Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage] (12 page)

T
rying not to think too much about what was to happen, Marcus examined his handiwork. Blankets, cloths, robe, soaps and small tub with water and pitcher. Nothing else came to mind.

Leaning over, he tossed another log on the blazing hearth. It would be cozy warm for hours. Facing the fire, he opened up the dark paneled screen to enclose the whole area near the fire, feeling Cat’s gaze on his back from across the room.

He turned, facing her as she sat in an armchair in the far corner, a blanket wrapped around her lovely form so completely that nothing except her face showed.

“It’s ready,” he declared.

Cat rose. Her cheeks were high with color. “Thank you for going to such trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” he lied. The male-only establishment reserved bathing for a specified room near the kitchen. So that had proven unfeasible. The tricky part had been the tub. A large bathtub couldn’t negotiate the
long narrow staircase. A baby bather was the best he could do.

Procuring ladies’ soaps and a robe had been the easiest part. Marcus didn’t bother to mention how much he’d enjoyed going through all of the soaps and picking just the right scent he thought Cat would like.

Cat moved closer, but the blanket was so tight, she had to walk in quaint tilting mincing steps.

“I’ll be in the corner.” He pointed to her recently vacated chair. “If you need me.”

Approaching the dark, reddish violet screen, she turned. “I know that you should be here in case I need help,” Cat murmured. “But this is…strange.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

She looked down at the floor. “When I just got up from the seat, my head was swimming.”

“And now?” he asked, concerned.

“Better. It’s just frustrating, the light-headedness comes and goes.”

“It’s only been a couple of days, Cat,” he replied gently. “Give it some time.”

She grimaced. “I’m not a very good patient, I’m afraid. I hate being sick and have little patience for it.”

“One thing I’ve learned from the war is that if I’m not whole, then I can’t do my best work. So I try to give my body the time to heal whenever possible.”

“You’re right,” she murmured. “Are you certain you don’t mind staying?”

“Not at all. I have some reading to catch up on.”

Her hand grazed the dark panel. “This is a beautiful silk screen. Not quite violet, not quite red…”

“I can’t recall the color the proprietor told me it was. I just asked for the darkest one they had.”

She swallowed. “I owe you a lot of money, Marcus—”

“This is the Crown’s business, Cat. It won’t cost me a farthing,” he lied. “Go take your bath.”

Stepping away, Marcus grabbed one of the Andersen Hall ledgers from the table and sat in the big armchair. It was still warm from when Cat had sat. Keeping his eyes glued to the pages, he called, “Do you have everything that you need?”

“Yes. I love this soap. Orange blossom, isn’t it?”

He smiled to himself. “I’m glad you like it. I couldn’t find lemon but thought it might do.” Keeping his eyes from straying across the room was more difficult than he’d imagined.

“I love it.”

So did he. The heady sweet scent wafted all over the chamber and he wondered if anything had ever smelled so divine. He crossed his legs, keeping his eyes averted from that screen.

December Contributions
, he read.
Column One.

The sounds of trickling water and the fire crackling interrupted his thoughts.

Marcus pulled at his shirt collar, feeling suddenly very warm.

The water splashed and a female exhalation of happiness teased his ears. All thoughts of donations slipped from his mind. The urge to peek was so great, Marcus forced his eyes closed. Perhaps a snooze was in order.

Leaning back, he adjusted his legs, getting comfortable for a nap. In the field Marcus could sleep in almost any circumstances. He certainly should have no trouble in a warm room, a comfortable chair and a safe venue.

The sounds of liquid sloshing in the tub caressed his ears. The scent of orange blossoms teased. In his mind’s eye, he imagined the water coating her soft skin. He suddenly wished he could be that liquid. Or better yet that he could lick it off Cat’s naked flesh.

Marcus swallowed. He needed to keep a better rein on his licentious thoughts. She was an injured lady in his care; he knew better than to behave like a randy schoolboy.

“Ow!”

His eyes flew open as he sat up. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just bumped my elbow.”

“Have a—” the words died on his lips. The golden glow from the hearth cast a shadow on the screen, outlining Cat’s glorious silhouette in intimate detail.

Marcus’s mouth dropped open; he suddenly felt bereft of air.

In all his years, Marcus couldn’t have imagined setting up, so innocently and yet so effectively, a virtual feast for his senses.

Marcus swallowed, his heart beginning to pound in his ears.

If he were a true gentleman, he’d leave the room. But how could he do so without letting her know why? Moreover, he couldn’t in good conscience leave a damsel in distress, could he?

He should look down at the ledger, avert his eyes…

But for his life, he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Cat’s shadow gracefully played across the violet red panel, drawing his gaze like a starved man to bread. Those sloping shoulders, sweeping curves, round, pert breasts and lush globular derriere were enough to make his shaft rise up and stand at attention. It was so stiff it almost hurt.

“This is strange,” Cat called out.

“What?” his voice cracked. He prayed she didn’t notice. He couldn’t let Cat know, not in a million years, what delicious torture she was inflicting. She’d die from mortification and never let his perverted soul near her again.

“Me, bathing with you in the room.”

“Is there anything that I can do to alleviate your discomfort?” Did that sound as dissolute as he thought?

“You’ve been only the gentleman, Marcus.”

If you only knew
.

“I suppose I’m just being silly. But still, I feel deuced awkward.”

The water splashed. She turned and in perfect silhouette, he watched, mesmerized, as she glided the cloth over those pert, round breasts.

His mouth dried to dust. He was a knave, a rogue, a blackguard of the first order!

“Will you talk to me?” she asked. “Maybe it won’t feel so…strange.”

He scrambled for something ordinary to say. “It’s ‘King’s purple’, I believe.”

“What?”

“The screen color.”

Devil take it! Now she’d know that he was gawking at the panel! “Not that I’m looking,” he added quickly. “Do you need any more soap?”

Her movements stilled. “Are you all right?”

“What makes you ask?”

“You sound out of breath.”

He coughed into his fist. “I’m fine. Just a little something caught in my throat.” Thankfully she began her ministrations once more. That lucky cloth rolled over Cat’s breasts and down to her belly.

Marcus began to sweat. But he was sure to keep his mouth closed this time and not make a sound.

Her hands strayed down to her middle, making circular rotations around her abdomen.

Marcus’s shaft was so hard it pressed up against his breeches in excruciating pleasure.

Lifting her foot, Cat set it on the rim of the tub and began rubbing the cloth over her leg. In silhouette, Marcus could see every delicious curve of her calf, her knee, her thigh and that fantastic juncture between her legs. Oh, the way her luscious rump hitched in the air…

It took every ounce of Marcus’s self-control not to tear down that screen and ravage her on the floor. But she would have hated him forever and he would’ve hated himself for it, too. So he silently witnessed the luscious agony of Cat bathing herself in a wholly artless erotic display, knowing that he’d never be able to touch her. He was a bastard in so many ways; but he didn’t debauch innocents.

Suddenly she straightened. “Are you still there?” A hint of nervousness laced her sweet voice.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get a larger tub,” he said, scrambling to think of
something
to say. “But the officers usually use the bathing room.”

“It’s not an issue.” Leaning back down, the cloth swept over her calf. “Thank you for taking the trouble to find this for me.”

No, thank you.

The cloth traveled up her knee to her thigh, slowly heading toward that incredible juncture between her thighs.

Marcus tugged at his collar.
This room is hotter than Hades and it’s about to get a lot hotter.

Three raps sounded at the door with double pauses between. Marcus didn’t know whether to curse or thank the heavens.

Behind the screen Cat grabbed for the robe. “Ow.”

“What’s wrong?” he called.

“Just my head.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “Who do you think it is?”

“It’s only Tam.” Adjusting his breeches, Marcus stepped over to the door. “What is it?”

“Sorry to bother you, sir,” the good sergeant replied through the door. “But there’s something I need to discuss with you.”

Marcus called over his shoulder, careful not to look back. “I’ll be but a moment, Cat.”

“Certainly,” she called.

Marcus’s hand settled on the knob. Opening that door and leaving that room was turning out to be harder than he’d imagined.

“I’ll be right outside,” he delayed.

“Take your time.”

Well, there was naught to be done for it. Taking a deep breath, he turned the knob.

T
he cool air in the hallway was not nearly as stimulating as the orange blossom scent inside Marcus’s bedchamber. And the sight of the hook-nosed sergeant certainly no comparison to visions of Cat in silhouetted splendor.

“Tam,” Marcus greeted with a nod.

“Sir.”

“Don’t say a word,” Marcus advised, yanking on his collar.

“About what, sir?” Tam’s eyes were fixed on the doorframe above.

“Good. What news?”

“I found one of the blokes from the alleyway. He was in a tavern sulking in his gin.”

“Which tavern?”

“Tipton’s.”

Marcus felt his hackles rise. “Joe Tipton owns that tavern and he holds me in ill regard.” Marcus did not bother explaining Joe’s involvement in his misadventure with his
father seven years before. “Did the two of them seem connected in any way?”

“Nay. The bloke hovered in a corner as if waiting for someone. The host hardly took notice of him. No one showed. Then the man went home to a place on Chadwick Lane.”

“He lives alone?”

Tam smiled. “Oh, yes, and the rent’s paid through the end of the month, so he ain’t going anywhere any time soon. I have a man keeping an eye on the place, but I wanted to let you know.”

“I will conduct that interview, Tam.”

“Certainly, sir. You’re the one they call ‘The Wolf,’ not me.”

“The Wolf?”

“You’re either sniffing something out or chewing someone up.” Tam’s voice carried a hint of pride, but Marcus didn’t know if he liked the moniker. Well, better The Wolf than so many of the other labels tossed about camp.

“Here’s the address.” Tam handed him a scrap of foolscap.

“I’ll be leaving in about half an hour. Get yourself something to eat. Then I want you up here at the end of this hall. No one comes, no one goes. I’ll tell Cat to tap three times if she needs anything.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And set someone to watch Tipton’s Tavern. Joe’s been one to keep a few games running on the side and he has no love for me.”

“Yes, sir.” Tam spun on his heel and headed down the dark, narrow passageway toward the stairs.

Marcus turned back to the wooden door, wondering what Cat might be doing inside.

Taking a deep breath, Marcus knocked on the door and
let himself in. The heady odor of orange blossoms greeted his return. He could barely contain his disappointment as his gaze traveled to the now folded screen, with the cloths and soap piled neatly beside it.

Cat sat in the big armchair at the opposite corner of the room with her feet tucked daintily beneath her. Marcus couldn’t see a scrap of skin beyond her fingertips and face as she was bundled up in a voluminous, peach silk robe. Her wet hair was covered with a floppy white bonnet with a peach-colored ribbon slotted through. With her shiny, cherry-tinged cheeks and pink-bowed lips she looked positively delectable.

Marcus felt like the Big Bad Wolf stalking Little Red Riding Hood and chided himself to behave. Pasting what he hoped was a harmless smile on his face, he asked, “Feeling better?”

“Worlds. Thank you.” Her golden brow was furrowed and she was nibbling on that adorable pink bottom lip.

“Do you need me to change your bandages?”

“I did it myself.”

He pushed away the feeling that his nursing was no longer needed. “Is something troubling you?”

She looked up, her smoky gray gaze locking with his. “This whole traitor business. The attack on you, the fact that Lord Renfrew is involved in something nefarious that could implicate all of us—”

“I never said it was Lord Renfrew.”

“You didn’t have to. I know the board members well enough and Lord Renfrew has been acting oddly now for quite some time.”

“Oddly?”

“In all the time I could remember, Renfrew has never hired a single one of Andersen Hall’s former charges.
Even though he’s got sizable households and considerable loss of staff from what I hear.”

“That’s unusual?”

“Most trustees go out of their way to give the Andersen Hall charges a position when they get the opportunity. But not Renfrew. He gave money, loaned his name to the institution and sat on the board.” She shrugged a dainty shoulder. “I suppose he thought it was enough.”

“But that’s changed?” Marcus pulled a chair opposite to hers and sat. Not only was she easy on the eyes, but she might just give him some helpful information for his investigation.

Propping her elbow on the arm of the chair, she rested her chin in her hand. The sleeve of her robe drooped giving him a glimpse of pink wrist. “About six months ago, Renfrew came to Andersen Hall for a visit.”

Marcus shifted his gaze to her face. “For what purpose?”

“He wanted our help in retaining fifty young, strong men to help with a building project.”

“What kind of project?”

“He didn’t specify.”

“Did he say where this project was?”

“He said at his estate in Peterborough.”

“He said? You didn’t believe him?”

“My friend Katie received a letter from her brother, one of the men that Renfrew hired. But it was sent from Dover, not Peterborough.”

This was interesting intelligence, indeed. “Could the brother have taken off? Or been reposted?”

“No. In his letter he indicated that he was still with the other men.”

Marcus leaned forward. “Did he say what the building project was?”

“No.” She exhaled loudly. “All he talked about was how bad the food was and complained about the long hours. Still, it indicates that Renfrew lied.”

Marcus rubbed his eyes. “Or that he changed his mind.”

“So it’s not helpful at all?” Her tone was disappointed.

“Actually, you’ve given me something to chew on.”

“So you’ll follow up on it?”

Marcus’s mind raced through the implications of confirming his target to Cat and having her know some of his plans. After considering the possibilities, he decided that there was little harm. “I will.”

“How will you prove it, if Renfrew is up to something?”

“Well, first I have to know the man.”

“Have you had any luck?”

“Being on the board, at meetings, at the club, I’ve been able to establish a place in his circles. It’s been…enlightening.” He didn’t bother explaining how much he’d learned since his return to London about the complicated Lord Renfrew. The skeletons in his closet, the rash idealism and raw ambition that drove him. Marcus knew every piece of property the man owned down to the last brick and every bank account to the last draft. Marcus knew when he shaved, what he ate, how he spent his funds, whom he bedded.

More importantly, Marcus knew whom Renfrew trusted. It had been a productive investigation so far, yet Marcus was still without the proof he needed to nail the bastard. Without doubt, however, he’d have it soon. He always got his man.

Suddenly Cat looked up. “How long does it typically take to unravel a plot? Or is timing even predictable?”

“The whole business is unpredictable…”

“But in this instance?”

“I would venture no more than a few months. Probably less.”

“And then you’ll go back to Portugal?”

“Spain, most likely.”

She tilted her head. “Do you like what you do, Marcus?”

He started, surprised by the question. “I suppose, I’ve never considered it…” He shrugged. “I gain satisfaction in a job well-done.”

“Sounds like my bookkeeping.” Lifting her chin from her palm, she waved a hand. Marcus tried not to be enthralled by her every action. “I don’t love doing it,” she explained. “But it’s important work. So I try to do my best to see it done reasonably well.”

“Mayhap we’re not so different in that respect,” he answered slowly. “I don’t enjoy it, per se.”

Her brow furrowed. “The soldiering or the killing?”

“Both,” he replied, impressed that she understood the distinction. Faces he would have preferred to have forgotten filtered through his mind.

“Bringing people to justice, helping my country…it’s all well and good. But some men actually take pleasure in the killing…I do not.”

“But you are good at it.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes.”

“Why did you go to war, Marcus?” she asked, her gray gaze assessing.

Marcus was not about to explain how going into the military had helped him escape prosecution seven years ago. Moreover, how it had gotten him away from his irate father.

Looking away, he spoke lightly, “I’ve always been up for an adventure. War is as grand an adventure as they come.”

“But seven years of it?”

“The longer you’re in it, the more it feels like home,” he lied, trying not to think about how much he hated it sometimes. But it had become a way of life and he’d found ways to make it bearable, even pleasant at times. He’d been around long enough to learn how things worked and how to make them work for him. Besides, where else would he go?

“Why did you depart London in such a hurry seven years ago, Marcus?”

He shrugged. “It was past time for me to leave. My father and I weren’t ever going to get along. It was best for all.”

“I can’t agree. Since your return I’ve seen a marked difference in your father.”

“Really?”

Lifting a shoulder, she bit that lovely lower lip. “He’s been away a lot, granted, with you.”

He didn’t bother correcting her; instead, he wondered what that personal matter was that had his father so engaged.

“But when I’ve seen him,” she added, “your father has been more contented than he’s been in years.”

“Hmmm.” Marcus could think of nothing more to say.

“And although I’m not happy about the reason for your return…” A lovely shade of cherry blossomed on her shiny cheeks. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Marcus wasn’t going to lie and tell her he was happy about having to return to London and face his past. But by the same token, he couldn’t in good conscience say that it was as terrible as he’d feared.

They faced each other silently, awkward awareness filling the small chamber.

“I suppose I should be off…” he murmured.

She swallowed. “Where are you going?”

“To speak to one of the men from our little encounter the other day.”

“Is Tam going with you?” Was that a hint of concern in her voice? Something deep inside of him warmed.

“Tam is staying here. He’ll be down the hall if you need him. Knock three times if you need anything. He will do the same.”

“Three knocks, all right.”

“Well, then…” He stood, feeling reluctant to leave.

She licked her lips, an innocent enough gesture, yet not to his licentious mind. Slowly, she rose from the chair. It was astounding how petite she seemed, barely coming up to his collar, when she had such a resilient personality. “I suppose I will see you soon?”

“I should be back in a few hours. Call for Tam if you need anything.”

Reaching out, she clasped his hand. Her fingers were soft in his grasp. He suddenly wondered at how his callused hands must feel to her.

“Godspeed,” she murmured.

Without thought, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to her smooth forehead. The scents of soap and orange blossoms overcame him. “Get some sleep, Cat.”

Then he left quickly, before he did something he knew he’d regret.