A Love For All Time

by Chloe Douglas

  Lettitia stared at her mother, seeing her as if for the first time—a fervorless spirit who had only the memory of love to sustain her.

  Will that be me thirty years hence? Regretting the day that I dutifully married Lord Wortham instead of the man I truly love?

  “What would you do if—” Lettitia hesitated, uncertain how to pose the question—“if I decided to run away with Mister Giovanni?”

  Her mother’s lips curved in a beaming smile. “I would send you on your way with all my love. And the sincerest wish for a long and happy life.”

  “Thank you, Mother… for everything.” Suddenly recalling something that Mick had told her in the oast house, she said, “I must go now and grab the bull by the horns.” Leaning forward, Lettitia warmly kissed her mother on the cheek before taking her leave.

  Hurriedly wending her way through the lush foliage and exotic blooms, Lettitia was practically sprinting by the time she entered the main house. Espying the butler, Jeffries, she charged toward him.

  “Have you seen Mister Giovanni?”

  “The gentleman is in the billiard room,” he informed her.

  Taking exception to his disdainful emphasis on the word “gentleman,” Lettitia said, “I do not like your tone, Jeffries. Particularly since the gentleman in question is soon to become my wedded spouse.” At least if I have any say in the matter.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Merryweather.” For the first time in twenty years, the reserved butler appeared nonplussed. “Allow me to, er, offer my congratulations.”

  “Most kind, Jeffries,” she replied cheekily. “Now, if you will excuse me.”

  Immodestly lifting her skirts, Lettitia dashed down the hall toward the billiard room.

  A few moments later, noticeably out of breath, she peeked inside the dark-paneled room, nervous as a young school girl. To her relief, Mick was the room’s sole occupant.

  Her mind made up, she purposefully stepped across the threshold, locking the door behind her. If Mick noticed her entrance, he gave no indication of it. Billiard stick in hand, his attention was focused on taking a shot.

  Undeterred, Lettitia approached and brazenly sidled next to him as he leaned over the baize-covered table.

  “Is there something you want?” he growled out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Yes… you.”

  Still bent over the table, Mick craned his neck to peer at her. “What does that mean?”

  Because this was not the time to mince words, Lettitia said matter-of-factly, “It means that I’ve had a change of heart.”

  * * *

  Mick slowly straightened. Afraid that his knees might actually buckle beneath him, he leaned on his billiard stick.

  “Does that mean that you’re willing to return to the twenty-first century with me?” As he waited for Lettitia’s reply, his heart thumped against his breastbone.

  “In any capacity that you will have me.”

  “I’m thinking ‘Lettitia Giovanni’ has a nice ring to it. What do you think?”

  “A most melodic sounding name,” Lettitia readily agreed.

  Not ready to do a dance in the end zone just yet, Mick said, “What about your engagement to Lord Worthless?”

  “Unless I am greatly mistaken, he will be only too happy to break off his engagement to me.” Lettitia’s reply was made in a blithe, almost carefree, tone of voice.

  “Why? What are you planning to do?” he asked, suddenly suspicious.

  “Exactly as you advised me to do.” Lettitia paused, a mysterious Mona Lisa smile on her lips. “I intend to become my own woman. And unless I am greatly mistaken, Lord Wortham will not be interested in marrying the lady in question.”

  Finally convinced that nothing was going to rain on his parade, Mick propped his billiard stick against the black walnut table and smiled broadly. “Well, it just so happens that I’m very interested in marrying said lady.”

  “Truly?” Lettitia gazed expectantly at him.

  He made an X over his heart with his index finger. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  “Perish the thought.”

  Overcome with joy, Mick impulsively scooped his hands under Lettitia’s bottom, seating her on the edge of the billiard table. “What about your unswerving duty to your family?”

  “I was made to realize that my ‘unswerving’ duty to my father was wholly without merit. My mother is the only member of the family whose opinion matters to me. And she gladly gives her blessing to our union.”

  “Really?”

  When Lettitia gave a reassuring nod, Mick released a gusty sigh of relief. He knew when he’d asked her to return with him to the twenty-first century that he was also asking her to leave behind everyone she knew and loved. That she was willing to make that kind of sacrifice humbled him beyond words.

  “I swear, Tisha, I’m gonna make you the best damned husband. I’m gonna love you and cherish you and… and love you,” he said, laughing, too thrilled to be articulate let alone romantic.

  “I have no doubt that you will do all those things. And more,” Lettitia purred, a come-hither look in her eyes.

  “Speaking for myself, I can hardly wait for the ‘more’ part.”

  “Nor I. Which is undoubtedly the reason why I locked the door to the billiard room.”

  Mick shot a quick glance at the closed door. “Man, oh, man!” he exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “Are we really talking about Detective Giovanni doing Miss Merryweather in the billiard room? This ought to be good.”

  “You have yet to disappoint me, sir.”

  “And I don’t plan to start.” Sliding his hands under Lettitia’s skirts, he shoved the voluminous layers of fabric to her waist. Path cleared, he went down on bent knee in front of her.

  “Really, sir! There’s no need for that. You already proposed to me, and I have already accepted.”

  “What I’m doing now is sealing the deal.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Uh-huh.” Placing a hand on each of her cotton-clad thighs, he pried Lettitia’s legs apart and draped them over his shoulders. For several mouth-watering moments, he admired the view, zeroing in on the glistening pink flesh visible through the slit in her undergarment. “Now that has got to be one of the most awe-inspiring sights I have ever seen.”

  Giving in to an age-old, primitive male urge—to stake his claim on the woman he loved—Mick nestled his head between Lettitia’s open legs. Using his forefingers to open her plump folds, he instinctively went right for the little nubbin of sensitive flesh hidden at the top of her sex, gently laving it with the tip of his tongue. When she bucked her hips against his face, he smiled, thinking he had himself one gorgeous, uninhibited woman.

  Still licking her clitoris, Mick slid a finger into her.

  “More!” Lettitia gasped on a ragged breath as she leaned back on her elbows.

  Mick obligingly inserted a second finger. He aimed to please, and if his woman wanted more, that’s what she was gonna get. And as much as she could take.

  Pulling and plunging his fingers into Lettitia’s moist heat, he maintained a slow, lazy rhythm, in no hurry whatsoever. Some things in life shouldn’t be rushed, and this was one of them.

  When, a few minutes later, Lettitia suddenly sat upright and grabbed him by the head, smashing his nose into the very place his tongue had just been, Mick knew she was about to reach critical mass. Picking up speed, he thrust harder and faster, groaning right along with her when she hit her peak, her muscles convulsively clamping around his two digits.

  Removing his fingers, Mick spread her damp folds and gave her half a dozen long, languorous strokes of the tongue, her shuddering moans serving notice that the lady was ready for round two.

  Good thing. His cock was so swollen that it was starting to ache.

  Using the edge of the billiard table for leverage, he pushed himself to his feet. Lettitia, looking very much like a satisfied customer, grabbed hold of his coat lapels and pulled him toward her.


  “That was utterly wonderful,” she murmured against his mouth.

  “Sometimes it’s better to give than to receive,” he told her in between kisses, having loved every delicious, mouthwatering moment.

  “Surely there must be some small way that I can show my appreciation?”

  Hearing the flirtatious note in her voice, Mick grinned. “Now that you mention it, there is something that you can do for me.”

  “You have merely to tell how I may be of service.”

  “I was kinda hoping you’d say that,” he said with a wink as he hurriedly unbuttoned his trousers. Sweeping his arm across the table, he cleared a wide swath, shoving the billiard balls out the way. “Just scoot your bum onto that table so that we can—”

  “Bloody hell. The blasted door is locked.”

  “Locked, you say?”

  Mick and Lettitia both froze at hearing two highly annoyed male voices on the other side of the billiard room door. When Lettitia gave a startled gasp, Mick clamped a hand over her mouth. Laying a finger to his lips, he motioned her to silence.

  A second later, the door began to rattle in the frame. The two men outside were clearly hell-bent on playing billiards.

  “I say, let’s find that Jeffries fellow. He should be able to unlock the door for us.”

  At hearing their fading footsteps, Mick gave a sigh of relief. Wrapping a hand around his raging hard-on, he was ready to pick up where they’d left off.

  To his surprise, Lettitia frantically pummeled her hands against his chest. “Mick, what do you think you’re doing?”

  “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? I’m getting ready to make love to you on the billiard table.”

  “Didn’t you hear those two men? They’ll be returning all too soon.”

  “Not that soon,” he assured her. “We’ll be finished by the time they get back. It’s called a quickie.”

  “While I do not care for my father’s butler, Jeffries is, if anything, efficient.”

  “How efficient?”

  “Very.”

  With a muttered groan, Mick stuffed his Johnson back into his pants. No easy feat given that he was hard as a rock and literally throbbing.

  “You’re upset, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not upset.” Wincing, Mick struggled with the trouser buttons. “I’m sexually frustrated. There’s a difference.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Finished buttoning his pants, Mick cupped Lettitia’s face between his hands. “Hey, it’s not your fault, okay? I just wanted to be with you so much that I got a little carried away.”

  “When we are married and have the privacy of our own quarters to indulge our pleasures, we shall undoubtedly look back on this day and find great amusement in the incident.”

  Maybe it was hearing Lettitia say the words “when we are married,” but whatever the reason, Mick impulsively pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly to his chest.

  “I can’t wait for us to get married. As soon as we return to the twenty-first century, we can fly to Las Vegas or Reno or one of those places that does quickie weddings and get married right away.” Envisioning Lettitia’s reaction to the Vegas strip, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “Do you mean to say that we can be wed tomorrow?”

  “Yep,” he informed her, nodding vigorously. “As in ‘I hereby declare you man and wife.’ Assuming that’s all right with you?”

  “The means matter not to me,” Lettitia told him, smiling luminously. “I am only interested in the end result.”

  For several moments, they lost themselves in a transfixed, mooney-eyed stare. Two lovebirds ready to take flight.

  Blinking several times, Mick reluctantly broke the trance-like connection. “We still have one bit of unpleasant business to attend to,” he said as he took hold of Lettitia’s elbow and ushered her to the door. “Before we leave Stag House, we need to root out Emmaline’s murderer.”

  And, if we’re lucky, we’ll also uncover the true identity of Jack the Ripper.

  “How do you propose we do that?”

  Mick unlocked the billiard room door and swung it wide open. Stepping aside so Lettitia could precede him across the threshold, he said, “What we need is a good old-fashioned show-down. Raised voices, heated passion, the whole nine yards.”

  As they made their way down the corridor, Lettitia shot him a quizzical glance. “Why would we need or even want such a spectacle?”

  “Because in the heat of passion, people let down their guard. They lose control of their emotions and then they say things that they shouldn’t. In a nutshell, they spill their guts.”

  “I should warn you that it is not easy to rile an Englishman.”

  Mick snorted derisively, having already debunked that myth. Since he’d arrived at Stag House, he’d managed to rile all three of the principal players. A testament to his charming personality.

  “We just need to figure out a way to round ’em all up in one place.”

  “We could ask them to join us for a glass of sherry in the drawing room,” Lettitia suggested.

  Figuring that they’d end up with three no-shows, he shook his head. “Too easy for them to weasel out of the invite.”

  A few seconds later, as they made their way toward the drawing room, Mick saw that no scheming would be necessary. All three suspects—Freddy, Lord Wortham, and Alfred Merryweather—had already done them the favor of gathering there.

  “It would seem that Providence has intervened,” Lettitia murmured as Mick ushered her through the open double doors into the lion’s den.

  “Considering that we’re outnumbered, I’m glad to have the Big Kahuna on our side. It evens the odds.”

  Their entry into the drawing room met with varying reactions: Alfred openly glared; Freddy maliciously giggled; and Lord Wortham picked a piece of lint off of his jacket, not so much as glancing in their direction.

  Pulling the double doors closed behind him, Mick turned the skeleton key in the lock, then deposited the brass key in his pocket.

  “Why in damnation did you do that?” Alfred bellowed.

  Very slowly, and very purposefully, Mick looked each of the three men in the eye.

  “Because I know for a fact that one of you killed Emmaline. And no one is leaving this room until I find out which one of you bastards did it.”

  Chapter 17

  “Good God, man,” Alfred Merryweather bellowed. “Have you lost your senses?”

  “Nope. Still intact.” Thinking that the brew baron “doth protest too much,” Mick then said, “While you happen to be in the know, I doubt that it’ll come as a surprise to anyone else present here to learn that Emmaline was killed three months ago in Whitechapel.”

  Exuding an air of utter indifference, Wortham raised an elegantly clad shoulder. “To a man, we knew she’d been murdered. Sir Charles was considerate enough to apprise us of the ghastly details.”

  “Yeah, well, ghastly or not, each of you had a damned good motive for plotting Emmaline’s murder. Like I said, someone in this room killed her.” Once more, Mick evaluated his suspects, still undecided as to which one of them was the guilty party. Although he’d pretty much eliminated Alfred from the line-up, he intended to use the bellicose master of Stag House to help him flush out the killer. “Of course, if one of you gents will just be man enough to confess to the murder, we can wrap this up and call it a day.”

  “Surely there is no reason for Freddy to be present,” Lettitia protested, quickly coming to her brother’s defense.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Mick said slyly, ready to lob his first disclosure. “It was your brother who fired those shots at you earlier this afternoon.”

  Freddy, seated at the grand piano, began to squirm on the black-lacquered bench. To Mick’s trained eye, he looked guilty as hell.

  Lettitia approached her brother. There was no mistaking her thunderstruck expression. “Is this true, Freddy?”

  Lunging to his feet, Freddy pointe
d an accusing finger at her. “I s-saw you with him! Like Emmaline, you are a whore of Babylon!”

  Mick’s first impulse was to ram his fist into Freddy’s pretty boy face. Although it took a Herculean effort, he refrained. No matter what transpired, he needed to keep his cool. He was only going to get one shot at cracking the case. He wasn’t going to louse it up by losing his temper.

  “Really, my dear. I am vastly disappointed in you. I had hoped to be the first to plow those Elysian fields,” Lord Wortham drawled as he pulled an amethyst-studded snuff box out of his breast pocket. Opening the lid, he scooped a healthy measure between his thumb and forefinger, inhaling it into his right nostril.

  Watching him, Mick wondered if there was any addiction the guy didn’t have.

  “What’s this?” Alfred inquired, his eyes narrowing. Like his son had only moments ago, Old Man Merryweather pointed an accusing finger at Lettitia. “Did you spread your legs for this no-account interloper?”

  “What I choose to do is none of your concern,” Lettitia tersely replied. “If you must know, I intend to break—”

  Mick made the ‘zip-it’ motion across his lips, stopping Lettitia in the nick of time. She could break off her engagement later. Right now, they needed to concentrate on flushing out the murderer.

  To that end, Mick said, “You never did answer my question, Freddy. Did you, or did you not, attempt to murder your sister earlier this afternoon?”

  “I saw her f-fucking you.”

  Mick winced. Sparing a quick glance in Lettitia’s direction, he saw that the crude accusation hit her particularly hard; her features were marred by a pained expression.

  “Answer the question, Freddy. Did you fire those shots at your sister?”

  “Yes. I fi-fired at her.” The young man’s lips turned down in a petulant frown as he folded his arms across his chest. “Satisfied?”

  “Damn you, boy. What were you thinking?” Alfred roared, his face flushed with enraged color. “You’ve been nothing but trouble since the day you were born.”

  “I believe that,” Mick muttered under his breath. Particularly since—having just established the fact that Freddy tried to kill Lettitia—it stood to reason that he’d also murdered Emmaline.