Finding Lord Farlisle
Page 7
Her lips parted under his touch. “Pardon?”
“I didn’t remember your name, but I remembered you. I never forgot, Alexandra.” Her skin glowed. Her hair was a golden halo around her face. He wanted her so much.
Lust punched him. Flipping her over, he settled between her thighs. “Are you sore?” he asked thickly.
An answering lust rose in her eyes. “No.”
“Good.” He covered her mouth with his and neither of them talked for a long, long time.
Chapter Nine
ALEXANDRA STOOD BEFORE THE window, sunlight from the curtain she held open surrounding her in a golden haze that outlined the shape of her body beneath her chemise.
A foolish grin stretching his features, Maxim pushed himself up from the bed. She looked so beautiful, her hair in a riotous tangle down her back, the skin he’d kissed and caressed creamy in the sunlight. At some point, they’d made their way back to the chamber he’d made his. He’d never before shared his bed with someone, but it seemed natural to have her by his side. For a day and a half, they’d only left the chamber for food, and it had been the best damn day and a half of his life.
The sheet pooled around his lap, leaving his chest bare. Should he cover himself? But then, she’d kissed and caressed every part of him as well.
“Alexandra?” She turned. The light had turned her chemise partly transparent and he could see the shape of her breast, the pink flesh of her nipple. Lust stirred, hardening him. “What are you doing?” he said, and wondered how soon he could have her in bed beside him.
“The rain has stopped,” she said.
His lust died and panic rose to take its place. There was nothing to keep her here. Her ghost was not a ghost. The rain had stopped. She could leave.
They stared at each other.
“What are you going to do?” he finally asked.
She wrapped her arms about herself. “Search for the keys.” She sounded hesitant, and she looked at him warily, as if she expected him to argue with her, to claim she should return home. That she should leave him.
She couldn’t be more wrong. Fierce joy tore through him and, shoving the covers aside, he vaulted from the bed. She squeaked when he took her in his arms, the sound changing to a moan when he covered her lips with his. Heat and lust and need rioted in his blood as he lifted her against him, as she wrapped her legs about his waist, as he drowned himself in her taste.
She tore her mouth from his. “Are you that excited by the search for Margaret Howard’s keys?” she said breathlessly.
“What?” he mumbled, licking the cord of her neck. Holding her thighs, he stepped forward until the wall met her back.
Fingers tightening in his hair, she arched as he made small thrusts between her thighs, her chemise and his drawers the only thing separating them. “You seem to have reacted favourably to my suggestion we search for her keys.”
“Oh. Yes. Her keys.” She tasted like salt and cream at the juncture of her neck and, when he took the soft flesh of the lobe of her ear between his teeth, it made her gasp.
“Maxim, we should—should start to—oh, goodness, what are you—Maxim?”
“Hmm?”
“We…should….” She trailed off.
Taking her chemise in his hand, he drew it upwards. “We should?”
“Never mind,” she said, and dragged his mouth back to hers.
***
“YOU CAN SEE THE road from this room.”
Alexandra looked up from her notebook. “Hmm?”
“This window,” Maxim said. “You can see it from the road.”
“Which one?” she asked, still composing the note she wanted to write in her head.
“The only road. The one to Waithe Village. Are you paying attention?”
“Yes, of course.” She needed to record the actions they had already taken. They’d, unfortunately, debunked the presence of a ghost, or at least a presence in the room the villagers had reported as containing activity. Perhaps Margaret Howard did roam these halls, and perhaps finding her keys would help her find peace, but if Alexandra were being honest, she was prolonging her investigation solely to spend more time with Maxim.
“You’re not listening to me,” the man himself said in her ear.
She braced a hand against her wildly beating heart. “Damnation, Maxim, don’t do that.” He had a horrible penchant for startling her.
He just grinned and went back to the window, propping a foot on the seat set into the alcove. He again wore only shirt and breeches, and she ran her gaze over his form, remembering how he looked out of them….
Clearing her throat, she returned to her notes. He so easily distracted her. He would brush her hair back into place, and she would lose all train of thought. When they walked the hallways, he would take her hand to lace her fingers with his and she would forget where they were going. Or he would simply stand as he was now, and she became breathless.
This was her fifth day at Waithe Hall. How could so much change in five days?
Forcing herself to concentrate, she said, “I think we should revisit the housekeeper’s room.”
“Which one?” he asked, removing his foot from the seat to fold his arms before his chest. The move pulled the fabric of his shirt tight, and she remembered the feel of that resilient muscle beneath her hands.
Focus, Alexandra. “The one on the first floor, not the ground floor.” She frowned at her notes. “There is something strange about it.”
Moving beside her, he looked over her shoulder at her notebook. “Strange how?”
A delicious thrill ran through her at his closeness. Giving in to it, she leaned into him, and he automatically brought her into his embrace, looping his arm around her. “The shape of it is odd.”
Resting his chin on her shoulder, he said, “I’ll take your word for it.”
“You do not think it an odd shape?”
“I have no idea, but if you think it odd, then it must be.”
So easily he accepted her. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she said, “So will you investigate with me?”
“Of course. I’d follow you anywhere.” He planted a kiss against her neck. “Besides, following you is inevitably exciting. You always discover the best things.”
Her chest tightened. “Right then, shall we?” she said briskly, ignoring the feelings he stirred so easily.
“We shall.” Taking her hand, he led her from the room.
She snuck glances at him as they walked down the corridor past the open court. A faint smile lit his face, his expression easy. Was it only five days ago he’d scowled and growled at her?
Of a sudden, he stopped stock still. “We should go through the secret passage from the countess’s chamber to the nursery,” he announced.
She blinked. “What? Why?”
“Because it’s fun,” he said, eyes alight with glee.
“It takes longer,” she pointed out.
“What else do we have to do?”
“True.” Playing at reluctance, she protested as she allowed him to reverse their course and drag her to the countess’s suite. They’d used this passage several times, and most of the dust and cobwebs had been swept away by their travels. Following behind him, she stepped over the debris that had accumulated over the years. The structures themselves were sound, which she supposed spoke well of the earls who had commissioned their construction—
Again, Maxim stopped suddenly, such that she crashed into his back. Whirling around, he pinned her against the wall.
“What are you d—” His mouth covered hers.
Opening, she allowed his lips to ravish hers. Lust and want and need arched between them, and she gripped his shoulders, wanting to kiss him forever.
Pulling back, he grinned. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”
Pretending herself unaffected, she snorted. He laughed, flipping a lock of her hair, and they continued on.
The passage opened into the schoolroom, one of the suite of rooms ded
icated to the nursery. Maxim’s expression turned grim as they passed through, his deliberate gaze falling on anything but the small desks situated in the corner. She’d rarely been in this room, and never when the Roxwaithe children were undertaking lessons. She could only imagine what he recalled. Judging by his expression, it wasn’t pleasant.
“Master Emery always used to call me imbecilic,” he said suddenly.
What could she say to that? She remained silent, and hoped he would continue.
“He had a cane. A long, thin birch rod. It made a wicked loud sound when it struck his desk. The sound was duller when it hit flesh.”
He had his back to her, broad and strong, but his shoulders were hunched, every muscle tense. Wrapping her arms around him, she rested her head on his shoulder blade, her hands laced over his abdomen.
His hand crept over hers. “He used to correct me the most. Oliver and Stephen were only occasionally the focus of his ire. I was foolish, you understand. I could not read a simple sentence without making an error, could not write legibly, no matter what correction he was forced to administer. He was always forced, you understand.”
She tightened her grip. “You are not stupid, Maxim.”
He, if possible, tensed further. “You said it.”
“What? No. When?”
Moving from her, he turned, his gaze averted and his arms about himself. “That first night.”
What? She hadn’t— “Do you mean when we argued?”
He shrugged.
She stared at him in disbelief. “You cannot hold that against me. I did not know. Besides, you were being stupid. I would never say you are stupid.”
He shrugged again.
“I did not mean—Maxim. I do not think you stupid.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does. You are not stupid.” Framing his face with her hands, she glared. “You are not stupid.”
They were locked like that for a time. Finally, the corner of his mouth lifted. “You can be quite fierce.”
“You are not to think yourself stupid,” she said intently.
“All right.”
“I mean it.”
“I believe you.”
“Good.”
For a long moment, they remained locked together. “We should make our way to the housekeeper’s chamber,” he finally said.
Taking a breath, she allowed her hands to fall. “Yes.”
“Alexandra.” Capturing her hand, he lifted it to his mouth. She shivered as he brushed her palm with his lips. “Thank you.”
Those weren’t tears burning her eyes. “You’re welcome.”
They left the schoolroom. It took some moments to reach the housekeeper’s chamber, all passed in silence. Beyond the other servants’ rooms, the housekeeper’s was bare of most furnishing. A metal bedframe occupied one corner of the room, absent mattress, and a washstand stood on the wall opposite. It was slightly larger than other servants’ rooms, and there was no evidence the housekeeper would be required to share.
“Do you really think we will find keys lost for a hundred years?” Maxim said. “I’m certain they would have searched Waithe Hall from top to bottom.”
Examining the washstand, she said, “But we have never searched for them.”
“How are we different?”
“Because we are Alexandra and Maxim.”
“Yes,” he said. “That is a given. I don’t believe, however, being us is accounted a prerequisite for investigation by most.”
“We are good at discovering things when we are together. We discovered that pirates’ treasure.”
“Three—possibly silver—coins.”
“The Roman artefacts.”
“An arrowhead. That may have been Pict in origin.”
“The fairy mound.”
“That was just a slightly raised clod of dirt.”
She made a face. “You are no fun, you know this, don’t you?”
Smirking, he crossed his arms over his chest. “But you love me anyway.”
Ignoring the race of her heart, she sniffed. She measured the washstand with her step and—she frowned. “Do you think the room is too small?
Uncrossing his arms, he glanced at one wall, and then the wall opposite. He took strides across the room, then disappeared into the hall.
He popped back. “It’s two strides short.”
Excitement began to build inside her. “Which side?”
Looking between the walls, he pointed. “That one.”
Wallpaper covered the wall, peeling at the seams to reveal yellowing plaster. Alexandra ran her fingers over it, noting the difference between the paper and the plaster.
Maxim did the same, his brows drawn in concentration. “Here,” he said.
The portion he referred to was more discoloured, the wallpaper slightly sunken. He prodded it, moving about in slight increments.
A crack sounded, and then a portion of the wall shuddered open. They exchanged glances. She had no idea a passageway was hidden in the housekeeper’s room, and judging by the surprise on his face, neither had Maxim.
Silently, he lit the lamp and entered and, butterflies jumping in her stomach, Alexandra followed. The passage was cramped, a narrow, dank corridor extending between the walls. Maxim had to stoop, hunching his shoulders as his head almost brushed the ceiling. The wooden plank floor was liberally coated with dust, their footsteps creating a haze that tickled at her nose.
“There’s a staircase,” he said.
She peered past him. A railing disappeared into the darkness, the stairs appearing rickety and broken in places. “I do not know we should attempt that.”
“At least if we die, none shall find our bodies.”
She gave him a sour look. “How is that comforting?”
He bussed her temple. “Come, Alexandra. Where’s your spirit of adventure?”
“Possible at the bottom of that staircase, along with my dignity and, apparently, our never-to-be-found bodies.” Bumping his hip with hers, she took a breath. “Fine. If we die, I will blame you.”
“Fair enough,” he said cheerfully.
The staircase groaned under their weight but did not, mercifully, collapse. In a matter of moments they had traversed it, and she could breathe once more.
The passage extended not much further from the staircase, where it just ended. There was no obvious door, no switch, no lever, nothing to suggest an exit.
“Is that it?” Stymied, she turned to Maxim. “Do you think it a dead end?”
“It can’t be.” He started knocking the wall. “Why even bother with a passage if it just ends?”
“Who knows why your ancestors did anything?”
“True.” One knock sounded hollower than the others. Lifting the lamp higher, Maxim rapped it again. “What’s this?”
Almost hidden by accumulated years of grime, the wooden panel was smoother, shinier than those surrounding it.
Alexandra ran her thumbnail around the crease. “Ugh, this is disgusting.”
“You could have used one of your tools instead of your nail.”
“The tools are in the housekeeper’s room.” The panel flicked open, and she pulled back in surprise.
“Is there a lever?” Maxim asked.
“Not that I can see. Hold the lamp up?”
Light shone into the small hole as he did so. Though she couldn’t see the bottom, for some reason she thought it wouldn’t be dee— In the darkness, something glinted. Cautiously, she reached a hand inside.
Peering over her shoulder, Maxim asked conversationally, “Aren’t you afraid of things that bite?”
She shot him a dirty look, but he simply smirked in return. Mumbling under her breath of all the ways she could kill him, she reached farther only to have her fingers brush something cool. Metallic. Excitement rioted within her, her heart racing as her breath locked in her chest.
Slowly, she drew her hand out, unable to believe what she held until she saw it with her own eyes.
Uncurling her fingers, they bent over her hand.
There nestled in her palm, shining dully in the light, were a set of keys.
Elation filled her. “We found them!”
Muscle ticking in his jaw, Maxim stared at the keys. “We did,” he said flatly.
“Do you know what this means, Maxim? It means the story is corroborated. The housekeeper probably lost the keys on a journey from her room to the housekeeper’s room and didn’t notice. All this time, they’ve been missing, but now they’ve been found. She might finally be at peace. Isn’t that exciting?”
“Yes.”
“I shall have to write a paper for submission to the Spiritualist Society. This warrants greater investigation, and I shall have to organise a more in-depth study.” She hugged herself, exuberant at the possibilities. “The observers of the phenomena will all need to be interviewed, and of course I shall have to interview Roxwaithe and perhaps Lord Stephen for their observations of activity throughout the year. How is it no one discovered this before us?”
“I do not know. You are ridiculously capable at discovering things.”
“What? No.”
“You are. It took you, what, a day and a half to determine what the cause of the ghost rumours were?”
“Three. It took three days. And that was training, and a little luck.”
“You have discovered a new passageway.”
“You helped.”
“You found me.”
Her heart melted. “I did, didn’t I?” she said softly.
He smiled, the expression strangely wistful on his strong face.
The keys weighed heavy in her hand. “And you, Maxim, you shall have to be involved. Not only are you a most excellent assistant, but you could provide invaluable insight into both the history and the current investigation.”
The smile faded from his features. “When do you plan to leave Waithe Hall?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe tomorrow?” There was so much to do. She needed to write letters, organise transport, have her clothing shipped to Bentley Close.
He nodded sharply. “Tomorrow.”
Mind racing, she started back up the stairs. There was so much to do. She was halfway up the stairs before she realised he wasn’t with her. Placing her hand on the balustrade, she turned. He still stood before the panel. “Are you coming?”