Lie by Moonlight (21 page)

A faded newspaper, folded in half, was inside. It had no doubt been tucked away in the cabinet years ago and forgotten.

She removed and unfolded it. Several columns on the front page were taken up with a lurid report of a suicide and a financial swindle.

The date of the paper was nearly twenty years old.

She started to read the report.
The body of a gentleman believed to have been engaged in a number of remarkably clever financial swindles was found in his house in Lexford Square on Tuesday.

Evidently consumed by remorse for having brought ruin upon so many innocent investors, Mr. George Colton put a pistol to his head and took his own life sometime during the night. The housekeeper discovered the bloody scene when she arrived to take up her duties the following morning.

The distraught woman was unable to supply many coherent details, but she did express grave concern for Mr. Colton’s young son who is missing. . . .

Dante and Beatrice bounded to their feet, dashed toward the door and disappeared down the hall.

Ambrose was home at last.

She listened for his footsteps in the hall while she closed up the cabinet. When the outer sections were shut, she realized she was still holding the old newspaper. She put it down on a nearby table and turned toward the door of the library.

Ambrose appeared in the opening, the dogs at his heels. He had removed the false whiskers and beard. She sensed the dangerous energy that crackled invisibly in the air around him. She had been right, she thought, something terrible had happened.

“Imagined you’d be in bed,” he said from the doorway.

“Are you all right?” she asked. She took an anxious step forward,
wanting to go to him, to touch him and make certain that he was not injured. “I’ve been very worried. Were you hurt?”

“Do I look that bad?” He walked into the room, shrugging out of his coat.

“For heaven’s sake, Ambrose, tell me what happened.”

“Cuthbert is dead.” He slung his coat over the back of the sofa. “I never got a chance to speak with him.”

“Dear Lord.” She sat down very suddenly on the arm of a leather reading chair. “I knew something dreadful had happened.”

“There were two men at the scene.” He went to the table where the cut-glass brandy decanter stood and picked up the bottle. “Got the impression they were waiting for me, perhaps hoping to follow me after I left Cuthbert’s office.”

She watched him down a considerable amount of the brandy in a single swallow. A fresh jolt of alarm swept through her. “You
were
hurt.” She sprang to her feet and rushed toward him. “Shall I send for a doctor?”

“I am not hurt. The very last thing I need is a doctor.” He downed another large dose of the brandy.

“There is dirt and grime on your clothes. Did those two men assault you?”

He considered that briefly and then inclined his head. “Yes, I believe they did assault me. I tried to assault them right back, mind you. I regret to say that I was not quick enough.”
“Ambrose.”

“Sorry to report that they got away.” He frowned. “They took
Cuthbert’s body with them. I expect they will have dropped it into the river by now.”

“This is terrible. What are we going to do?”

“Well, for starters, I suggest we both go to bed.”

“Are you mad?” She swept out her hands. “You can’t just walk in here, announce that you found another dead body and then tell me to go upstairs to bed.”

“I think it would be best if we saved this discussion until tomorrow morning.”

“We will discuss this now.”

Something dark and dangerous moved in his eyes. “This is my household. I give the orders here.”

“Really, sir?” She raised her chin. “I was led to believe that this was Mr. Stoner’s household.”

He shrugged. “In Stoner’s absence, I am in command.”

“How very convenient for you.”

“Not at the moment.” He glanced at the table where she had placed the newspaper. “What is that?”

She followed his gaze. “An old paper. I found it in one of the drawers in the Cabinet of Curiosities.”

“Bloody hell.” He crossed the space with two quick, gliding strides, picked up the newspaper and looked at the front page. “I had forgotten about this.”

He started toward the fire. Brooding anger and old anguish etched his hard face.

“Ambrose, wait.” She launched herself forward and grabbed his arm. “Why do you wish to burn it? What is so important about that newspaper?”

“There is nothing important about it. Not anymore.” He reached over with one hand and pried her fingers loose from his sleeve. “It is merely old news, Miss Glade.”

“Stop.” Unable to restrain him physically, she stepped directly into his path. “I have had enough of secrets and cryptic remarks. I want answers, sir. I mean to have them before this night is over.”

“You want answers?” He halted, inches away, raised his hand and captured her chin with his fingers. “What an astonishing coincidence. As it happens, I want something, too, Miss Glade.”

She could scarcely breathe. She would not let him intimidate her, she vowed.

“And what is it that you want, sir?”

“You,” he said.

By rights his wintry smile should have iced her blood. But for some reason she was suddenly unbearably warm.

“You are trying to frighten me,” she whispered.

“Yes, Miss Glade, I am, indeed, trying to frighten you.”

“Well, you won’t succeed. I’m not leaving this room until you answer some of my questions.”

“You want answers. I want you. It is an interesting dilemma, is it not?”

“I am quite serious about this.”

“So am I. The good news is that, unless you run, not walk, to that door and take yourself straight upstairs to bed, one of us is going to get what he wants tonight.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The bad news,” he continued very deliberately, “is that it won’t be you. Do I make myself clear, Miss Glade?”

Comprehension struck her with the force of a lightning bolt. She stared at him, disoriented with shock. Then a thrilling anticipation sparkled through her.

She could insist upon getting answers later.

“Are you threatening to ravish me, sir?” she asked. “Because if so, I think it would be best if I removed my glasses first. You know how they tend to fog up when you become passionate.”

He closed his eyes, bent his head and rested his forehead against hers. She heard the newspaper drop to the carpet behind her.

“What am I going to do with you, Miss Glade?” he whispered.

She slipped her arms around him. “I thought you intended to ravish me. It sounds like an excellent plan.”

He threaded his fingers through her hair. Pins popped free and dropped to the carpet.

“I am lost, aren’t I?” he murmured.

“I don’t know. Are you?”

“Yes.”

He raised both hands and removed her eyeglasses with great care. She felt him reach around behind her to set them on the mantel. There was a soft clink when he put the spectacles down on the marble.

In the next moment his mouth was on hers. The aura of dark energy that she had sensed in him was suddenly transformed into another kind of force. It flooded her senses, igniting a dizzying response.
“Ambrose.”

She pressed herself against his solid chest.

He reacted to the small, muffled cry and the tightening of her embrace by scooping her up into his arms. Without breaking off the kiss he carried her across the room toward the door.

Dante and Beatrice, evidently assuming that everyone was about to depart the library, got to their feet and bounded ahead so as not to be left behind. She heard the dogs’ claws on the polished wooden floorboards in the hall.

When Ambrose reached the opening, however, he did not go through it. Instead he used one booted foot to shut the door.

“Lock it,” he said against her mouth.

“What? Oh, yes. Right.”

She reached down and fumbled with trembling fingers.

“Hurry,” he whispered.

“Sorry.”

She finally managed to get the door locked. The instant Ambrose heard the unmistakable click of iron against iron, he carried her back across the room to the sofa.

He set her on the cushions, straightened and turned down the gas jet so that the library was lit only by firelight.

She watched, fascinated, as he unfastened his shirt with quick, impatient movements. He left the garment hanging loosely and sat down on
the edge of the sofa. She heard one boot hit the floor with a soft thud and then the other.

He turned and leaned over her, caging her between his arms. For a moment he just looked at her, as though he needed to commit her to memory because she might vanish at any moment.

“I knew that you would be waiting for me,” he said.

She looked up into his haunted eyes and smiled.

“Is that a bad thing?” she asked gently.

“I am not accustomed to having someone waiting for me,” he said, as if that explained everything.

In some strange way, it did, she thought. An oddly wistful sensation whispered through her.

“Neither am I,” she said.

“I want you.”

“It’s all right.” She touched his jaw with her fingertips. “I want you, too.”

He never took his eyes off her while he untied the sash of her dressing gown.

She could see some of the curling hair on his chest and the strange flower tattoo. Intrigued, she slipped her hands inside the edges of his open shirt and flattened her fingers on his bare skin, enthralled by the heat and strength of him.

The dressing gown fell away, leaving her in her nightgown. He reached down her leg. When she felt his hand on the inside of her bare thigh, she drew a sharp breath. The intimacy of his touch left her shaken, utterly consumed with a great need.

He kissed her throat and undid the bodice of the nightgown. Then, quite suddenly, she felt the edge of his teeth on her nipple. The sensation electrified her senses.

She clenched her hands in his hair. A violent shudder swept through her.
“Ambrose.”

He opened his trousers and pushed himself against her bare thigh, hard and heavy and demanding.

When he touched the damp, aching place between her legs, she became shatteringly aware of the compelling tension that was building within her there. She lifted herself against his hand and he responded with slow, deliberate strokes of his fingers that drove her to the brink of madness.

Sensation after sensation coursed through her, leaving no room for uncertainty, let alone any sense of modesty. She was caught up in the whirlwind and she could not wait to see where it would take her.

Desperately curious, she circled him with her fingers. He responded with a hoarse groan that could have reflected either intense pleasure or intense pain.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked anxiously.

“I am in agony.”

“Oh, Ambrose, I never meant—”

“Do it again,” he ordered roughly.

She explored him while he rained kisses on her throat, shoulders and breasts.

Abruptly, but with obvious reluctance, as though he yearned for
more but feared he could not tolerate the sensation, he levered himself up and away from her. His fingers closed around one of her ankles. He raised her leg.

Assuming that he was going to complete their union, she braced herself.

But he did not enter her. Instead, to her great shock, he draped her leg over the back of the sofa and moved down the length of her body. When she felt his tongue on her in the place that he had just finished caressing, she was so stunned, she could not utter a single word, let alone protest.

By the time she finally found her voice, it was too late. Her entire body was clenched as tight as a fist.

Without warning a dazzling sense of release burst through her. The sensation was so overwhelming that she barely noticed that Ambrose had changed positions and was now looming over her.

She opened her eyes just in time to catch a glimpse of his intent, fiercely shadowed features, and then he was sinking himself into her body.

It was too much. She could not endure the alchemical brew of pain and pleasure. Her lips parted on a small scream.

Ambrose sealed her mouth with his own, silencing her before the cry escaped.

He groaned and then, as though he could not help himself, as if he had lost some portion of the self-control he valued so highly, he began to move within her.

She clutched his shoulders and clenched her teeth against the
uncomfortable, impossibly tight feeling, knowing that he needed this release, aware that it was a gift that she could give him.

He stroked into her again and again. Then, quite suddenly, he went absolutely rigid. It was as if he was engaged in a battle of some kind.

“Hold me,”
he begged against her throat.

The words seared her soul. The discomfort she had been experiencing did not matter. The only important thing in the entire universe in that moment was holding Ambrose as close as humanly possible.

His climax surged through him.

Time stood still and the night burned.

A
long time later she felt Ambrose move. He eased himself away from her body and got to his feet. She opened her eyes and watched him close his trousers. The act made her acutely aware of her own nakedness.

The atmosphere in the room had changed. The night was no longer white hot. In spite of the glowing embers on the hearth, there was a chill in the air.

She sat up quickly and pulled the dressing gown around herself.

Ambrose went to the mantel, retrieved her spectacles and came back to the sofa. He positioned the eyeglasses gently on her nose, took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, of course.” She adjusted the folds of the wrapper, ignoring the slightly bruised sensation between her legs and the small stains on her nightgown. All perfectly natural under the circumstances, she thought. “Why would you think otherwise?”

He smiled wryly. “Determined to play the unconventional, freethinking, modern woman to the hilt, aren’t you?”

“It is not an act. I
am
unconventional, freethinking and modern.”