by Cheryl Bolen
It was difficult to contain his excitement. “Can you describe him?”
She shook her head. “Not really. You see, I was some distance away. I knew it was her, though, because I’d seen her leave her house not long before I left mine. She was wearin’ a blue dress.”
Appleton suddenly recalled that Ellie had been wearing a blue dress the night he lost his fortune.
“Had he called on her at the house?” he asked.
“No. She left alone. I had the impression she was meeting him at Sydney Gardens.”
“Was he tall or short? Dark haired or fair?” Dot asked.
“He was a good bit taller than the murdered girl, and I’m not certain about the hair, seeing as he was wearing a hat, but I feel like it was dark ’cause I remember thinking the pretty little blonde had a dark-haired sweetheart.”
“How far away would you say you were from them?” he asked.
“Quite a ways. Much farther than from here to the far end of this street.”
Dot nodded. “What was your impression of his clothing? Would you have said he was a gentleman?”
“Yes, I would. I remember as Mrs. Thorpe told me she worked at a gaming establishment where a lot wealthy men went, and I remembering thinking that she had likely met this man there.”
Dot and Appleton exchanged grave gazes.
Mrs. Flint was not able to enlighten them any more. Before they left, he told the woman to keep his card and notify him if she remembered anything else.
They spent another hour on the street but learned nothing else.
* * *
Night had fallen by the time they were able to leave Lower Richard Street and climb into his carriage. “All right, Miss Dorothea Pankhurst. You appear to be having a difficult time suppressing your exuberance. Why have you been grinning so this past hour?” he asked.
She was fairly proud of herself that she had not given in to the melancholy that had seized her since she’d read in the Chronicle about her fiancé’s mistress. She had determined that, for now, she was going to push that to the back of her mind. And she had fairly well succeeded this afternoon.
Her mind was too occupied to fret over personal matters when there was a murderer lurking in their fair city.
And ever since they’d spoken with Mrs. Flint, she felt sure a picture of the murderer was emerging. “We may have no way of proving it, but I truly feel that Mrs. Flint saw the murderer.”
“Come now, Dot. Can’t a pretty girl meet a young man in the park?”
“I’m merely going by Miss Macintosh’s past history. Do you not think it suspicious that she was seen conversing with a gentleman just before her death?”
He seemed to be weighing her words. “I suppose there’s merit in what you say—but you are right. I doubt we’ll ever know for sure.”
“We finally do have something to go on, even if it’s inconclusive!”
“You mean the fact the man is likely a gentleman?”
She nodded. “That and the fact he’s possessed of dark hair and is above average height.”
“That describes a great many men in Bath!”
“Except for the part about him being a gentleman.”
“There is that.” He was lost in contemplation for a moment. “If that is the case—that he’s a gentleman—it almost certainly means that the man she met at Sydney Gardens is likely a patron of Mrs. Starr’s.”
“Exactly!”
“Seeing that I’ve spent the better part of my adult life at that establishment, I’m certain I am acquainted with every man who passes through Mrs. Starr’s door.”
Despite being in an enclosed carriage and wearing exceedingly warm clothing, a chill ran down her spine. That Forrester knew a murderer deeply disturbed her. “That’s frightening.”
“Better me than you or my sister.”
It was statements like that which endeared him to her even more. She squeezed his arm in a display of affection. His hand settled on hers.
Chapter 12
That night when he and Annie collected Dot and her father, he thought his betrothed had never looked lovelier. She wore another new gown, and while he knew nothing about feminine fashions, he would say this sheer gown of pale blue appliquéd with lace and featuring short puffy sleeves had to be the epitome of what was fashionable.
He tried not to gawk at the way the dress dipped so low in the front and how enticingly plump her jiggly bits were. He forced himself to look away.
But he could not purge from his mind and body this overwhelming desire he had to take her in his arms and kiss her.
Such strong desire shocked him. In this week since Dot had consented to marry him, he hadn’t thought about her in that way. Perhaps it was because he’d initially thought of her as that peculiar woman parading about Bath with those damn cats!
Once they arrived at the Upper Assembly Rooms, he urged Mr. Pankhurst and Annie to go ahead and save their chairs. “I need to have a private word with Dot in the Octagon.”
As the others went on, she gave him a quizzing look. “Is anything amiss?”
He shook his head. “No. I just wanted to talk something over with you.”
With ease that had come naturally to them, she slipped her arm through his, and he patted her hand in its long white opera glove as she gazed up at him.
“I have never before not been completely honest with Annie,” he began. “You see, she is my favorite sister, and she and I have always been close.”
Dot nodded sympathetically. “I see. It’s bothering you that we are concealing this . . . this investigation from her?”
How was it that Dot always understood him so well? “Indeed it is.”
“I understand. I didn’t like not being forthright with her, either. She has become very dear to me. I think we need to take her into our confidence. Besides, three minds are better than two.”
He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss into it. “Thank you.”
“There’s nothing to thank me for, you silly goose.”
By the time they reached the assembly rooms, the dancing had commenced, and he tensed when he looked up and saw that Annie was dancing with Henry Wolf. Dot sat next to her father, but Appleton stayed standing while he glared at Wolf.
His group was soon joined by several members of the Blankenship family: Blanks and his wife Glee, along with Blanks’ stepmother and his sister-in-law, Felicity Moreland and her husband, Thomas Moreland.
Appleton shook hands with Blanks and Moreland. “You fellows aren’t playing cards?”
Blanks rolled his eyes. “The wives insist that we must dance with them first. Glee says people here will think she doesn’t have a husband because I always abandon her in favor of the card room.”
“As if she pines away unattended. . .” Appleton said playfully.
Blanks eyed his brother-in-law. “Moreland, I daresay, would rather dance attendance upon Felicity, but he’s very accommodating to me. The best brother-in-law a fellow ever had.”
Appleton did not doubt a word Blanks said. Moreland was besotted over his beautiful blonde wife, and when he wasn’t here to lead her onto the dance floor, other men practically fought over that privilege.
“I understand felicitations are in order, Appleton,” Moreland said, his gaze bouncing from him to Dot. “When’s the wedding to occur?”
“We haven’t set a date yet,” Appleton said. “I have only known her for about two weeks.”
Moreland smiled. “Love can be that way. I knew the moment I met Felicity—even though I was at death’s door—I knew I’d never love another woman.”
It was as if something inside Appleton caved in. If only he felt that way toward Dot. He forced a smile. “You certainly have been fortunate.”
“Not that fortunate. You forget Felicity was married before me. I didn’t think I’d ever have a prayer . . .”
“But now, old fellow,” Blanks said in a reassuring voice, “you’ve got the love of your life and two very fine sons. What more co
uld a man want?”
They both seemed so happy in matrimony. And Appleton felt so damned gloomy.
When the dance finally ended and Wolf returned Annie, Appleton directed his sternest glare at him.
Wolf did not linger.
The next dance was a waltz, and for some unaccountable reason, Appleton was happy to claim Dot for the shockingly intimate dance. The idea of those glorious breasts of hers pressed to his chest aroused him.
In the days since their betrothal, he’d not thought of her in the way a man thinks of a woman, not even when he’d asked her to marry him. It had been more like a business arrangement. As their hands clasped and their torsos came together in so intimate a fashion, he sorely regretted that he hadn’t kissed her when she’d consented to marry him.
She must think him a foppy-boy!
As he glided along the ballroom with her in his arms, intoxicated by her sweet scent of spring roses, it occurred to him this was the woman who would bear his children. Thinking about her bearing his children got him to thinking about bedding her, and thinking about bedding her got him thinking about what it would be like to lie with her and . . . kiss her. . . to feel her tongue touch his . . . to slowly peel the garments from her body and stroke her satiny skin . . . to fill his hand with the plumpness of her breast . . .
All these thoughts nearly debilitated him with powerful desire. He looked at her as he’d never looked at her before, with a burning hunger.
Something in the back of his lust-fogged brain told him this was good. Desire for Dot certainly trumped his former indifference. He’d been dreading marrying a woman he couldn’t love. But marrying a woman he potently desired. . . now that was something to look forward to.
He drew her closer and spoke huskily. “We need to set a date.”
“For what?”
How could she not be feeling what he was feeling, not be throbbing with desire, not be anxious to swiftly wed? “For our wedding.”
“Before we catch the murderer?”
He was crushed by her disinterest in their marriage. “My dear Dot, we may never catch the murderer.”
She nodded most morosely.
He had thought she’d be anxious to marry him. Didn’t all women crave being married?
Then it occurred to him that perhaps she did not love him. Perhaps she was merely marrying him for his title.
It had never occurred to him that she wouldn’t be agog to wed him. The fact that she might not be in love with him left him feeling low.
When they returned to their chairs, the only ones seated were Mr. Pankhurst and the elder Mrs. Blankenship, who were locked in lively conversation.
“I wonder if Papa will ask Mrs. Blankenship to dance,” Dot said.
“What about his leg? Or is it his foot?”
“It seems to vary.” She had a distasteful look on her face. “But it seems to vanish in Mrs. Blankenship’s presence.”
As, indeed, it did. The very next set, Mr. Pankhurst led the lady out onto the dance floor.
Appleton turned to Dot. “Forgive me, my love, for not telling you how splendidly you waltz.”
“It’s my dancing master who’s to be commended.”
He ran a seductive finger along her nose. It was a perfect nose. “You’re too modest. You were wonderful.”
As his friends, including the newly arrived Sir Elvin, closed around him, he watched with a mixture of pride and jealousy as Dot became a figure of other men’s admiration.
Not once during the remainder of the night was he able to claim her for a dance, not even for the Sir Roger de Coverley that closed out the night.
He stood back sulking as she merrily danced with a fashionably dressed young gentleman who’d just come from London and appeared to be taken with his fiancée. When he heard Glee comment on what a fine-looking man was dancing with Dot, Appleton was overcome by the urge to spar with said man during his sparring session the following morning. He would take great pleasure in knocking him to the floor.
On the way home that night, Mr. Pankhurst was effusive in his praise of Mrs. Blankenship. “Did you not think she was the most handsome of the older women there tonight?”
“Undoubtedly,” Dot said.
“She regrets that I’ve still not met her son,” Mr. Pankhurst continued. “He’s a scholar, you know.”
“So I’d heard,” she said. “As is Sir Elvin’s twin brother. I should like to meet them both.”
“As would I,” her father concurred. “As I told the good lady. She promised that she would present me with a copy of her son’s latest book.”
“How delightful. Did you know, Papa, his bride helps him with his research?”
“I didn’t, but Mrs. Blankenship did say they were both very bookish and not inclined to attend assemblies.”
Mr. Pankhurst soon resurrected the topic of Mrs. Blankenship. “And was Mrs. Blankenship not an excellent dancer?”
“Frightfully good,” Annie answered. “But I was awfully impressed with your unfaltering
skill, Mr. Pankhurst. I cannot credit that it’s been more than twenty years since you’ve danced.”
He shrugged. “I suppose it’s one of those skills that always comes back to one.” When they reached Dot’s house, Mr. Pankhurst left the coach first.
As Appleton moved toward the house, he slowed and whispered to Dot. “As You Like It is being performed at the theatre. I should like to take you tomorrow night.”
Her eyes shimmered. “I should love to see a Shakespearean play above anything!”
He stopped halfway between his coach and her front door. “I can think of one more thing,” he said in a low, husky voice, his head dipping as he drew her close. He’d intended to gently settle his lips on hers, but once he found the velvety warmth of her compliant mouth, he was powerless to tame his hungry yearning. He devoured her in the rhythm of the moist, spiraling intensity of the kiss.
He could have gone on endlessly, kissing a trail to her enticing breasts, but for the proximity to her father and his sister bringing him back to his senses. “Oh, my love, I am most eager to make you—and only you—my wife.”
Still breathless, he stood back and regarded her. She was even more captivating than the Italian opera singer who’d so mesmerized him several years earlier. And this woman would soon be his.
Though she faced him, her dark lashes lowered, hiding her reaction to their kiss. But she could not hide the fact she was as breathless as he.
When he returned to the coach, he was so stunned by the powerful effect of Dot’s kiss he completely forgot that he was sharing the carriage with Annie. They were half way to their house when he remembered she sat across from him. Then he remembered he was out of charity with her. He glared. “I am unhappy that you’ve danced with Henry Wolf again.”
“Really, Timothy. You’re being quite the ogre. The man couldn’t be nicer to me. And he’s sinfully rich. I don’t know why you dislike him so.”
“I have my reasons. In the past, you’ve always trusted my judgment.”
She stomped her slipper. “I think you’re being an ogre.”
Being head of the family was no easy task.
Chapter 13
“Where’s Annie?” Dot asked as Forrester showed her into the coach the following night. Would this be the first time she would be alone with him at nighttime?
“She had promised to attend a musical with Sir Elvin’s sister.”
Dot frowned. “I shall miss her.” As fond as she was of Annie, though, she didn’t really mean it. Truth be told, Dot was thrilled to have Forrester all to herself, especially after the intoxicating intimacy of the kiss they had shared the previous night.
“You’ll be seeing much of my sister the rest of your life. I, for one, am happy to be alone with my intended.”
His statement delighted her. “We’ve been alone a good bit during our investigations.”
He put an arm around her. He smelled of sandalwood, and she was acutely aware of his breathing
—things she’d not noticed when they were accompanied in the carriage by her father or Annie.
“But it’s different at night,” he whispered hoarsely.
Her pulse accelerated. His tone was intimate. She was not accustomed to Forrester speaking in such a tender voice. She wondered if he were going to kiss her again. Even though nearly four-and-twenty hours had elapsed since that heavenly occurrence, its magical effect was as vivid now as when she’d felt the first brush of his lips on hers and had nearly unraveled.
How puzzled she’d been later in the dark comfort of her bedchamber. How could an action as simple as a kiss cause such an onslaught of passion? Every part of her, body and soul, reacted. And how could she have the clarity of thought at such an intoxicating moment to realize that her lover did not find her inept? She swelled with an airy sense of wellbeing at that discovery.
Soon the coach pulled up at the theatre.
She was unprepared for the grandeur of the Theatre Royal with its fancy gilded boxes climbing the wall. Red flocked paper with an Egyptian pattern covered the walls, and crimson curtains festooned with thick gold fringe hung at each box. She was even more joyful when she learned that the Appleton family had its own box.
They took their seats on the front row of the box where a shiny brass rail offered an extra protection against falling into the pit. The Appleton box had a prime view of the stage below.
“Will anyone be joining us?” she asked.
“No, it will just be the two of us. When my other sisters are in town, the box becomes overrun with them and their friends.”
“A pity Papa didn’t come with us. We could have asked the elder Mrs. Blankenship to share our box, too.”
Forrester smiled. “That would undoubtedly have made your father happy.”
“So his partiality toward the widow has not escaped your notice, either?”
He chuckled. “Hardly.” He took her hand. “I want you all to myself.”
She felt the same but was too proud or possibly too shy to admit it.
“Have you seen Shakespeare performed before?”
Her brows hiked. “What do you think?” She was attempting to act normal, though since their hands had clasped, her fluttering chest seemed to be expanding.