“Are you enjoying London, Mrs. Martin?” Sir Edgar asked. He looked to be in his mid-fifties and was soberly dressed. His eyes were so dark they were almost onyx, with fine lines around them as if he had known great sorrow. If not for his heavily pock-marked face, he would have been a fine-looking man.
“Very much,” she told him. “So many people to meet and so much to do. When I was living in Downby, our Society was small, indeed. And as a vicar’s wife, I hardly traveled in the first circles.”
He nodded and glanced at the book on the table. “The Curse of the McHeaths,” he said. “Do you enjoy gothic novels, Mrs. Martin?”
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “Miss Stanhope is urging me to read a new novel, The Mystery of Blackwood Hall. She was reading to us from this earlier, but the story frightened poor Miss Sykes so much, she stopped. But Blackwood Hall sounds like it might be fun with its descriptions of things hidden in people’s homes. Do you like gothic novels as well?”
“Sometimes,” he said, echoing her reply. “I wouldn’t want to make a steady diet of them, but perhaps I shall give The Mystery of Blackwood Hall a try. It will astonish my daughter if I read it before she does.”
“Then you should,” Emily said. “Just so you may enjoy her astonishment. Have you known Jocelyn and Hugh a long time?”
“I’m Hugh’s physician,” Sir Edgar said. “One of the few patients I still attend since my retirement last year. I’m afraid the smallpox—” he pointed at his scarred face, “left me weakened in more ways than one. I hope my fearful countenance doesn’t repel you?”
“Not at all,” Emily assured.
“I hear,” he said, changing the subject, “that you are the recent recipient of a great fortune.”
“You have heard correctly,” she answered, wondering at his sources of information.
“News travels quickly in the ton, especially during the Season,” Sir Edgar said, guessing her thought. “It’s almost impossible to keep secrets.”
“I’ll guard mine closely then,” Emily said and her companion smiled.
“A fine idea,” he agreed. “Society is almost as bad at keeping secrets as spreading gossip. With your recent turn of good luck, you might need a man of affairs. Have you found anyone yet?”
“Not yet,” Emily said. Considering how much time she and Anthony were spending in bed, she was lucky to have met with Jocelyn’s dressmaker.
“I know of several men who might be able to advise you. If you like, I can draw up a list and bring it to you. That is, if His Grace has not already done so.”
“How very kind of you,” Emily said. “That would most helpful.” Recalling her earlier conversation with Gregory Keller, she asked, “You and Lord Bradford’s father were friends, weren’t you?”
Sir Edgar’s jaw tightened. “Yes,” he said. “We were.”
“Did you have any idea he was—”
“Involved in creating a fraudulent investment scheme?” he asked sadly. “No. And would I have believed he would take his own life rather than be exposed? I would have sooner said the man could fly.”
“Then you believe it’s true?” Heart sinking, Emily opened her fan and set it into motion.
“I didn’t want to,” Sir Edgar said. “But in the last few months of his life, I noticed his chess games weren’t as well played and he always seemed to have an aura of worry about him. I beg you, Mrs. Martin, say nothing to Anthony. His father’s death nearly destroyed him. They were devoted to each other and Anthony refused to hear anything that suggested his father was guilty of the accusations that followed his death. If it were not for having to care for his two sisters, I think Anthony would have gone mad. I wish to God I had arrived at Conrad’s home even fifteen minutes sooner and prevented his death.”
Emily’s fingers tightened about the fan’s handle. “You were expected, weren’t you? To play chess?”
“Yes. And I had found what was reported to be a vintage claret and wanted to surprise Lord Bradford with it. He was very fond of good wine, you know.”
“No, I didn’t,” Emily said regretfully. “I never met His Grace’s father. But surely Anthony—I mean, His Grace—doesn’t blame you for his father’s death?”
Sir Edgar gave a short, bitter laugh. “Why do you think he left me so abruptly at Lady Featherstock’s? He cannot forgive me for not arriving in time. I cannot forgive myself. If I had arrived sooner that night, perhaps I—” His voice broke and he got to his feet. “I’m sorry,” he said, grief choking his words. “I hope we have the opportunity to discuss our mutual reading of The Mystery of Blackwood Hall sometime soon. Please excuse me.”
He bowed hastily and exited the room. A quick glance at Anthony showed he was still engaged in turning pages and enjoying himself immensely.
If it were not for having to take care of his sisters, I think he would have gone mad.
Emily’s fan picked up in speed. No one should have to suffer what Anthony’s family had endured. Even if the ton eventually shunned her for being his mistress, she would do everything in her power to ensure he would never know tragedy again. She owed him that much for his protection.
His laugh carried across the room and a knot rose in Emily’s throat. Yes, she would do everything in her power to make him happy.
Even if that meant telling him goodbye.
* * * * *
“What were you and Lennox talking about tonight?” Anthony pulled off his shirt and draped it over the arm of the upholstered chair.
“Gothic novels, among other things.”
“Did you talk about my father?”
Emily paused in brushing her hair. “Yes,” she said finally. “He was telling me how very sorry he was that he didn’t arrive…”
Her voice trailed away and Anthony’s mouth tightened. If Lennox had arrived even five minutes sooner, his father would be alive today. Unreasonable as it might be, it was easier to blame Lennox than to even consider his father had ended his own life.
“Are you ready for bed?” Emily’s question brought his thoughts back to the present. She put her brush on the dressing table and smiled. “Though I’m not tired at all.”
“Yes.” His mouth relaxed and he allowed himself the pleasure of his gaze piercing the thin silk of her nightgown. “Was there a reason you wanted to return to the hotel tonight, Emily? Have you changed your mind about the house?”
“No,” she said. “But I’m not quite ready for the servants to know about our arrangement, even if they suspect it. After all, they’ve worked for your family for years. I don’t want them to think badly of me. We have more privacy here at St. Ives.”
“Ah, of course.” Anthony peeled off his stockings and stuffed them inside his boots. “We do tend to get rather noisy, don’t we?”
“Anthony!” Her reproving tone did not match the curve of her lips or the twinkle in her eyes.
“There’s nothing wrong with showing your lover you enjoy his lovemaking,” he responded. “It makes a man feel very good to know a woman enjoys his attentions.”
The twinkle in her eyes brightened. “Would you like me to show you that now?”
“I was hoping you would say that.” Grinning, he made her a short bow. “May I ask you something? Something personal?”
She wrinkled her nose. “We’ve been tupping away like mad and you have to ask my permission to ask something personal?”
“A gentleman always asks. Why did you marry Isaiah if you didn’t love him?”
His question drove the contentment from her face, leaving a mask of caution. “We were caught in a compromising situation,” she said.
“You? I don’t believe it,” Anthony insisted. “How were you compromised?”
She sighed. “Do you remember Jacob Beckwell who lived near my parents’ home in Basingstoke? His father owned several shops there and had acquired quite a bit of wealth.”
“I think I remember him. He played a decent game of chess as I recall. What happened?”
“He had be
en more than civil to me and this was noticed by a young lady who desired his attentions. I only thought him a friend, but she was convinced his civility meant more than it did and considered me her rival. And so she set out to ensure his attentions toward me would be ended once and for all.”
“Ah, the conniving female mind.” Anthony tucked a curl behind her ear. “What happened?”
“Do you remember that pond at my parents’ home? Somehow she learned I liked to swim early in the morning. And somehow she made sure Isaiah would find me and that there would be witnesses. I had nothing on but the shortest of shifts and so—”
“You had to marry him,” Anthony finished.
“Yes,” she said simply. “We were married by special license. Isaiah said it would ruin his reputation as a clergyman if we did not. That is why we moved to Downby. He was terrified of gossip and thought the farther away we were, the better.”
May that woman never know the pleasures of a lover’s touch. If not for her, you and I might have married. “What happened to your so-called rival?”
A triumphant smile replaced the resignation on her features. “Jacob married another woman not long after I left for Downby,” she said. “And now I don’t want to talk about Isaiah. I want you to make love to me so ardently I’ll forget there ever was an Isaiah, even for a little while.”
Despite her smile, he heard the sorrow in her voice. He did not want to consider the loneliness of her married life. If not for his promise to his father that their family line would continue, he would sink to his knees and propose on the spot.
Instead, he kissed her. “What man could turn down a request like that?” he murmured. “I shall have to get my most creative.”
“Surprise me,” she whispered, running her hands over his chest. Tracing his nipples, she asked, “Do men find these as sensitive as women do?”
Anthony’s heart took off at a gallop. “Yes,” he said, exhaling the word.
“And do they like this?” She rolled his nipples between her thumbs and forefingers.
“That too.”
“And this?” She leaned in to capture one of the points in her mouth, gently nibbling and using her tongue. The image of doing the same to her racked his body with a shuddering desire. The memory of her mound’s sweetness filled his mouth, and it was all he could do to not strip her where she stood and drink her juices before plunging hard and swift inside her until they both reached a convulsing finish.
“I think it’s you who have surprised me.” Anthony placed her hand against his aching cock, straining to be free from the breeches holding it captive. “That’s how much I like what you’re doing to me.”
“Perhaps we should get started then.” She tugged at the waistband of his breeches. “Shall I take these off?”
“I like the way you think, Emily.”
She removed his breeches slowly, like a thoughtful child unwilling to tear the wrapping on a gift to get to what was inside, pulling them past his ass, his knees and down to his ankles. He stepped out and kicked them aside.
“Now for you,” he said. “Let me rid you of that dress.”
She gently wrapped her hand around his cock. “It’s so pretty,” she sighed. “So very pretty.”
He undressed her in record time, but left on her stockings and shoes. She looked down at them and then back at him. “What on earth do you have in mind?”
“Patience, my dearest Emily, patience.” Anthony strode to the bed, grabbed several pillows and carried them to the upholstered chair. After depositing them on the seat, he beckoned her with his finger. “Come here and sit.”
She did as he asked, her gaze fixed on his face. “Now,” he said, “as best as you can, put your legs over the chair’s arms.”
Her eyes widened. “You mean straddle it?”
“Yes.”
Puzzlement wrinkled her brow. “But why do you want me to leave on my stockings and shoes?”
“There’s something incredibly arousing about a woman wearing nothing but her shoes and stockings,” Anthony said, running his hands up and down her legs. “And also something very wanton. You said you wanted to feel wanton, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then let me take you there.”
Slowly, she draped her legs over the arms of the chair. “It’s a very wide chair, isn’t it?” she asked as she settled back.
“I had it custom made just in case I met a woman with a sense of adventure in her lovemaking,” he told her, enjoying the feel of the silk stockings.
“Have you ever used the chair like this before?”
“No, it’s a virgin chair.” Kneeling before her, he whispered, “You wanted me to surprise you, Emily. And so I shall.”
He slipped his hands under her bottom and held her in place while working his mouth over her mound, sliding his tongue along her folds. Her juices were warm and faintly tart and the dusky scent of her femininity filled his head, making even his balls ache.
“Oh my,” she gasped from above him. “Oh my.”
He flicked his tongue against her nubbin and she squirmed, her steadily increasing breathing the prettiest song he had ever heard. He began to suck, drinking in the moisture flowing past his lips, and she moaned again.
“That,” she panted, “is quite a surprise.”
“Now you surprise me,” he said, continuing to taste her. “Tell me what you want.”
“Kiss me,” she commanded. “I want to taste my essence on your mouth.”
Her words flamed over his skin. Sitting up, Anthony inched forward and slowly slid his finger in and out of her while he leaned in to kiss her. Her tongue met his in a furious tangle, her breathing becoming more and more rapid while his finger continued its slow journey in her sweetness.
She moved her head, breaking their kiss, and he stared into her love-glazed eyes. “I taste good, don’t I?” she asked shyly.
“Incredible,” he whispered. “There’s no other taste like it in the world.”
“It must be because I’m tasting myself on your mouth, my sweet Anthony.”
“I’m glad my lady is pleased.” He removed his finger and moved his mouth to capture first one breast, then the other. She sighed and raised her arms over her head like a cat shifting in the summer sunlight.
“Mmm…” she sighed. “Oh, yes. I do like doing it in my shoes and stockings.”
“We’ll do it any way you wish, as often as you wish. You have my promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that. But now I want you, Anthony. I want to feel you joined to me. I want to feel you moving deep inside me. I’m aching to be filled by you.”
Abruptly, Anthony stood and led them to the bed where she removed her shoes.
“I like adventure,” she said. “But I must draw the line at wearing shoes in bed.”
“Whatever you want, Emily.”
They stretched out and he rolled her onto her back, spreading her legs so he could enter her. Her heat closed around him and without prompting she folded her legs around his ass, holding him deep inside her.
“Is this what you want?” he asked as he ran his fingers through her hair.
She held his face between her hands. “Yes. You feel so very hard and strong, my Anthony.”
“You make me that way.”
Her smile was like an invitation to the best party in the world. “I have a good teacher,” she said as her hands squeezed his bottom and she shifted beneath him. “Make love to me, Anthony. Let me feel your seed inside me.”
His kiss against hers became primal and he drew back to plunge into her again and again. Her slickness coated his penis, the heat of her increasing the strength of his thrusts. Her hands guided his hips and ass as he tried to keep his moves firm and steady to ensure both their pleasures.
But then she slipped her hand between them to grab his cock and guide him in and out and a wave of ecstasy hurtled toward him, catching and throwing him forward into the abyss. He cried out her name as she released her own song
of completion. His seed exploded and the world shattered, leaving them the only two people in it.
Chapter Eleven
Smoke shrouded the air, already foul with spilled ale and sweat. At the doorway, Mallory pulled his battered hat lower, but not so low his sharp eyes could not canvas the occupants of the East End alehouse. Most of the patrons seemed too drunk to notice anything but the contents of their mugs—which suited Mallory just fine. No one here ever paid him any attention, but he wasn’t about to make himself noticeable now.
Shoreditch Bill had told him of a man who might know something about the old Duke of Bradford’s death. Bill traded information for money and on more than one occasion his information had brought criminals to heel. Amos Quincy made sure Bill was well paid for his efforts to keep the information flowing.
Mallory scanned the room again. A lone figure wearing a dirty white scarf—the one he’d been told to look for—sat hunched over his mug at a table in the back. After getting his usual serving of hard cider, Malloy shuffled toward the figure and sat at his table. “Bill sent me,” he began, adopting an East End accent. “Wha’ cha got?”
A bone-shaking cough slowed the man’s answer for several seconds. He wiped his mouth on the back of one worn sleeve and sneezed into the other. “Bits and pieces here and there.” His dirt-caked hands shook as he lifted the mug to his mouth. “’Course, there might be more if the price is right.”
“Them I works for don’t pay for ‘bits and pieces’,” Mallory snapped. “‘Bits and pieces’ ain’t worth a shilling to them and Bill knows it. What’ve you heard?”
“Awright, awright,” the man grumbled. “Word is a someone might be after that there redheaded lady’s new diamond necklace. Gonna nip it at a house party in the country she’ll be ’tending.”
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