by Candace Camp
Across the room stood Charity’s long cheval mirror, and Simon could see their reflection in it, Charity facing the mirror in her chemise and petticoats, himself standing behind her. There was something arousing about watching them in the mirror, and he looked into it as he ran his hands up over Charity’s shoulders and down onto her chest. He tenderly cupped her breasts, then slid his hands down to her waist. Unfastening the drawstrings of her petticoats, he slipped them off her, then let his hands roam down her abdomen and her cotton-clad legs.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, burying his face in her hair.
Charity leaned back against him, enjoying the sensations his fingers aroused in her as they moved over her body, touching her through the thin layer of clothing. His hand slid between her legs, caressing her through cloth dampened by the thick moisture of passion. He raised his head to watch his hand stroking her there, his own blood heating as he watched her face relax into passion.
Simon stepped back and ripped his shirt off, then tugged and shoved off the rest of his clothing, releasing the throbbing staff of his desire. While he did so, Charity slipped out of her undergarments, so that when they came together, they were both naked. They stood for a moment, looking at each other, drinking in each other’s bodies. It seemed that even as they grew familiar with one another, their bodies remained alluring, for each spot now reminded them of pleasures past, of a kiss or a caress or a breathless moment of loving.
Charity reached out and placed her hands on Simon’s chest, slowly sliding them down his torso to his hipbones, enjoying the pleasure that pulsed so visibly in him at her touch. She ran her fingers along the lines of his ribs and played with the hard, masculine nipples, then twined her fingers through the dark, curling hairs that adorned his chest. Simon sucked in his breath at the exquisite torture of her fingers, hunger surging up in him anew. When at last her hand settled on his manhood, he groaned and clenched his hands into fists, struggling to hold back the pounding tide of passion. She caressed him with delicate fingers, exploring the tender softness of the skin that stretched over the hard shaft and tracing her way down to the soft sacs below.
Simon’s breath was ragged, and sweat dampened his body. He wanted to sink himself into Charity now, but he knew that the pleasure would be all the sweeter for the waiting. Charity leaned forward and touched her tongue to his nipple. He jerked and reached for her, twining his hands through her hair. Her tongue flickered over the flat bud again and again; then she paused to suckle it, intensely aware of how Simon’s passion surged with each new movement. As she sucked, her hands crept down to take him once again. With both hands and mouth she aroused him, until his body was trembling with tension.
He bent then and picked her up, carrying her to her bed and laying her out upon it. Charity lifted up her arms, welcoming him as he slid between her legs. He thrust deep inside her, filling her completely, and she wrapped her legs around him. Together they began to move in a primal rhythm, their bodies taut and sweating, until the tension was too much to bear, and then, at last, with a cry, they exploded in a paroxysm of love.
Charity awakened the next morning nestled against her husband’s side. His arm was thrown across her, and the heat of his body warmed her. She smiled to herself. It was wonderful waking up this way.
For a time she lay there, thinking about the party the night before and what she had and hadn’t learned. She was beginning to think that the task she had set for herself was nearly impossible. After all the talking she had done with people, she was no closer to figuring out who had killed Faraday Reed, or why. Nor had Chaney been able to come up with anything helpful from Reed’s servants, other than that none of them seemed to have liked Reed.
There must be a better way to go about it, she told herself. Perhaps she should hire someone who had experience in such things, someone who could investigate Reed’s past and discover other people with a motive to kill him. But she wasn’t sure where one could find that sort of person, or even if they existed.
Sighing, she slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Simon. Wrapping her dressing gown around her for warmth, she walked across to the door to her dressing room. She opened it and stopped, her eyes going to the floor in front of her.
She screamed.
In a flash, Simon was out of bed and beside her. “What? What is it?” He looked around wildly, as if expecting an armed man to come charging into the room.
Charity’s hand was clapped to her mouth, and her eyes were wide with horror. She did not answer, simply pointed to the floor of the dressing room. Simon looked down.
“Churchill?”
The little monkey lay still on the floor. Simon stared in amazement for a moment, then looked at Charity. “What happened to him?”
“I don’t know,” Charity wailed, and her eyes filled with tears. “Simon, he’s dead, isn’t he?”
He looked back at the unmoving creature. “I fear so.”
Simon bent down and picked up the monkey. His body was cold. Simon carried him over to the window and pulled the drape aside to give him better light.
“Did Lucky kill him?” Charity asked. “Oh, I shouldn’t have brought him here. I should have realized that Lucky would get him.”
“No,” Simon said thoughtfully, frowning down at the monkey. “I don’t think this was anything to do with Lucky. There are no marks on him. He isn’t cut or torn at all.”
“He must have shaken him until he broke his neck. He was probably only playing.”
“I don’t think so. His neck doesn’t seem broken, either. Besides, he was in the dressing room, wasn’t he? And the door was closed. How could Lucky have gotten to him?”
“You’re right. Do you think one of the servants could have killed him?”
“Then tossed him in your dressing room, where you would be sure to find him? I think not.” Simon lowered his head to the little animal and sniffed.
“Simon, what on earth are you doing?”
“There’s a faint odor…. I’m not sure—” Simon broke off and strode across the room to the connecting door that led into his own bedroom. He laid the monkey carefully on a chair and hastily began to dress.
“Simon, what are you doing? Why are you dressing? And why haven’t you called Thomkins? What about Churchill?”
“I haven’t time for the valet. I’m going round to see Dr. Cargill.”
“Dr. Cargill?”
“Yes, he’s been my family’s doctor for years.”
“But why do you suddenly want to see him? Are you ill?”
“No. I’m taking Churchill’s body to him.”
Charity goggled at him. “But he’s a doctor for people. Why would you—Do you think Churchill may have had a disease that you could have caught?”
“No. I’m not sure what I think. There’s just something about such a sudden death that bothers me. Obviously the servants locked him in that little room so he wouldn’t be able to get out again. How did he manage to die in there? With no marks on his body, no broken bones?”
“Perhaps he ate something earlier that disagreed with him,” Charity suggested.
“That’s what I suspect. That he ate something that disagreed with him very much—poison.”
“But why would anyone want to poison a poor little monkey?” Charity asked, wondering if Simon had lost his senses.
“I don’t think anyone would,” he replied grimly. “But, if you’ll remember, he drank from your wineglass last night, before he spilled it all over Aunt Hortense. The reason I’m taking the body to Dr. Cargill to find out if Churchill was poisoned is that I’m afraid someone might have tried to poison you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHARITY WAS TOO STUNNED to protest. Simon dressed and left in a hurry, taking the poor dead monkey with him, wrapped up in a cloth. Charity went about her toilette more slowly, thinking. She could not believe that someone had tried to poison her. Why would anyone wish to kill her? It seemed utterly absurd, and she soon decided that Simo
n was being overprotective. The thought that he was so concerned about her warmed her heart, but she was certain she did not need to worry, and she soon went on about her business. When she sat down at the breakfast table, it gave her a little qualm, but she pushed the doubt aside and ate—though she did avoid drinking anything.
Simon came home some time later, grim-faced, and Charity’s heart began to thud as soon as she saw him.
“I was right,” he said, settling heavily in a chair in the morning room, where Charity sat, embroidering. “The animal was poisoned. Dr. Cargill confirmed it.”
Charity simply sat, looking at him. She had convinced herself so well that nothing was wrong that it was a shock all over again to hear him say it. “But…even so, that doesn’t mean it was from my wine. Someone could have given him poison earlier. Someone who disliked his antics. Some cruel person. Perhaps even one of the servants grew so tired of him that they fed it to him. He would have eaten whatever anyone gave him. Probably someone put it in a sweet and—”
“It was in the wine,” Simon said heavily. “The doctor cut him open. There was nothing in his stomach except wine and poison. That’s where he got it. There’s no doubt that it was intended for you.”
“But why?” Charity jumped to her feet, her hands clenching nervously. “Why would anyone try to kill me?”
“Perhaps because you have been running all over London asking questions about Faraday Reed’s murder. Perhaps you struck too close to home for someone’s comfort. Damn it, Charity, you nearly got yourself killed!”
The color drained from Charity’s face as an even worse thought occurred to her. “But, Simon, if it was in my wine last night, that must mean that—that someone at the party put it there. One of your—”
“Oh, God.” He stood up, shoving his hands into his hair, and began to pace. “It couldn’t be. Wait, it wasn’t necessarily put there by a guest. One of the servants could have done it.”
“The servants!”
“Yes. Perhaps someone bribed one of them into doing it. Or—or didn’t Chaney take on some extra men to help serve?”
“Yes.” Charity brightened. “Yes, he did. That large man was one of them. And I think there was one other. He needed extra help for the number of guests.”
Chaney, when called for, confirmed that he had hired two extra servers for the previous evening. Both of them had been sent by an agency with which he had dealt many times before.
“Go there today and find out about both men. I want to know who they are. I want to question them. In the meantime, Chaney, Lady Dure is to eat nothing that hasn’t been prepared and served by you personally. Is that clear?”
“Yes, my lord.” Even the usually imperturbable Chaney’s face showed amazement.
“Someone has tried to kill her, Chaney.”
“My lord!”
“It’s true. That foolish monkey is all that saved her.” He explained what had happened. “But I don’t know that he will try poison again. It could come in some other way. That’s why you must watch her, also. Whenever I am not here, you must not let anything happen to her.”
“Yes, my lord. Either Patrick or I will stand outside her door the whole time. Patrick is my sister’s boy, and I trust him absolutely.”
“Very good.”
“I will go to the agency right now, my lord.” Chaney bowed and left the room.
“Simon, I don’t really think that’s necessary,” Charity began.
He whirled, his eyes stabbing her. “Isn’t necessary? Do you actually think I’m going to stand by and not protect you?”
“Of course not, but—”
“No buts about it. In fact, I’m thinking that it would be probably be best if you went back to Deerfield Park.”
“No! Not without you. Besides, we’ll never be able to find out who did it from Deerfield Park. We have to stay in London. We should send for that obnoxious Gorham person and tell him. Perhaps he will realize then that he is chasing the wrong person.”
“More likely he will think we are trying to pull the wool over his eyes.” Simon paced back and forth across the room, his forehead drawn together in a scowl. Finally, abruptly, he said, “I have to go to Venetia.”
“Venetia?” Charity stared. “But why? Anyway, you can’t. She told me they were leaving first thing this morning for Ashford Court.”
“In Sussex? Damn!” He made a few more turns around the room, then said, “I shall simply have to go there. I fear I won’t be back until tomorrow evening. Chaney and Patrick will guard you. You have to promise me that you will not leave the house. For any reason. Is that understood?”
“Simon!”
“I mean it, Charity. I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you.”
Charity could not speak. What he had said was almost a declaration of love, and even in the midst of her fear, it lifted her heart. At that moment, she thought, she would have agreed to almost anything he asked.
“Yes, Simon, I promise. I won’t go anywhere. And with Chaney and Patrick standing by, I am sure I shall be utterly safe.”
“Better let Lucky eat a bit of everything from your plate before you do.”
Charity rolled her eyes. “Chaney is going to oversee my meals.”
“Just to be safe.”
“Why is it so important that you visit Venetia? Surely you don’t think that she—that she could have done it, do you?”
“God, I hope not.” Simon closed his eyes, in pain. “I—The thing is, you see, I gave her my handkerchief. Before I left for Deerfield Park, two weeks before Reed was killed, I went to see her, and she was crying, and I gave her my handkerchief. She forgot to give it back to me before I left.”
Charity looked at him, stunned by the implication of what he had just said. “Oh, Simon!” she breathed. “Oh, my poor darling!” She hurried across the room and put her arms around him. “All these weeks, have you been thinking about that? Is that why you have seemed reluctant to find the killer? Why you discouraged my talking to people about Reed?”
He nodded. “Partly. I can’t believe that Venetia could kill anyone, even Reed. I told her that I would take care of things, so she did not need to fear him anymore. Still…she detested him and feared him. And I knew that she had that damned handkerchief. I couldn’t bring myself to ask her. I didn’t want to suspect her, didn’t want her to know that the thought had even crossed my mind. But as long as there was a possibility that it would turn out to be she, I preferred to let the inspector keep me as his main suspect. I didn’t want him turning an eye toward Venetia.”
“Or George. He would have had access to the handkerchief, too, if Venetia had it. And I told you how odd he looked yesterday when I mentioned Reed’s name.”
Simon sighed. “I suppose George might be more likely to kill someone than Venetia. Though that, too, seems a trifle farfetched.” He walked over to the sofa and sat upon it with her. “But now I have to know for sure. I don’t care if she did kill Reed—God knows, he deserved it many times over. But if she tried to harm you—I have to stop it.”
Simon left in the carriage not long afterward. He drove hard all afternoon, and arrived at Ashford Court just as Venetia and her husband were sitting down to dinner. Dure strode into the dining room on the heels of the servant who announced him. Venetia jumped to her feet, astonishment on her face.
“I say!” Ashford exclaimed, standing up as well. “Dure! What the devil are you doing here?”
“I had to talk to you. Or, rather, to Venetia.”
Venetia stared at him. “But, Simon, we saw you last night. Why have you come all the way out here? We’ve just barely got here ourselves.”
“It’s important,” Simon said flatly. “It’s about Charity.”
“Charity?” Venetia sucked in a breath, worry spreading across her face. “Why? What’s the matter? Has something happened to her?”
Simon looked at his sister coolly. “Why do you say that? Should something have?”
Venet
ia’s face knotted in confusion. “But you said that you had come here to talk about Charity. I assumed…Simon, whatever is the matter?”
“Yes. Out with it, man,” Ashford urged him. “I can’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“I think someone tried to poison Charity last night.”
“Oh, Simon! No!” Venetia leaped to her feet and hurried across the room to her brother, taking his arm solicitously. “Is she all right?”
“What the devil are you doing chasing out here?” Ashford demanded bluntly. “I would think you’d be at home with her.”
Fear and pain flitted across Dure’s features as he gazed down at his sister. “She’s well. She did not drink the poison. It killed the monkey, instead.”
“Thank God,” Venetia breathed.
“The monkey!” Ashford exclaimed. “How the devil did that happen? Dure, you’re not making sense. Sit down. Have a cup of tea. Venetia…”
“Of course.” Venetia steered her brother to the chair across the table from hers, then sat down herself and began to pour him a cup of amber liquid. “I don’t understand, Simon. How do you know the monkey was poisoned? Or that it was meant for Charity?”
“We found the creature dead in her room. We thought at first it was the dog, of course, but there wasn’t a mark on him.”
“Perhaps someone wrung his neck. Doesn’t seem unlikely to me,” Ashford pointed out.
A half smile touched Simon’s lips, and he sighed. “I thought of that, believe me. But I checked. His neck hadn’t been broken. And he hadn’t shown any sign of being ill earlier. You saw the way he scampered around. The main thing is, he smelled of almonds.”
“Almonds? Someone poisoned the almonds?” Ashford goggled.
“No. ‘Tis a kind of poison. It smells like bitter almonds. I recognized it.”
“But what does that have to do with Charity?” Venetia asked.
“The monkey drank from her wine cup at dinner. Remember? When it was scampering all over the table, disturbing everyone.”