Authors: Melissa Lynne Blue
He leaned forward squinting playfully just inches from her eyes, eyes of such crystal blue intelligence he wondered that he’d never stopped to look before. “State your case.”
“Very well, Marshal Langston. The story is about the hate between the houses of Capulet and Montague and how said hatred led to the untimely demise of their children.”
Watching her face light with such animation as she defended the play, he could not help but be intrigued. It occurred to him suddenly that for all the time he’d spent
with
Lilly, he rarely took the time to enjoy her company, actually talk with her. He liked talking to her.
“The moral of the story is— Ouch! Oh, dear!”
The metal pot lid clattered to the floor.
“Did you hurt yourself?” David stepped forward instantly.
“I burned myself,” she mumbled around the finger she’d stuck into her mouth.
“Let me see.” He captured her wrist and slid his hands along her palm and fingers until he reached the injured digit. “I suppose it’s my fault for distracting you. In the future I shall refrain from discussing Shakespeare while we make dinner. Oh, my,” he said a bit more seriously, turning her hand over but not releasing it. “I think that is going to blister.” Without a thought he lifted the injured finger and pressed it quickly to his lips.
“Better?” he asked quietly, eyes softly smoldering into hers.
“Uh, huh,” she murmured, her lips, so perfectly pink, parted ever so slightly. He knew the immense satisfaction of flustering her in an entirely new way.
With a pang, which quite nearly stole his breath away, David realized they were ambling about the kitchen like an old married couple. He stood smiling easily into her wide luminous eyes, fingers twined with hers, and the sensation was so perfectly pleasant
he
ached.
The simple act of taking her hand and kissing the injured finger had been the most natural thing in the world. He’d not even thought as he’d done it. Cocking his head to the side he could not help but note the way her hair—not quite curly, but slightly more than wavy—sprung loose from the prim pins she used to contain it. He liked her hair this way. Messy. Suddenly he longed to pull the pins from her hair and allow it to tumble loose down her back and shoulders. Had he ever seen her hair down before? He must have… funny he couldn’t remember. Funnier still he so desired to see it.
Desired? Lilly?
Not hardly.
And yet, gazing into her face he had no idea why he was still standing quite so close to her except that in this moment, in this place, with
her
he felt completely at home
.
A sense of home he had not known since childhood—before even his wife—flushed through his veins and he didn’t want to step away from her.
* * *
Lilly’s heart performed a little flip.
He’d
kissed
her finger!
His palms slid along the sensitive flesh of her hands and her skin tingled so acutely she scarcely remembered the sting of the burn. Her hand looked so tiny encased in his large calloused palms that she was mesmerized, unable to form a coherent thought much less
words.
She flicked her gaze upward and her
heart stumbled and nearly stopped. Davy’s smoldering eyes roamed over hers. No one had smoldered over her before—at least not in quite some time, and certainly not with eyes more captivating. The crisp blue was so intense no words or color on the earth could be compared to describe it. Transfixed, Lilly stared up into his unwavering gaze surprised to find the staid, condescending wall ever present in his expression slipping away.
He moved forward just a bit more, their fingers were still locked together, and he stroked a thumb across her smooth knuckles. Shivers tripped up and down her spine. His gaze went beyond smoldering now, it was ablaze, on fire. Excitement rippled through her as he leaned just a bit closer, so close in fact his breath breezed across her lips. If he leaned in any further he may actually kiss her.
Kiss her!
A small bubble of panic welled in her breast. If the fire and burning of his eyes could make the world around her fade and flicker into a nondescript haze, what would his lips do? He was so close now, just inches away, the heat of his body seared her, and the scent of his masculine cologne tickled her senses. The hint of whiskers shadowing his jaw line drew her gaze and she was feeling quite intoxicated. So intoxicated that she rejected all reason and swayed toward him, parting her lips in wanton invitation.
“Something smells good in there.” A voice echoed through the hall. “Is dinner ready yet?”
Lilly startled and jumped away. Davy too, quickly distanced himself, raking a hand through his wavy golden locks.
“Just about, Papa,” Lilly called, her voice ringing a bit higher-pitched than normal. She whirled back toward the stove, lifting a wooden spoon to stir the soup. “Marshal Langston is going to join us.” She chanced a glance toward him.
Davy cleared his throat and turned toward the kitchen door, appearing remarkably composed. “Well, uh, George, as long as I am here why don’t we start going over what we have and cancel the meeting at my office this evening.”
“Sounds good to me.” Her father strode into the kitchen, taking his usual seat at the table. “Nice flowers,” he said. “Where’d they come from?”
“Oh, uh, Davy brought them for… um…”
“For Lilly’s birthday,” David finished for her.
“Is that so?” Her father’s eyes widened in surprise before piercing the other man with a suspicious glare. “Are you of a mind to court my daughter, Langston? If so it’ll take more than wild flowers to impress me.”
Alarm and dread washed over David’s face and he coughed, throwing Lilly a desperate glance.
She took pity on him. “Come, Papa, he did not bring them to court me. You know better. Now, do you have any new leads or information about the murders?”
“So far my deputies have turned up nothing.”
Davy scraped a second chair back. “We haven’t found much either, but Lilly’s got some notes to go over. If there are any common patterns in the behavior of these women we’ll find it.”
“I spoke with Lavinia about Susie today,” Lilly interjected. She quickly related her earlier conversation with her cousin as she dished up dinner and prepared to eat.
The meal was quick with conversation centered on the investigation. Afterward, Lilly’s interview notes were pulled out, and after another two and one half hours nothing new was uncovered.
“This is damn frustrating,” George muttered, raking a hand through his graying hair. “Tomorrow we’ll start combing the business district by the seamstress shop. What we need is to pinpoint exactly where those women were and who they were with before being murdered.”
“I know.” David appeared equally discouraged. “The worst is knowing we could have another victim at any time. The townspeople know it as well. I can hardly cross the street without being bombarded with questions and worries. One man asked if he should have his daughters sent away from Charleston.” Davy shook his head. “I have served in both the United States and Confederate armies and spent four years at war, but never have I seen such a mess.”
“We’ll need to disclose an official statement.”
Davy sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. “I was planning to contact the local paper Monday to have a statement printed next week.”
“Lilly should help you. She has a wonderful way with words,” George said.
Lilly shifted her gaze back to David only to find him already watching her. A little shiver slid down her spine. His face was an unreadable mask. Was he irritated by the proposition? It was impossible to tell.
“I should be going,” Davy said, rising from his chair and gathering up the interview notes. He stuffed them inside his vest.
“I’ll see you out,” Lilly offered politely, following him up. She ignored her father’s questioning brow, and left the kitchen.
Davy strode wordlessly down the hall in front of her and retrieved his gray felt slouch hat from the wooden peg beside the front door. He jerked open the door and Lilly was certain he would leave without so much as a parting
good evening
. At the last moment he turned back to her, expression soft.
“Happy birthday,” he murmured, brushing a stray hair from her jaw with his knuckles and pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek.
11
th
Hour Rose
Five
Sunday afternoon David weaved through the crowded Harvest Festival
,
his head filled with Lilly. He tried to convince himself it was a result of devouring one of her blue-ribbon apple pies not ten minutes prior, but if that were the case why did he see the full curve of her pouty lips every time he closed his eyes?
What had possessed him to kiss her cheek last night? It had been a moment of pure impulse—no thought, just instinct. It was the sort of moment that made him a good soldier, the ability to act quickly, decisively, but surely that little kiss—no matter how utterly sweet—had been a grave error in judgment. Davy hadn’t romantically kissed a woman in eight years.
Rounding a large canopy with several children gathered round to watch a dunking game, Davy found himself confronted by a prim reddish-blonde bun and slim shoulders clad in plain brown. Lilly.
He hesitated, nervous as a green boy. What the hell had come over him? He scowled. No woman was worth this level of mental anguish. He began to turn on a heel, more than prepared to stomp off and forget that he’d ever seen—much less kissed the cheek of Lilly Hudson, but… He stopped short. From the corner of his eye he noted a man at her elbow. Anger flared instantly. Dark and lean the figure of Marcus Brady was unmistakable. Would she never stay away from trouble?
“Lilly!” David shouted, striding determinably back toward her.
Lilly turned as he approached, and smiled in open invitation, her eyes soft as a bluebell in May. He was far too irritated to take notice. “Marshal Langston, are you enjoying the festival?”
Davy ignored her question and gave Marcus a curt nod before turning a stern glare to her. “May I have a moment alone, Miss Hudson?”
“Oh.” Lilly narrowed her eyes in subtle question. “I suppose.” She turned back to Marcus with a dazzling smile that served to further irk David. “Do excuse us, Mr. Brady.”
Brady glanced between Lilly and David, obviously disappointed at having his interlude interrupted. “Very well.” He tipped his cap and backed congenially away. He motioned toward the gaggle of boys beneath the tent a few feet away. “I will offer up my services at the dunk tank.”
Lilly laughed. ”I wish you luck, Mr. Brady. Some of those boys have exceptional aim.” After the other man took his leave, she shifted her attention back to Davy, cocking her head to the side in question. “What do you need, David?”
“I don’t want you alone with Marcus Brady.”
She startled, visibly confused. “Excuse me?”
“You are not to be alone with Marcus Brady again,” he growled.
Lilly bristled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Forgive me, but that is none of your concern. Must you—” She stopped short, expression evolving from annoyance to one of tempered wonder. “Are you jealous?”
“Absolutely not,” he snapped. “It’s just, uh… you should know better than to speak with those damn reporters.”
Lilly rolled her eyes.
“Brady is the worst sort. I have no doubt whatever you told him will appear in tomorrow’s newspaper.”
“So you believe I was sharing information about the investigation with him?” Lilly shook her head. “Did it occur to you that he was simply a gentleman stopping to congratulate my cousin and me for winning the grand prize for our pies?”
Davy set his jaw. “No.” For whatever reason
that
did not sit particularly well with him either, but
not
because he was jealous. “Nevertheless I do not want to see you with him again.”
“You are a tyrant.”
“In matters of life, death, and serial killers,
I have the government appointed right to be a tyrant.”
Her intelligent eyes sparked. “You believe Mr. Brady is the killer?” Skepticism laced her tone.
“I have my suspicions,” he replied elusively. Marcus Brady was a newspaper reporter originally from New York. He’d arrived in Charleston not long before the first murder, and was always in the company of some woman or another. Something about Brady gnawed at Davy’s gut, and it was more than the other man’s Yankee roots.
Lilly pursed her lips as though she might laugh and glanced toward the dunk tank.
Davy’s irritation flared back to life. Apparently she was as agog over Mr. Brady as every other woman in the city. “I believe it’s possible,” he elaborated after a moment. “He is good looking, charismatic, just the sort who could easily lure women into a false sense of trust, even married ones. In any case, we’re not in a position to rule out anyone in the city as a potential murderer.”
“Even you,” she jibed.
“Davy!” A voice called out before he could set Lilly back on her heels. “Ho, there!”
David swiveled to find his younger brother, Curtis Langston, striding toward him, arm raised in greeting. Davy waved in return, guilt washing over him once again. He still hadn’t visited his brother’s twin daughters. Curtis paused and half turned, stretching an arm out behind him. A moment later he wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders, ushering Cadence and the baby carriage she pushed forward.
Davy groaned, feeling an utter ass.
Lilly shifted back. “I should be—”
He snared her arm. “You’re not going anywhere,” he muttered under his breath.
* * *
Startled, Lilly glanced from Davy’s vice-like grip on her upper arm to his face. Their eyes locked briefly. Panic flickered in his gaze. Panic and something more… something she could not quite discern but it nearly broke her heart. Lilly said nothing, the time for questions would be later, but gave a simple nod, turning a polite smile to Davy’s brother and sister-in-law as they approached.