Beatrice (28 page)

When the
barrier of their clothing became too much to bear, Ben tried to
ease back on the kiss. His head lifted so that he could look down
at her, but she was not prepared to release him. When his head
didn’t lower as she wanted him to, Beatrice reluctantly opened her
eyes to gaze up at him. The firelight lit the angles of his face
and cast his defined features in shadow but, rather than appear
dark and sinister, it only emphasised the rich masculinity of his
face and increased her need for him. She had no idea what she was
asking for, and daren’t look at the emotions coursing through her
too closely, but she resolutely drew his head back down to hers
anyway and copied the way he had kissed her only moments
earlier.

Her lips
sipped and nipped before drawing him deeper into an embrace that
robbed him of all thought. His body immediately responded to her
feminine lure and he settled over her more fully while he gauged
her reaction to their intimate positions.

“God
Beatrice, if we don’t stop this now, we won’t be stopping at all,”
he warned her.

“Don’t
stop,” she gasped and tugged his head back up to hers when he began
to plant tiny kisses along her shoulder. “Please don’t
stop.”

“Be sure
of what you are asking for, Beatrice. There is no going back if I
share your bed tonight.”

“I
know,” she replied honestly. “I don’t think that we can go back.
Not now. Not after everything that has happened between us. I
won’t. I can’t.” Her eyes locked with his and she knew that he felt
the same even before he seared her with one last, hard kiss before
he lifted his weight off her and stood beside the sofa.

She
gazed up at him for a moment and studied the hand he held out to
her for several long moments before she returned her gaze to his.
The warmth of his hand chased away any lingering doubts she might
have had, and she smiled at him when he laced their fingers
together and drew her around the room with him while he
extinguished all of the candles.

They
paused long enough to put the fire guard in place before they made
their way upstairs.

Beatrice
sighed in contentment and listen to Ben’s heavy breathing beside
her. In all of her life she had never expected to share such
wonderful intimacy with anyone, especially someone like Ben. He had
taught her so much in such a short space of time that she still
trembled with the force of the wonderful sensations their love
making had brought her. It was inconceivable that she could ever
regret sharing her bed, and her body, with him. In fact, what had
transpired between them had chased away any lingering doubts she
might have had that her future lay anywhere other than with
him.

Last
night had been stupendous; wonderful; shockingly wanton, and
something she wanted to repeat over and over again. When he had
woken her just before dawn, she had more than willingly followed
his lead. They had savoured the passion that had roared to life
between them with an enthusiasm that had left them both trembling
with emotion, but she didn’t regret a single second of it. Life
didn’t get any better than this. She knew without a shadow of a
doubt that she loved him. From the bottom of her heart to the very
depths of her soul, he was now a part of her in a way that nobody
ever had been before and she knew that whatever happened, however
he felt for her, he was meant to be a part of her life
forevermore.

She
yawned and felt his arm tighten around her waist as he stirred
sleepily. A soft smile curved her lips, but she didn’t move again
for fear of waking him. It was a delicious feeling to wake up in
his arms and wondered if this is what it was going to feel like
when they were married, and suddenly couldn’t wait to get the
mystery of the plant out of the way so that they could move on with
their lives, and start to get their relationship moving on a little
so she could fulfil that dream of being his wife.

The
sudden scuff of footfall outside the window was immediately
followed by loud thumps on the back door which echoed hollowly
around the silence of the house.

Ben’s
eyes shot open as he listened to the heavy thuds that just didn’t
stop. His scowl was deep and he threw Beatrice a warning look that
told her to stay right where she was. Oblivious to his unclothed
state, Ben hurried to the window and drew the shutter back. His
lips twisted as he looked down at the top of the head he didn’t
recognise. He heard Maud slide the bolts back on the kitchen door,
and the low murmur of voices. Unfortunately though, they were too
far away for him to hear what was being said.

“Who is
it?” Beatrice asked, aware of her own well tousled state. She drew
the sheet up to cover her nakedness and watched Ben quickly tug his
clothes on with a sigh of dismay. She had hoped that they could
have at least one last kiss before they had to leave the warmth of
the bed, but it appeared that Ben had other ideas.

To her
dismay, he seemed to have completely forgotten about what they had
shared that night and now seemed more hell-bent on getting
downstairs than saying ‘good morning’ to her.

“Maud
shouldn’t have opened the door, damn it,” he swore and stomped out
of the bedroom without a backward look. He stopped only briefly on
the stairs to tug his boots on before he stormed into the
kitchen.

Maud was
just closing the door when he slammed to a stop behind her. He saw
the stranger move past the kitchen window, and opened his mouth to
lambast the housekeeper, only to freeze the look of sorrow on her
face. His stomach dropped to his toes and he knew instinctively
that the news wasn’t good.

“Ben,
you need to hurry. That was Billy Green. He was sent by Fred.
Apparently your house is on fire,” the housekeeper gasped
tearfully.

“What?”
Ben stared at her in horror. “Are you sure? Who told
him?”

“Fred
Dinage sent him to fetch you. Your house is on fire. He said to get
over there right now.”

Ben
didn’t need telling again and reached around her to yank the door
open. He paused when he realised that Beatrice was standing in the
kitchen doorway, and threw her a dark look of warning. “Stay here.
Keep the door locked and don’t answer it to anyone.”

“I am
coming with you. I can help,” Beatrice argued.

“No, you
stay here,” Ben sighed and ran a frustrated hand through his hair.
He didn’t have the time to argue and knew that his words had come
out too sharply, but he just had to go and see how bad the damage
to his house was.

“But I
cannot sit here and do nothing, Ben. I have to be with
you.”

“Stay
here,” Ben ordered harshly. “I will be back as soon as I
can.”

He
didn’t stop to hear any further argument, and slammed the door
behind him.

By the
time the bolts slid closed, he was already at the top of the
garden.

By the
time Beatrice moved to stare after him out of the kitchen window,
he had vanished into the trees.

Tears
filled her eyes as she watched him go. Hurt flooded her. Why didn’t
he want her help? Alright, so she wouldn’t be much use in putting a
fire out, but she could at least help to get his personal
belongings out of the house, or at least look after the things that
could be saved. She wasn’t completely useless. After everything he
had done for her, helping him in time of crisis was the very least
she could do. Yet he had quite forcefully made it clear that he
didn’t want, or need, her help. Why?

“He is
worried dear, that’s all,” Maud assured her and patted her arm as
she passed. “He needs to rescue his house.”

“But I
could do something. He needs someone to be there for him. Why won’t
he let me help him? He has done so much for me.”

“Don’t
read too much into it dear. The man cares deeply about you, that
much is plain to see. Caroline Smethwick might be a lunatic, but
she was right in what she said about him staring longingly at you
across the aisle in church on Sunday. He is just worried about his
house right now, that’s all. You can hardly blame him.”

“I know,
but I should be there just to offer support if nothing else.”
Although she tried to stop herself from taking his actions too
personally, she couldn’t ignore the pang of hurt that simply
refused to be ignored. It left her to wonder if she should have
waited until he had declared some deeper feelings for her before
she had allowed him into her bed.

It was
too late now though. What was done was done. They couldn’t go back
and simply forget what they had shared last night. However, as much
as she tried to tell herself that he was facing a crisis at home,
she couldn’t ignore the fact that she should be the one who was
right beside him. Rather than voice her fears to an unsympathetic
Maud though, she merely sighed and left the room.

She
stood in the sitting room doorway for several moments, but had no
interest in merely staring at the fire. It reminded her too much of
what she and Ben had shared last night.

Instead
of going into the room, she moved to the study doorway and turned
her thoughts toward the plant. Whatever issues lay unresolved
between her and Ben, it was quite clear that they couldn’t move
their relationship on until they had resolved the mystery
surrounding the plant, and removed the threat of danger which
seemed to lurk around every corner.

She felt
herself go cold at the thought that someone might have already
stolen it, and set fire to Ben’s house to hide the fact that the
plant was missing. It was a sickening to think that Ben’s kindness
had resulted in his house being burned to the ground. She wanted to
sit down and weep.

“I am
going to peg the washing out, Beatrice. I won’t be a minute,” Maud
called.

“Fine,”
she replied listlessly as she made her way into her uncle’s study.
She stared blankly at the shelves and took a deep breath. She had
yet to touch any of it, mainly because there was so much to work
through. She knew that when she started, it was going to take days
to get the room emptied. Now, however, she rather wished that
instead of moaning that she was bored a couple of weeks ago, she
had waded in and made a start on clearing it all out. If she had,
then maybe she would have found the answers they needed about who
owned the blasted plant, and why people were lying and dying for
it.

She sat
at the table and picked up a sheaf of papers. With the door open
there was barely enough light to see, but she thumbed listlessly
through the array of personal notes, bills and lecture notes
anyway.

It was
only when she was about half way down the pile that she came to
something that looked horribly familiar. She lifted it out and,
once she was assured that the papers beneath were bills and nothing
to do with the cultivation notes, she put the paper on the top of
the pile and looked at it a bit more closely.

A dark
frown settled over her face as she read the declaration that had
been carefully penned in block letters. It was dated one month
prior to her uncle’s death, and had been signed by Jules Sanders,
Brian Mottram and Bernard Murray.

“Declaration of ownership and process,” she murmured as she
read the title at the top of the page.

She read
the words beneath it over and over, and felt her stomach began to
churn. She skimmed over most of the descriptive text, but read
enough to learn that two of the men were responsible for the
cultivation of the plant, and her uncle had acted as advisor. Jules
Sanders had owned one of the mother plants, having purchased it
from Richard Browning several months previously. Richard Browning
had sold Brian Mottram the second mother plant a few weeks later.
Together, Sanders and Mottram had cultivated the rare orchid, the
colour and rarity of which was so unique, so improbable, that there
was only one of it in existence in the entire world.

Ownership of the plant had been split equally between Jules
Sanders and Brian Mottram. However, in the weeks prior to the
document’s creation, they had been subjected to increasingly
sinister threats from Richard Browning, who was attempting to claim
ownership given that he had originally found the plants in far off
foreign countries. Mottram and Sanders had agreed to make an
official declaration of their part in the plant’s creation, and had
gotten Matthew Northolt and Bernard Murray to witness it. The
document stated that both Sanders and Mottram wanted ownership of
the plant to be taken over by Matthew Northolt in the event of the
sinister threats actually being turned into a reality. Upon his
demise, Matthew’s relatives should inherit the plant, along with
both mother plants, which were apparently already in Matthew’s
conservatory somewhere, along the cultivation notes. The names and
addresses of each of the men, along with the witnesses, were
written at the bottom of the document besides the men’s signatures.
Beside that was Richard Browning’s name and address, should the
police ever need it.

“Good
Lord. The four men on the list I found,” Beatrice whispered, and
felt a headache start to develop behind her eyes as she tried to
read the note her uncle had written on the bottom, but it was too
dark within the room to see clearly. She sighed and shook her head
and stepped and stumbled over the piles of papers and books on the
floor in order to get to the window.