Passionate Secrets (The Secrets Trilogy Book 2) (18 page)

“Do you see it?” His voice was low and, combined with his gentle touch and heated gaze, held her in place. He swallowed hard. She watched as he bent his head to nuzzle her neck.

She tipped her head to allow him better access, the feelings his mouth evoked setting loose a flurry of butterflies in her stomach. The image in the mirror held her transfixed, and she couldn’t look away.

As he pressed kisses just below her ear, his fingers trailed along her collarbone on the other side. They dipped progressively lower, toward the neckline of her gown. Her breasts tingled in anticipation. She watched as those clever fingers disappeared in the top of her gown. The sight and the sensation caught her breath as he lifted her breast above the fabric.

The shock of seeing her breast displayed in the open, with Michael’s hands on it, on her, weakened her knees. The sensations he evoked hardened her nipple, and desire shot through her core. She felt so wanton but couldn’t have stopped him if her life depended on it.

“So beautiful,” he murmured in her ear, his lips continuing their exploration.

Heat pooled low in her belly. She wanted more. With a moan, she tried to turn to face him, but he held her in place.

“Watch. See what I see.” His gaze met hers in the mirror then dropped to her breast. His fingers kneaded the flesh there before touching the very tip.

Her center throbbed with need. She felt helpless, pinned beneath his hands, held captive by their images in the mirror. He shifted to stand beside her and to her surprise, took her nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, then harder. “Oh. Michael. I—”

“Shh. Let me show you.” Again, he licked her breast as he freed the other one from the constraint of her gown and repeated his sweet torture.

Watching him in the mirror, his dark head against the paleness of her skin, caused all thoughts to stop. She could only feel.

“You are an amazing woman.” His words heated her further. “It makes me wonder what other passions of which you are capable.”

He eased behind her once more, continuing his assault on her senses. She watched where his gaze fell, watched where his hands lingered, watched his mouth move across her heated flesh.

When he raised his head, the desire etched in his face only made her hotter. “I would see you bloom in full, Emma. Will you let me?” He kissed her neck again and the cool air of the room brushed her thigh.

She glanced lower in the mirror to see his hand easing up the hem of her gown. Her breath caught in anticipation until at last, his warm fingers touched her thigh. Again, she moaned.

“Oh, yes. Such passion,” he whispered. “Just as I thought.” He eased the skirts higher. “Let me touch you, Emma. Let me give you this adventure.”

Passion of which she hadn’t known she was capable held her in its grip. Refusing was not an option. This was Michael. The man she loved. No longer did she doubt that. If she had this one and only time with him, she’d take it. She’d grab it with both hands and hold it tight. “Yes. Touch me.”

He closed his eyes as though relieved at her acquiescence as his mouth returned to nibble on her ear. A mixture of heat and shivers coursed down her flesh. She eased her head back to rest on his shoulder, giving him better access, her eyes closing as sensations poured over her, through her.

His fingers found their way to her hip, his touch hot through the thin fabric of her chemise. Then his fingers found the bare flesh above her stocking, and she jerked upright only to encounter their reflection in the mirror.

The wanton woman there was no one she recognized. Strands of hair had come loose from her chignon. Her eyes were glazed with desire, her cheeks rosy red, her bare breasts pressed up and heaving with each breath. Despite the shock of the sight, her gaze fixed on Michael.

His dark hair beckoned her touch, and she threaded her fingers through it. He raised his head long enough to kiss her fingers, then drew one of them into his mouth, sucking gently.

“Oh!” she cried, aching everywhere.

He brushed her inner thigh, moving up to her center lightly then again more firmly. “So soft. So beautiful.”

She throbbed with need. He slid his fingers into her soft folds and her knees gave way. He held her waist as he continued to touch and rub in places she’d never realized could make her feel like this. She moaned once more, her breath coming in gasps. “Michael?”

“Yes, yes, just let go. I have you.”

Again, his fingers danced along her moist center, taking her higher, and suddenly stars exploded. Her whole body throbbed as she flew.

Michael turned her at last and held her tight, wrapping her in his strong arms, holding her like he’d never let her go.

A sob caught in her throat at the bittersweet moment. To be this close to him but know he was not hers made her heart hurt. For right now, she did the only thing she could—held on tight to Michael, wanting to keep this moment etched in her heart forever.

Emma stared at the message that had arrived that morning, her heart racing. Her mother’s carefully penned words caused fear to tighten her throat.

Your sister is very ill. Please come home.

The situation must be dire for her mother to send for her. Guilt flooded her. While she’d been enjoying herself, her sister was worsening.

Within moments, she’d gathered her cloak and gloves. She hurried to the viscountess’s bedroom and knocked on the door.

“Come in.” The older woman was sitting at her desk, pen in hand. She took one look at Emma and seemed to realize something was amiss. “What is it, my dear?”

“My mother has sent for me as my sister has taken ill.” Emma’s heart squeezed. Saying it aloud made it more real.

“Oh, dear. I do hope it’s nothing too terrible.”

“I’m afraid it is...quite serious.” Her eyes filled with tears at the thought.

She hadn’t told the viscountess about her sister’s illness. She was so used to keeping her personal life to herself that she hadn’t shared much about her family. That had been a mistake. Viscountess Weston had brought her into her home and showed her nothing but kindness. Emma had kept her at arm’s length, and now she regretted that. Her habit of trusting no one might protect her, but it kept everyone else out.

“Take the carriage. Stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you.” Emma turned to leave.

The viscountess grabbed her hand. “Emma, send word if you need anything. Anything at all.”

“Thank you so much,” she managed through her tears before hurrying out.

In short order, the carriage rumbled along the busy streets. Each time they were delayed by some conveyance or other, Emma wanted to scream. She could not arrive quickly enough.

When they finally drew to a halt before the lodging house, she opened the door and alighted without waiting for the footman. She ran up the stairs as fast as her gown permitted and used her key to unlock the door.

Her mother greeted her, her brow creased with worry. Her normally neat appearance was disheveled. Weary eyes dark with fear filled with tears at the sight of Emma. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“What is it? What’s happened?” She reached out and squeezed her mother’s hands.

“Tessa has worsened considerably the past two days. I’m not certain how to help her.”

“Did you send for Dr. Barnes?” Emma took off her cloak and set it on a chair.

“No. Tessa wouldn’t hear of it.”

The distress in her mother’s voice tugged at Emma. She held her tight for a long moment then leaned back to look in her eyes, wanting to reassure her. “Let us see what can be done.”

Emma moved toward the bedroom, part of her anxious to see her sister and the other part dreading how much worse she’d find her.

Tessa lay sleeping, her face so very pale in the morning light. She looked positively haggard. Her eyes had large dark circles and her cheeks were sunken. Even her hair appeared limp and dull.

“Oh, dear,” Emma muttered. She glanced at her mother, devastated to see how poorly her sister appeared.

“I know,” her mother whispered. “She was doing fairly well until two days ago.”

Emma sank down beside her sister on the edge of the bed to rest her hand on Tessa’s forehead for a moment. “She feels warm, don’t you think?”

Her mother nodded and stepped forward to touch her forehead then the back of her neck. “Yes. Her fever was even worse last night.”

“Does she have any additional symptoms?”

“Her nose is congested and her cough is worse.”

“I’ll fetch Dr. Barnes.”

“But there’s very little money left. I purchased some fabric for pants for Patrick as well as some more food.”

“’Tis fine, Mother. I’ll work something out with the doctor.”

Much to Emma’s surprise, the carriage still waited on the street. The footman told her the viscountess had advised him to wait for Emma if possible. Relieved, Emma gave him the doctor’s address.

Unfortunately, the doctor was not at home but was expected to return soon. Emma left an urgent request for him to visit Tessa as soon as possible.

She swallowed hard as she returned in the carriage. What could she do if he refused to come? Should she offer to trade her services again? She covered her face with her hands, so angry with herself. Why had she wasted so much time in trying to find a husband? No, that wasn’t the worst of it.

She’d spent her time longing for a man she couldn’t possibly have.

Michael.

Memories of the previous evening flowed through her mind and body. The way he’d looked at her, the way he’d made her look at herself, had changed something deep inside her. She knew the passion they shared was a gift to be treasured. But what he’d endured with his parents had scarred him, and there was no changing that, not when he wasn’t willing to do so. Besides, as he’d said, his engagement was in already in place.

She needed to set aside her feelings for him and be practical. He had no intention of marrying her despite the attraction they shared. Many people said their vows for practical purposes. She could do the same. All she needed to do was select a man for whom she could grow to care.

For a long moment, she considered Adolphus Vandimer. His wealth would solve all their problems. And even if serving as his mistress was only temporary, wouldn’t that be better than marrying and spending the rest of her life with a man she didn’t love?

With a sob, she put her hands over her face. No. She couldn’t do it. Not with him.

Marriage to a man with whom she could find companionship might work, but she wouldn’t be someone’s mistress. She would try harder with Lord Tagart or Lord Calverton and see what came of that.

As the carriage arrived at her home, she told herself she was relieved she’d made a decision. Now she could focus on helping Tessa.

The day passed slowly with her sister sleeping most of it. Emma felt so helpless. There seemed to be very little they could do to help her. Emma was certain that was what wore on their mother more than anything—simply waiting and hoping.

Half the day had passed before Emma realized she had yet to see Patrick.

“He’s running errands again,” her mother advised her. “He thought the money he’d earn might help pay for the doctor.”

Emma nodded. At least Patrick would feel like he was contributing. That had to be better than sitting here, listening to Tessa’s rattled breathing.

Dr. Barnes arrived mid-afternoon. Emma had never been so pleased to see him. To her surprise, he didn’t mention needing payment. Instead, he focused on Tessa.

“You say she’s been running a fever?” He examined her eyes, then looked in her mouth.

“It started two nights past. She’s been so tired and had little appetite.” Emma’s mother shook her head, her worried gaze watching the doctor.

“It appears as though she’s caught the chills in addition to her other ailment. With some rest and food once her appetite returns, she should recover within the next day or two. Be certain she has plenty to drink as well.”

Her mother sank into a chair with relief. Emma reached out and squeezed her mother’s shoulder, grateful for the good news.

The doctor left a potion in a bottle for Tessa’s cough then bid Tessa and her mother goodbye. Emma walked him to the door.

“Could I come by again and help with your notes?” she offered, hoping he’d permit a trade.

“That’s not necessary,” he said with a smile, “though I do appreciate your help. Your account has been paid in advance.”

“I’m sorry?” Emma was certain she hadn’t heard correctly.

“Viscount Weston asked me not to tell you unless you inquired, but since it’s your account, you have a right to know.”

Stunned, Emma thanked him, pleased when he said he’d be back on the morrow to see how Tessa fared. Just when she’d been certain she could set aside her feelings for Michael, he did something to breach her defenses.

“While the fever she has is certainly complicating matters,” Dr. Barnes continued, “what she really needs for the consumption is a long rest in a sanatorium. Many patients benefit from doing so. That might not be within your means, but I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t mention it.”

After he took his leave, Emma shut the door behind him and leaned against it. He was right in that an extended stay in a sanatorium was impossible at this point.

With a sigh, she stood upright. She couldn’t afford to allow Michael’s kindness and generosity to change her goal. Her family needed her. She needed to continue her pursuit of a marriage proposal and could only pray it was one she could live with.

~*~

“Two men were fished out of the Thames yesterday.” Michael stared out the window of Ashbury’s library, frustration mounting at their lack of success in tracking down the professor. Their former mentor had to be stopped, especially if he’d had anything to do with Berkmond’s murder. Lord only knew what he’d do next.

“And?” Ashbury rose from his desk, his brow creased.

“The detective I spoke with mentioned they had strange burn marks on their bodies.”

“You think it could be Grisby?”

“Perhaps he’s experimenting on people again as he did before to test the electromagnetic devices. This time, he’s not limiting himself to using children.”

“Unbelievable.”

Michael turned to face his friend. “They came from the workhouse. From what the police have been able to discover from their families, they believed they’d found a few days’ work for a scientist.”

“Christ.” Ashbury spun away to pace the room. “He must be stopped. But how? We can’t even find him.”

“Perhaps we should ask Farley to speak with the victims’ families, see if he can discover anything the police couldn’t.” Ashbury’s partner in the gaming hell easily blended in with those who lived near the docks or in the East End.

“He’d be pleased to help. If he could find out where they were contacted or where they were to report to work, that might lead us somewhere. We must find Grisby before he causes any further harm.”

“I don’t understand what his purpose is. How did he go from wanting to use those blasted devices to heal people to this?” Michael ran his hand through his hair.

“I’ve wondered the same thing. Did the accident damage him so much that he is not the same person?”

“If we knew why and what he is attempting to accomplish, we could gain the advantage.”

“To what end does he experiment on...people?”

“If it’s not to heal, then it must be to harm. There is no in between.”

Ashbury looked at him in alarm. “I suppose I never thought of it in quite that way. But for what purpose?”

“I have no idea.” Michael scowled. “Given the size of the devices, I’d hazard a guess it isn’t to use on just one person.”

“Blast it! If Simmons hadn’t died, surely we could’ve convinced him to tell us more.”

A footman opened the door. “Markus to see you, my lord.”

“Send him in.”

Michael watched as Markus, one of Ashbury’s ‘associates’ entered the room. The young lad swaggered in and bowed, his usual grin tempered. Another lad followed him, this one no more than thirteen or fourteen if Michael had to guess. Something about his eyes looked familiar.

“Afternoon, my lords.”

“What brings you here, Markus?” Ashbury asked.

“My companion, Patrick, is one of our newer associates. He saw something the other night I thought you might want to hear.”

Patrick swallowed hard then glanced at Markus who nodded in encouragement.

“You’re in safe company, Patrick,” Michael added, hoping to encourage the lad.

“Two nights past, I—” He hesitated. “I saw a man murdered.”

The hair on the back of Michael’s neck rose. “Who?”

“Don’t know his name. A lord by the look of his clothes.”

Michael turned to look at Ashbury to see if his friend had the same suspicion he did. Then Michael turned back to the boy. “Where was this?”

The boy described the street, matching the location of where Lord Berkmond had been killed.

“Did you see who did it?”

“I didn’t recognize him, if that’s what ye mean. He was pretty tall, thin, wore a bowler hat.” The boy shook his head. “It was dark, so I didn’t see much more.” He shrugged. “I heard voices arguing and went closer to see what was happening. Then I saw the gun and realized what he was about.”

“Did he see you?”

“I don’t think so. I think he saw me move, but I don’t think he had a good look at me. He didn’t chase me or anything.”

“Good.” Ashbury stepped forward to grasp the boy’s shoulder. “You did the right thing. No point would be served by you confronting the man. Your personal safety comes first. Always.”

The boy seemed relieved to hear that he wasn’t expected to play the part of hero.

“Patrick, would you be willing to speak with the police? To tell them what you saw?”