His Dark Obsession (13 page)

Something was wrong, of that Sarah was certain. The familiar green door of
Mrs. Mildred Needham’s Studio of Virtuous Young Beautiful Women Artist Models
was flung open. There were numerous serious looking coppers traipsing in and out.
No not coppers, thought Sarah, Bobbies, that was the proper British term.

Sarah picked up her skirts and shouldered through the small crowd, taking the old wooden steps two at a time. The atmosphere in Mrs. Needham’s parlor was far worse. Her employer was seated by the fire, her ever-present handkerchief actually being put to good use for once. Obviously agitated, she was overshadowed by two large men, one in uniform, one in a suit.

“I don’t know! I’m telling you! I just don’t know!” cried Mrs. Needham.

Sarah ran to her side, falling to her knees. “Mrs. Needham, what has happened?”

Mrs. Needham placed her hands on Sarah’s cheeks, “Oh my Sophronia, you are here! It is too awful. Florence is dead!”

Sarah paled. “What? How can that be?”

Mrs. Needham waved her hand listlessly in the direction of the men, “These men say there is foul play.”

“Who are you miss?” asked the man in the uniform. He had a massive handlebar mustache and a belly to match.

“Who are you?” Sarah asked with spirit.

Pulling his shoulders back in irritation, he spit out, “I’m
Constable
Bagstock and you’d be smart to answer my question!”

“I’ll be the one asking the questions,” interjected the man in the suit. He was clean-shaven but equally tall with an equally impressive amount of girth.

“And who are you?” asked an already exasperated Sarah.

With an arrogant look in Constable Babstock’s direction, he stated, “I’m
Detective
Constable Chuzzlewit.”

From the short exchange and his deliberate emphasis on detective, Sarah could tell there was some animosity between the Bobbies and the still newly formed detective department.

“Why do you think Florence was murdered?”

“I’ll be asking the questions!” said a ruffled Detective Constable Chuzzlewit.

At that moment, two men carrying a canvas stretcher appeared in the hall just outside the parlor door. As they shifted to prepare for the steep decline of the stairs, one pale hand emerged from the shroud to fall lifeless to the side.

Sarah held her hand to her mouth, horrified. While she had never gotten on with Florence, she never would have wished the poor girl dead!

Dabbing his pencil against the tip of his tongue, Detective Constable Chuzzlewit cleared his throat, “Yes, well. I will ask again. Who are you?”

“Sarah.”

“Sophronia.”

“What’s this all about?” asked Chuzzlewit his suspicions aroused.

“Mrs. Needham, please! This is no time for your silliness with names!” responded Sarah. “My name is Sarah Grey, sir.”

“Well, now. You are just the one we’ve been wanting to talk to. If you will follow me?”

Squeezing Mrs. Needham’s hand in a show of quick comfort, Sarah followed the detective to the informal dining room. Victoria was just rising along with another gentleman in a suit.

“Did you get her statement Detective Constable Granger?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, give us the room if you will.”

During this brief exchange, Victoria approached Sarah. Her hands trembled as she took both of Sarah’s into her own. It was obvious she had been crying. Sarah knew Victoria was one of the few people in the household who seemed to have a genuine fondness for Florence.

“I’m so sorry, Sarah,” she tearfully confessed. “I had to tell them. They made me so frightened with their questions and accusations!”

“Victoria, what are you talking about?”

“I had to tell them how you threatened Florence last night.”

“Threatened Florence? That is ludicrous, I did nothing of the kind!” responded an alarmed Sarah.

Victoria’s voice rose in agitation, “Don’t you remember telling her her nastiness would get her into trouble?”

Sarah saw the interested looks on both men’s faces as they observed her conversation with Victorian with interest.

“That was just silly banter. You know that,” said Sarah uneasily.

Victorian and the other detective left, leaving Sarah alone with Chuzzlewit.

“Where have you come from, miss?”

Unwilling to drag Lord Warrington into this mess, Sarah lied. “A walk in the park.”

“A walk in the park? All afternoon?”

“I really enjoy walking.”

The detective took in her wrinkled dress and mussed hair. He made a few notes.

“We understand you and the deceased did not get along.”

“It was more an uneasy friendship but I wouldn’t say I didn’t get along with her.”

“Is that why you bought her some chocolates from…” he checked his notes, “from Lyon’s Corner Tea shop?”

“How did you know about the chocolates?”

“Just answer the question, miss.”

“Yes…yes…I bought her some chocolates. I…I tore her dress and wanted to apologize.”

“Um…hmmm,” was the uncommitted response. “Stay where you are seated. Do not move.”

Chuzzlewit left the room, leaving Sarah to sit in agitated silence desperately wondering what was happening. Then she heard the scrape of a boot just outside the doorway. Mary poked her head into the drawing room.

“Thank goodness,” cried out Sarah in an excited whisper. “Dear Mary do you know what is going on?”

Unlike the other servants in the household who had believed Florence’s dark tales of savages from America, Mary had always been kind to her. In return, Sarah always shared her hairpins and sweets with her.

With another quick look around, Mary scurried into the room. “Oh miss! It is something awful! Miss Florence retired to her room complaining of a sore throat and a burning in her stomach a few hours ago. Then Mrs. Needham sent me to check on her.” Mary’s face crumpled at the memory. Sarah stroked her shoulder in an effort to comfort the poor girl…and to get her to continue.

“It was horrible,” she sobbed. “Miss Florence was on the floor. It looked like she had tried to reach for the water pitcher but fell over. She had been sick in the chamber pot. The whole room smelled something awful. The worst part was how twisted and bowed her body was…as if…as if she had fought with the devil himself and he froze her in place!”

There was the sound of heavy footfalls down the hallway. Mary scampered back to her hiding place.

Detective Constable Chuzzlewit entered with two Bobbies in tow. “Miss Sarah Grey alias Sophronia Grey, it is my duty to inform you, you are being placed into the custody of the Her Majesty’s Metropolitan Police for the callous poisoning murder of Miss Florence Hawdon. Constable, the wrist manacles if you will.”

Sarah was roughly turned by her shoulders, her arms pulled back. “Poison! No! I’m innocent! Please! I had nothing to do with her murder!” she cried out as the heavy and too large irons were placed over her slender wrists.

Mrs. Needham appeared in the doorway.

“Mrs. Needham! You know I am innocent! Please! Help me! Where is Elma? Elma! Elma!”

“We cannot find Elma! Oh lord, what if she was carried off by the murderer! Constable, please! You have this wrong! Where is my Elma?” entreated Mrs. Needham, grabbing on to his sleeve in the process.

Carefully removing Mrs. Needham’s grasp on his jacket, Detective Constable Chuzzlewit responded, “There is strong indication this was a death by arsenic poisoning. As far as we can tell, the last thing she ate were the chocolates given to her by the accused. There is also evidence of a threat to her person from the accused just last night. Not to mention a long simmering animosity according to your staff.”

“But…but she ate those chocolates from me days ago! Where is Elma? She will tell you! Florence finished the chocolates I bought for her that very day!” Sarah desperately tried to explain.

“Rest assured, miss. We will conduct a thorough investigation including finding this Elma witness but we will still be taking you into custody.”

Sarah was roughly pulled out of the room. The Bobbies placed a coat over her shoulders as they ushered her down the steps and out the battered green door.

“Where are you taking her?” demanded Mrs. Needham of the closest Bobbie.

“Probably to the Female Convict Prison at Brixton just cross the river.”

Mrs. Needham turned back into the drawing room. “Mary! Mary!”

As soon as the servant appeared, Mrs. Needham said in a rush, “Go to the street and hail a hansom cab. Quickly!”

Mrs. Needham gathered her hat and gloves. There was only one thing she could do. She just hoped her instincts were correct.

“Where to?” called out the hansom cab driver as Mrs. Needham climbed into the back of his carriage.

“Regent’s Park, York Terrace East. The Warrington house.”

~*~

Across London. At The Brotherhood of the Linked Ring club on Old Bond Street.

“So how is your secret project coming along, Warrington.”

Pierce’s only response was a quiet smile.

“Come now man! It really isn’t sporting of you to keep such a treasure to yourself,” said Lord Van der Weyde jovially.

“If the man is not finished playing with his new toy, there is nothing we will say to dissuade him. We will just have to be patient. He will tire of it soon,” laughed Mr. Davison.

“Well he better not break it before we’ve had our chance to play,” grumbled Lord Robinson.

Before Pierce had a chance to respond, there was a loud scuffle in the hall. His butler, Parker, burst in to the inner sanctuary of the club.

“Parker! What the devil!” called out Pierce, astounded at his usually proper and staid butler’s actions.

“Your lordship, please forgive the intrusion. There is something that requires your
immediate
attention,” said Parker evasively, with looks about the room.

Knowing Parker since he was a boy in leading strings, Pierce knew only something of grave import would lead to such a breach in decorum. “Very well. Gentlemen,” said Pierce with a nod as he rose to leave.

“Trust Warrington to always bring the exciting bits to our little club!” called out Lord Van der Weyde.

Pierce excited the club into his waiting carriage. The sight of a rattled Mrs. Needham sitting docilely in the corner alarmed him.

“Bloody hell! Where is Sarah? What has happened?”

“I will explain everything my lord on our way to the prison,” assured Parker as he rapped on the ceiling to signal the driver to proceed.

“The prison?” Pierce ground out through clenched teeth.
God Dammit, what had his little spirited American gotten herself into this time?

“This is highly irregular,” complained the befuddled magistrate as he stood in his study clad only in a nightshirt and slippers. “There are rules and regulations to follow. Procedures! This is not according to procedure!”

Pierce grabbed the man by the loose fabric at his neck, “I want you to take a good strong look at me. Do I look like a man who gives one good god damn about your fucking procedures!”

Thankfully, Parker intervened, hastily pulling his lordship off the hapless magistrate.

Clearing his throat, Parker hoped to calm the situation. “Sir, as I have told you, you are addressing Lord Warrington. A member of the House of Lords and a close family friend of the Right Honorable Lord Kidgerbury, Vice-Chancellor to Her Majesty’s High Court. Your superior I believe.”

The magistrate reluctantly nodded.

Parker continued, “It is the express wish of Lord Kidgerbury that you honor Lord Warrington’s request to move up the charge of Miss Sarah Grey to this evening rather than waiting over the week’s end till Monday.”

“If she spends so much as another moment in the gaol, I swear your heirs will feel my wrath for generations,” warned Pierce with an even more ominous glare in the magistrate’s direction.

The study door opened and Sarah was ushered in.

Pierce advanced on her, effortlessly shrugging off the two constables who tried to block his path. She looked so very small and frightened. Her wrinkled dress was filthy. There was a dark smudge of dirt on her tear-stained cheek. Her beautiful hair was a dull, limp tangle down her back.

Grabbing her by the upper arms, he asked, “Have you been hurt?”

Sarah shook her head, unable to speak.

“My love, I want the truth. Has anyone laid a hand on you?” he insisted.

“No,” she managed to croak out. “Considering the circumstances, they have been courteous but oh…oh…I swear I didn’t kill Florence,” she cried as her knees buckled. Supported by his strong embrace, Sarah felt him stroke her hair and murmur assurances into her ear.

“Proceed with your procedure,” scoffed Pierce to the magistrate.

The whole terrible event was a blur to Sarah. Detective Constable Chuzzlewit read out his statement into the record. Remarking on the appearance of Florence’s contorted body. Her remarks of having a sore throat and burning stomach. All consistent with acute arsenic poisoning. The medical men were conducting both a Marsh and a Reinsch test on the decease’s stomach contents to confirm the suspicion of arsenic. He then related Victoria’s statement regarding Sarah’s supposed threat to Florence. She felt his arms tighten across her shoulder blades when the detective mentioned her flimsy alibi of walking in the park all afternoon.

Pierce swallowed another curse. If the silly minx had simply mentioned she had been with him all afternoon they might never have arrested her for fear of angering him and his powerful connections. She must have thought she was protecting him. The selfless act in the face of such adversity deeply affected him. Unfortunately, she had been arrested and he was limited on what he could do in the moment, but he knew with every fiber of his being she would not spend one night in a fetid prison if he had to spirit her away to safety himself.

Casting a nervous glance in Lord Warrington’s direction, the magistrate boldly declared, “It is the opinion of this magistrate there is sufficient cause for an indictment of murder. The accused will be committed to the gaol…”

Parker cleared his throat. Slowly shaking his head to the magistrate.

“Ah…that is…the accused is to be bound over…” corrected the magistrate who appeared to relax at Parker’s affirmative nod. “Yes…the accused will be bound over into the custody of Lord Warrington until the assizes in a fortnight. We are finished!”

Pierce swept Sarah into his arms and stormed out of the magistrate’s home. Carrying her to the carriage, he refused to release her.

“This isn’t proper,” whispered Sarah with an anxious glance in Mrs. Needham’s direction.

Pierce’s only response was an intense look as if he was still not convinced she was unharmed and a tightening of his grip.

From her perch on Pierce’s lap, Sarah tried to placate Mrs. Needham. “Please Mrs. Needham. Please say you believe me when I say I didn’t murder Florence!”

“Oh dear child! Of course I do! If you were going to murder Florence, you would have done so long ago!”

Sarah scrunched her nose. It was not exactly a ringing endorsement but at least her employer did not think she was a cold-blooded killer.

The carriage pulled up in front of his York Terrace home. After Pierce alighted with Sarah, Parker stuck his head out. “If I may, my lord, I will escort Mrs. Needham home.”

“Of course. My thanks, Mrs. Needham. You did the correct thing by informing me.”

Mrs. Needham seemed to exchange a knowing look with Pierce. “I certainly hope so, my lord. Please take care of our girl.”

“I intend to,” he responded roughly. His emotion over the peril Sarah was in evident.

~*~

Pierce was greeted by a footman who immediately opened the door at their approach.

“My lord, Mr. Parker ordered the fires lit and a bath and tray of food be sent to your rooms.”

“Thank you, John,” responded Pierce as he carried his precious handful up the main stairway, giving silent thanks to Parker’s forethought.

Closing the door with his heel, Pierce enclosed them in the somber quiet of his rooms. Looking down, he realized Sarah had fallen asleep in his arms. From their lovemaking to the trauma of being taken away by the constables, it had been an eventful and trying day. Gingerly placing her in a plush chair by the fire, Pierce lifted one slender calf, unlacing her boots.

Sarah awoke to the warmth and security of Pierce’s private rooms. Seeing him on his knees before her, she tried to sit up while pulling her leg back. Pierce’s strong grip did not relent.

“Lay back. I need to get you out of these clothes.”
And burn them he silently added
.

“I can do it, sir…er…my lord…ah Lord Warrington,” she fumbled.

Pierce smiled warmly at her. “Do you not think it is time you called me by my Christian name?”

Sarah blushed and could only nod.

“Good girl. Besides, I only want to hear
my lord
on your lips when I am punishing that pert little bottom of yours,” he added seductively.

If possible, Sarah blushed deeper.

Pierce removed her shoes and stockings. Placing a hand under her arms, he carefully lifted her up.

“I assure you I am fine. I can finish undressing myself,” she offered.

“Shhh. Don’t ruin my fun,” he said with a smirk. Reaching around her tiny waist, brushing his broad chest against her own, Pierce untied her velvet belt. He then made short work of the small pearl buttons holding the dress in place. It slipped to the floor. Placing his warm fingers inside the lace edge of her corset, Pierce slowly unhooked the metal eyelets down the front. Sarah’s breath hitched as his knuckles brushed the inside curve of her right breast. Letting the corset drop to the floor, Pierce fell to his knees. Placing soft kisses on her abdomen, he lightly traced the red marks from her corset with his tongue.

“No more corsets for you, little one,” he hummed. “It is a sin to mark such beautifully flawless skin.”

Sarah ran her fingers into his thick, wavy hair, holding him close. “Does that mean no more spankings?” she cheekily asked.

Pierce gave her bottom a quick pinch through her bloomers, thrilled to see her spirit returning. Her time in the gaol was short but from what he heard, the experience was dreadful enough to traumatize even a hardened criminal after a mere quarter hour. “Absolutely not,” he teased. “The right to punish this delectable body is one of the great pleasures of my life.”

Sarah was taken aback at the intensity of his words.

Pierce stripped away her bloomers and rose to lift her into his arms. Carrying her closer to the fire, he slowly lowered Sarah into the large copper tub filled to the brim with steaming lavender scented water.

Suddenly feeling shy and embarrassed, Sarah picked up the bathing linen and soap. “I am fine, my…
Pierce
. I am sure there are more important matters for you to attend to than my bath.”

Taking the linen from her fingers, he avowed, “Her Majesty could walk through that door and I would tell her I was occupied.”

Sarah laughed, “You know that has less of an effect on an American?”

Dipping the linen between her legs, Pierce pressed his two middle fingers to her heat. “What would have an effect on my little American beauty?”

Sarah’s eyes turned a deep emerald as she squeezed her thighs together, capturing his hand.

After taunting her with a few circular rubs over her sensitive button, Pierce ran the bathing linen over her belly and breasts. Moving the soapy linen in soft wide circles over her entire body. The soothing heat of the water and the searing heat of his caress banishing all thoughts of the gaol and the charges against her.

Pierce picked up the small pitcher on the table by the tub. Scooping up some water, he carefully poured it over her tilted back head. Soaking her long, raven’s wing tresses. Uncorking the small jug, he poured the fragrant substance into his hand. Rum, honey, black tea and rosemary water. Taking up fists of her heavy tresses, he worked the fragrant elixir into her hair, washing it.

“Tilt your head back,” he ordered in a soft, soothing voice.

Sarah obeyed. Moaning as the warm water coursed through her hair and down her back. It was lovely beyond express to feel clean again. She had been kept in a holding cell for several hours away from the rest of the prison, but the stench and the filth were enough to make Sarah want to soak in a bath for days on end.

Pierce did not miss a nuance. From the glistening of her pale skin, to how the firelight brought out the gold in her bright green eyes, to her plump lips falling open on a sigh as he rinsed her hair. Fetching a heated linen from the grate by the fire, Pierce coaxed her to stand. Enveloping her in the warm linen, he gently rubbed her limbs dry. Sweeping his arm beneath her knees, Pierce lifted her into his arms. Placing her in the middle of his bed, she sunk into the downy softness.

Unbuttoning his now wet shirt, Pierce stared down at her prone form. Her skin had the most luscious tint of pink, warmed from her bath. Slipping out of the rest of his clothes, watching her watching him.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. His voice a low, husky murmur.

“No.”

Giving her a wolfish grin, he said, “Good, because I am.”

Placing his large hands on either raised knee, he slowly forced her legs open. Wedging his broad shoulders between her soft thighs, Pierce inhaled the balmy lavender scent of her skin. He stroked her soft curls with the back of his finger. Relishing in the sight of her sweet dew. Proof of her arousal.

Using his thumbs, he gently opened her nether lips, exposing the soft, sensitive bud. Keeping her eyes captured with the seductive power of his gaze, he lowered his head. Pulling her bud between his lips, he used the tip of his tongue to circle…around…and…around. Sarah’s hips rose off the bed. He placed one restraining hand on her lower belly, forcing her back down to the bed linens. And still his tongue twirled and flicked. Sarah tossed her head from side to side. It was wicked. It was wonderful. It was too much.

Pierce pushed his thumb into her tight passage. Feeling her clench and tremble. He swirled his thumb, teasing the delicate flesh right at her entrance. Sarah grabbed fistfuls of bed linen as she tried in vain to keep her hips down. Her whole body needed to move, to wriggle, to shift, to twist. It was like her whole body hummed and thrummed with energy.

Pierce pulled his thumb free. It glimmered with her dew. Moving slightly downward, he pressed the tip against her forbidden entrance. Sarah squirmed and tried to clench her bottom cheeks closed.

“No, please. Not there,” she whimpered.

“You’re not permitted to tell me no, little one. Now ask me to play with your naughty bottom hole.”

Sarah couldn’t do it.

Pierce covered the sharp edge of his teeth with his lips and tightened down on her clit. The sharp bite of pain through the haze of pleasure made Sarah cry out.

“Ask me,” he commanded. The vibrations of his dark voice sending titillating waves up the back of her thighs and middle.

“Please…please play with my…my bottom hole.”

Pierce made a low rumbling growl of displeasure deep in his throat.

“My lord! Please,
my lord
!” she called out.

Pierce pressed the rouged entrance to her back passage. Feeling her muscles tense, then weaken, with his relentless push. Thrusting through, her body swallowed his thumb to the first knuckle. He pushed to the hilt.

Sarah groaned. It felt strange and yet stimulating to have him force his way into such a forbidden place. Her hips shifted from side to side as he slowly thrust his thumb in and out of her dark passage.

Pierce leaned back as he pulled his thumb free. Watching as her bottom hole slightly gaped and then slowly pressed closed. Placing his index and middle finger in his mouth, he slicked them wet. Putting his free hand on her flat stomach to keep her restrained, he positioned his two fingers at her bottom entrance. Applying slow and steady pressure, her body was forced to open.