, would he really be so keen to kiss her?

  She didn't think so. She also didn't think that he'd want to spend time with her. If he knew and wanted to turn her in, he would have done it already. If he knew and didn't care, well...that wasn't a possibility.

  Remembering what he'd said earlier about his interest in her brought a smile to her face. Surely, he couldn't know anything or that wouldn't be true. But she also feared that he'd teased her and joked about why he was so curious about her past. Still, if that were true, would he have kissed her?

  Right or wrong, the only thing she was sure of was that Alexander could never care for her if he knew what she'd done and she could never relax with that secret hanging between them.

  Whichever way one looked at it, she was damned.

  * * *

  All Victoria knew, she'd learned at Henley House.

  The stories she'd told Alex were all true, but with an important difference. Her parents had been alive and well when she'd visited Mrs. Georgia Henley. In fact, they'd stayed there countless times and it had always been...interesting. Georgia had been the only one who would talk to her about anything. Some things had been frightening, like the frank talks on sex, but usually those things were also the most fascinating. And so it was her mother's best friend who prepared Victoria for her experience with Alex...even though she hadn't known it at the time.

  It was Mrs. Georgia Henley who taught her that when a man troubled and confused you, there was only one thing to do. Avoid him.

  Men had a way of confusing you even more--she'd said--when one is unsure of something. Better to wait until it's all been figured out before seeing him again, no matter how difficult. And it would be difficult.

  Alex came back the very next day, but she told the maid to tell him she was ill and not accepting callers. He went away dejected, or so she thought, looking down at him from an upstairs window.

  She went to the next room to get a better look, then was too distracted by the room she'd entered to continue her spying.

  The room she was in had been Fiona Fyn's room and it was as feminine and personal as the day she'd left it. Personal items, such as perfume, powder, and g
loves, rested on the dresser. Impetuously, she opened the wardrobe and saw that it was full of dresses fashionable in the height of the Regency period. Above the fireplace hung an unfinished watercolor of Fiona.

  She wanted to know something about the aunt she'd never gotten a chance to meet. It wasn't right to know nothing about her. She was family, after all.

  She left the room and a little later, when she was sure Alex must be gone, decided to venture from her uncle's house. What harm could it do? He'd even suggested it to her the night before. Or maybe that was only so she wouldn't feel the need for Alex's company, or any other single male in the area. Although he hadn't actually caught them kissing, he'd seen enough.

  But after she left the house, she didn't know where to go. She didn't want to ask the surly maid and her uncle was already at work. So finally, she just picked a direction and started walking. She hoped she was headed towards the main part of town, but she really couldn't remember anything about that first night.

  She was tempted to use her exploratory walk as an excuse to think about Alex, but forced herself not to. Maybe a new perspective on her surroundings would enable her to understand him better. She laughed at loud at the thought.

  She walked past the perfectly trimmed hedgerows and meandering patches of wild primroses. They were all beautiful, heavenly scented, and so different from what she was used to. Somehow it made her feel out of place. It was strange that even something of beauty could make her feel like the outsider. But that was her life. She'd done something terrible; she'd run away from it, and now she had to live with herself, surrounded by people she hardly knew.

  Continuing her trek, she--at long last--came upon a small lake. It was at the edge of a copse of trees. She was struck with the urge to sit down and spared only a small thought for the old dress she wore. She made herself comfortable on the grass.

  She hadn't been seated long when she heard the tinkling laughter of a young child. Was there a cottage nearby? Victoria looked toward the sound and saw nothing. She shivered, wondering what kind of spirits might haunt lonely copses and still waters. Then she heard it again and felt sure that the joyful intruder was very much alive.

  Thinking that she should have heard an adult's voice as well, she didn't feel comfortable ignoring it. She would take a look...just to be safe. She stood up and entered the copse.

  She was soon glad she did. Chasing a butterfly was a little boy who couldn't have been more than two years old. There was no one else to be seen.

  "Hello," she said, waiting to be noticed.

  The child had light brown hair and was dressed well. Where was his nanny? She wondered. He had probably escaped her somehow, caught up in his own world. He still hadn't noticed her and was running around in random circles.

  She moved closer. "Where is your nanny?"

  Finally, she got his attention and he proceeded to behave like any other boy of his age. He stared at her with wide eyes and a bemused expression.

  There was only one thing to do. "Why don't we find your nanny?" She offered her hand, but he only stared.

  He looked around. "Mommy?"

  Her heart broke. "We can go see mommy, if you like."

  The little boy started to cry and plunged to the ground.

  Victoria wished she'd had more experience with children, but she could only work with what she had. She approached him cautiously, thankful that he didn't bolt. She wished he would stop crying. "Let's go see Mommy," she said and grabbed for his hand. He pulled his chubby fingers from her grasp and continued to sob.

  "Okay, we'll have to do this the difficult way." She picked him up, straining at his surprising weight, and balanced him on her hip. He struggled a little bit, but he actually cried less. It was something.

  She walked deeper into the copse, knowing that if the boy hadn't come from her direction, he must have come from the opposite. Desperately hoping she would find someone soon before her arms gave out, she gloried in the sound of a woman's voice.

  "I don't care what other important things you have to do; this is my son we're talking about! I've been looking for a half-hour and I just can't--" the woman finished with a sob, muffling her companion's response to Victoria's ears.

  The little boy squirmed in her arms, trying to move in the direction of the voice, and whimpered, "Mommy."

  "I told you we'd find her."

  The cottage came into view, as did the frantic mother. She saw the man she must have been arguing with, but their conversation had become less heated. Victoria let go and the boy ran to his mother.

  It was a joyous reunion. She approached slowly, giving the woman space to cry and rejoice.

  The man tipped his hat. "I guess you won't be needing me after all." He looked at Victoria. "Thank you for finding Mary's boy and saving me the trouble."

  Mary sneered at him and didn't seem sad to see him go. After he'd left, she approached Victoria. "I don't know how I can thank you."

  "There's no need. I found him by the lake and I wondered where his nanny was."

  "He doesn't have one." She gripped her son's hand tightly, smiling down at him as she spoke. "I don't know if I could trust anyone else to watch him. He's quite a handful."

  She smiled, admiring Mary's friendly demeanor.

  "As you've probably assumed, I'm Mary. This is my son, Jack."

  She held out her hand. "Victoria Fyn."

  "You must come inside for tea," she said, looking back at the cottage. "It's the least I can do."

  "Oh, that isn't necessary."

  She shook her head vigorously, strands of her brown hair slipped from her topknot as she replied, "Perhaps I phrased the invitation poorly. I would love to have the company."

  "Then I accept."

  "Wonderful!" Still holding Jack's hand, she led the way toward her humble dwelling. "It's nice to have a little adult conversation every once in a while."

  "Your husband, he's away a lot?"

  "I'm not married." She stopped walking then and looked down at her son. "I would understand if you'd like to postpone that conversation." Her soulful eyes revealed much more than her words could ever say.

  "Why would I? I'm here now." She smiled.

  Mary laughed. "How right you are! Then let's get inside and have some tea."

  Victoria followed, knowing that she'd made at least one friend in such a strange place.

  * * *

  The burning desire to see Victoria was undeniable, no matter how hard he tried.

  Alexander Trevelyn wasn't a man used to convincing himself of untruths, but he'd lately found himself doing it more and more. How many times had he told himself that he just wanted to get information out of Victoria and that he would do whatever it took to get it? He discovered what a falsehood that was yesterday afternoon. Alex wanted more than a confession from Victoria...a lot more.

  In fact, part of him wanted her to confess to some attraction to him more than confess to murder. But then, perhaps that made sense. His long-term plans were not without budding conflicts. He was truly starting to doubt that Victoria--his main and only suspect--had done anything.

  He was sitting on the coast, away from the shipyard and docks, but close enough to hear the sailor's excited clamor. As he sat there, he asked himself what he really knew about what had happened at Blackmoore. He knew that Victoria had motive and anger enough to do it, if Mark's letters were to be believed. He also knew that she'd left her home very soon after it had happened: a guilty action if he'd ever heard one. Then again, maybe she'd just wanted to get away from a house of misery. That would also be understandable.

  But an innocent woman wouldn't pretend to have never been there.

  She had to be quite skillful, if not truly inculpable. After all, she had him so that he forgot his plans every time he was near her. It would be acceptable if he was distracted by her potent sexuality, but he had to admit that it wasn't that. He'd just as soon hug her tense body as touch her glowing skin.

  He went back into the trees to retr
ieve his horse. So far it seemed that Alexander hadn't been doing anything right. All he needed then was for someone to reveal his scheme to Victoria. He'd started to think he should have left the entire business to Michael. His brother was extremely insensitive and a pretty face had never been enough to change his plans. Of course, he usually managed to get the girl along with accomplishing his goals. Alexander didn't like that idea in the least.

  He rode back quickly. When he arrived his father was waiting for him in the study. "Any progress with the girl?"

  "I'm taking things slowly."

  "A little too slowly for my taste."

  Alexander threw his hat onto the ottoman. "She's a smart woman. I won't get anywhere if she catches on to my motives."

  His father made a disgusted sound in the bottom of his throat. "Surely you can be secretive, but at a considerably faster pace." He shook his head, his mustache bobbing. "I can't believe she's been living it up at Fyn's place--not even touching the huge inheritance she got by killing Mark--and you only just thought to tell me about it."

  "I wouldn't say that she's living it up." Alex moved toward one of the tall, wax candles. "Have you seen the Fyn place? I wouldn't be surprised if they used rush lights. Actually, I've already smelled their tallow."

  "It doesn't matter how she's living," he sneered. "Mark doesn't have the pleasure of living anywhere, considering the fact that he's dead! I bet you she loves pretending that it's only place she can go. But with all that money she's got stashed away, she could do anything."

  "I don't see why it bothers you so much, Father."

  "We're talking about murder!"

  "It's not something your past is empty of."

  His face reddened, his white mustache becoming the only thing on his face that didn't appear to be pink. His eyes were as red as the rest of him. "Just do what you're supposed to, Alex! I won't be happy if you fail me."

  "But--"

  "Don't be a fool and fall for her charms!" It was obvious that he'd been drinking most of the morning away.

  "I've done nothing of the sort."