The Last Wicked Scoundrel (9 page)

They missed the passion that ignited so quickly and fiercely between her and William.

She wondered if he brought her here because he’d known where things might end up if he kissed her in her bedchamber, in her bed. Nothing beyond a kiss would happen in this small boat that rocked on the Thames, nothing would happen in the open where curious eyes could take note of improper behavior.

Even with her pelisse wrapped around her, she’d been quite cool earlier, but now she was burning with a fever that raged only for him, for his touch, his nearness. His kiss seemed to encompass more than her lips. She felt it through her entire quivering body. Lovely warmth, and flaming passion. His mouth was greedily devouring hers, but she had no desire for him to stop. She was coming to life, her nerve endings rejoicing with the sensations he so easily awakened.

Resting her palm against his jaw, she took delight in the bristles. He hadn’t taken the time to tidy up before bringing her out here, and it added an additional element of improperness to what they were doing. She, who had strived so hard to do everything that was proper, was suddenly being carried along on a stream of wickedness.

Dragging his mouth from hers, he dipped it into the curve of her neck, and she thought surely he would leave a mark that everyone would see. She could hardly bring herself to care.

“Winnie,” he rasped, his breathing as harsh and heavy as hers.

What else he might have said was lost as the soft slap of oars on water had them both drawing back. With a quick salute a man rowed by them. No one she recognized, so it was unlikely that her reputation would be torn to tatters.

With care, William eased her upright. In his eyes, she saw desire smoldering. It was a heady rush to realize how much he wanted her. Even more astonishing to her was the realization that she desperately yearned for him, that she didn’t fear what might pass between them, but rather found herself anticipating it.

Quite suddenly, without warning, the hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle, and she had the overwhelming sense of being watched, of someone discerning the direction of her thoughts. Jerking her head around, she scoured the banks.

“What is it?” he asked.

A shiver raced through her. “Someone’s watching.”

He looked at the trees and brush lining the water’s edge. “The man who just rowed by us, perhaps.”

“No, this feels almost sinister.”

“Winnie, there’s no one about.”

He’s hiding, she wanted to tell him. He means us harm, but she would sound truly mad. She couldn’t see anyone, and who would want to hurt her? Avendale was the only one who ever had. Everyone else treated her kindly. She released a self-conscious laugh. “I’m sorry, I’m ruining our lovely morning.”

“You don’t need to apologize, and you’re not ruining anything.” He studied her with concern that made her feel silly for raising an alarm. She had absolutely no reason to feel threatened and yet she did. It was almost as though Avendale’s gaze was boring a hole through her back. He’d had such an intense stare that she’d been able to feel it at the most crowded of balls, no matter where he was in the room.

“I think perhaps remnants of last night are lingering,” he said, taking strands of her hair that the wind had tugged free of the braid and tucking them behind her ear. How could such a simple act of putting her back together feel so remarkably intimate, set her back to rights in so many ways? All her fears dissipated as gently as the fog.

“Yes, I think you’re right. I thought I was over the fright from last night.”

“How would you like to row us back?” he asked.

“I don’t believe I’d have the strength.”

“I’m relatively certain you’re stronger than you realize. I’ll sit behind you and guide you until you have the hang of it.” Pushing himself up, careful not to rock the boat overmuch, he sat on the bench and then assisted her into position, so she was sitting between his thighs. When she took hold of the oars, he folded his hands over hers. “You can’t make any mistakes here.”

His faith in her caused her chest to tighten. She’d once become accustomed to not being able to do anything correctly. It was quite liberating to know William was not awaiting an opportunity to scold her.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said, and she thought she’d never been more ready to take on a task.

As she moved the oars, she was quite aware of his strength serving to guide her. She felt the muscles of his powerful chest tightening and loosening against her back, the ropy muscles of his arms bunching and undulating with his movements. They moved in tandem, rocking forward, leaning back, working together to skim over the water. She thought anything he did with her would mirror this togetherness, this partnership. She imagined what a fortunate woman his wife would be.

“Why have you never married?” she asked.

“I fear it would take a very special woman to be content with the life I can offer her, leaving her bed at all hours, arriving for dinner after the food has cooled, or having the meal interrupted when she is in the midst of telling me about her day. My schedule is seldom governed by the clock.”

“That sounds rather like something you would say at social affairs when meddling mothers are trying to foist their daughters off on you.”

His low chuckle tickled her soul. “Quite right.”

While she considered questioning him further, she decided to let it pass. His reasons were obviously personal or he would have shared them without her having to pull the answer from him. If she could characterize their relationship at all, she would do so using the term “completely honest.” He’d never lied to her, never deceived her. She could be herself with him without fear of judgment, and she accepted him as he was. It was quite freeing, to have that amount of trust with someone.

Oh, she certainly trusted Catherine, but her trust of William was more complete, more firm. It was the bedrock upon which a foundation of something deeper could be built. He gave her confidence in herself that had been sorely lacking before. He allowed her to trust herself.

Her muscles began to burn with the relentless rowing, but she took satisfaction in it. Then she realized that his hands were no longer folded over hers, but merely resting atop them, that he was moving with her but his muscles weren’t knotting with effort.

“I’m doing this on my own, aren’t I?” she asked.

“I was wondering when you might notice.”

“You make me believe I can do anything, that I truly have nothing to fear.”

“You can do anything,” he said quietly. “I truly believe that.”

They were nearing their destination, the small dock where boats were stored and rented.

“I’ll guide us in,” he said. “It can get tricky.”

As much as she didn’t want to, she accepted the wisdom of his words. She was still a novice, but she felt invincible. While he took over the oars, she folded her hands in her lap.

“I need to face my demons,” she said succinctly. “I think all these strange occurrences that have been happening are tied in with Avendale.”

He stilled, the oars out of the water, droplets dripping into the Thames. “Why would you think that?”

“Because I never truly let him go. I’ve allowed him to maintain a hold over me. If I’m not going mad, then something has to be moving those objects around, causing all those unexplainable things to be happening. I think his spirit might be haunting me. Even out here, the strange sensation I had of being watched, I think I can attribute it to him.”

“You think he’s visiting you along the lines of Marley’s ghost?”

She didn’t blame him for the skepticism. It sounded rather ludicrous to her, but she could think of no other explanation. Easing over to the other bench, she faced him. “I have an old aunt who swears she’s communed with her dead husband. The medium she used—I believe her name was Mrs. Ponsby—was able to serve as a vessel so my aunt could ask her husband where he had hidden her jewels. Before he died, he’d gone quite off his rocker, hiding all sorts of things. He thought everyone was trying to steal from him. Anyway, through Mrs. Ponsby, he told my aunt where in the garden she’d find her jewels. They were exactly where they were supposed to be. I think Mrs. Ponsby could assist me in speaking with Avendale. I want him to know that I won’t put up with this nonsense. He must move on.”

“Winnie, I fear it’ll be a waste of your coin.”

“It’s my coin to waste. But after my aunt’s experience, I’m quite confident in the medium’s ability to speak with the dead. I don’t know why I didn’t think of calling on her before. It’s as you said earlier, being out here frees up the mind to all sorts of possibilities. If I can make him see that I’m not the woman I was, that he can’t push me around, that I don’t frighten as easily, perhaps he’ll let me be. That’s the thing of it. He took joy from my cowering. I know that I reacted rather badly last night, but that’s because I thought I was going mad. If it’s Avendale, then I need to have a word with him.”

“I just don’t think you’ll accomplish anything.” With a final dip and push of the oars, he had the boat gliding alongside the deck.

“I think it’s worth a try. If you’d rather not be there—”

“I’ll be there.”

“S
he plans to have a medium connect her with Avendale’s spirit,” Graves said to the group gathered in Claybourne’s library. Claybourne, Catherine, Frannie, Swindler, and Jack. It was early afternoon. He didn’t like talking about Winnie’s plans behind her back, but he owed these people, although he was beginning to feel as though he was giving them his soul.

He hadn’t wanted to leave Winnie but he’d needed to see to some patients, and as his first was the queen herself, he couldn’t very well be late to that appointment. Victoria seemed to have recovered from her bout of illness. He wished taking care of Winnie’s situation would prove to be as easy.

“I’ll convince her that no good will come of it,” Catherine said.

“Let her do it,” Jack said. “Where’s the harm? The medium will raise the table a bit with her knees, make knocking sounds on her chair, hum for a spell, and then pretend to be possessed by a spirit. The duchess will believe she’s spoken to her dead husband, and won’t even begin to consider that he isn’t dead at all.”

“He’s right,” Frannie said. “It will only serve to reinforce our ruse.”

Graves wasn’t convinced. “And if this medium doesn’t contact her husband?”

“She will,” Swindler said. “They’re all charlatans. I’ve arrested several. Attended the séances to gather the information to prove that they were not contacting the dead as claimed, but swindling people out of money. While I’m opposed to their methods, I agree that in this case they serve our purpose.”

Graves didn’t feel comfortable with it. “What we did three years ago was necessary. What we’re doing now, to protect ourselves, doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Think you’ll feel more comfortable when you’re dancing in the wind?” Jack asked. “He’s a bloody duke. You’re a commoner.”

“He’s physician to the queen,” Claybourne pointed out.

“Knowing how she and Albert are striving to raise the standard of behavior among her subjects,” Jack said, “do you think she’s going to be open to looking the other way?”

Silence greeted that proclamation as they all knew that Victoria had high moral values. Within her court, she was known for dismissing servants for the slightest of infractions.

“We might want to consider another possibility,” Swindler said, his sharp gaze homing in on Graves. “That the duchess is the one instigating a ruse.”

“Why the devil would she do that?” Graves asked.

“To gain your attention. Have you seen any evidence that what she claims is happening is in fact happening? She’s always telling you things after the fact.”

While he thought it highly unlikely, he couldn’t discount the question entirely. She had mentioned the necklace disappearing, then showed up at his door with it. She knew he would be returning to the residence last night. She could have arranged the rings, then sat in the corner awaiting his arrival. But he thought of her haunted eyes, her chills, her trembling. “I’ve no doubt she’s telling me the truth.”

“I agree with Bill’s assessment,” Catherine said. “Winnie doesn’t have a conniving bone in her body. I’ll visit her this afternoon. She’s certain to invite me to attend her séance, and Claybourne and I cat at least be on hand to reinforce the notion that Avendale is dead.”

“I’ll be there as well tonight,” Graves told her.

“Well then I don’t see that anything can go wrong,” Jack said.

W
innie had chosen the duke’s library for the séance. He’d spent a good deal of his life there, overseeing the management of his estates. In spite of its size, which allowed for four large sitting areas, this room seemed to have absorbed his strong scent. The dark heavy furniture reminded her so much of the bold and brazen man he’d been.

“Why would anyone require a desk that large?” she asked William, while the servants rearranged one of the sitting areas at the behest of Mrs. Ponsby, who was quite renowned for her ability to commune with the dead.

“It made him feel important,” William responded to her question.

“And I hate the gargoyles,” she said. The hideous stone creatures sat on either side of the fireplace grate. “He took them from a dilapidated church, or so he said. Still, it seemed rather sacrilegious. To be quite honest, there is nothing in this room that I like, except for the books. I suppose I should redo it.” Where there weren’t shelves, there were paintings of battles and people lying about bloodied. They always gave her chills, which was another reason she thought this room would serve them well. It seemed to celebrate death and suffering.

“Are you sure about this, Winnie?” Catherine asked. In the late afternoon, she’d stopped by for a spot of tea, and Winnie had taken the opportunity to invite her and Claybourne to join her that evening for the séance.

“Yes, I’m sure. He made my life quite miserable while he was alive. I shan’t have him doing it while he’s dead.” She squeezed William’s arm. “As you weren’t afraid of the dead when you were a lad, I see no reason that I should be as a grown woman.”