Authors: Candace Camp
It occurred to her that being with him like this was hardly in keeping with the decision she had made to avoid him. Sitting here together in the darkness was far too intimate. Whenever he leaned closer to whisper in her ear, his breath brushed her hair and skin, sending little tendrils of desire snaking through her. She could not keep her mind from turning to his kisses of the other night and the delightful sensations that had flooded her at his touch. Jessica told herself that she should go back to her room; she was putting herself right in the path of danger.
A noise in the hall made her jump. She peered out and saw Lord Vesey close his door and saunter down the hall. He was moving toward Gaby’s room, and Jessica felt Richard tense beside her as Vesey stopped outside Gabriela’s door. He reached out, took the doorknob in his hand and turned it. Richard and Jessica rose to their feet, ready to burst through the door and down the hall.
The doorknob turned and stopped. It was locked. Jessica let out a sigh of relief and sank back to the bench as Vesey shrugged, letting go of the knob, and strolled back down the hall. He turned onto the stairs and disappeared down them.
“Where is he going?” Jessica whispered.
“I have no idea. Perhaps I should follow him. You could stay here to watch and—”
He broke off, for another door had opened. He and Jessica turned once again to look. This time it was Mrs. Woods who had left her room. She, like the others, glanced up and down the hallway, then started off.
“This is like a French farce,” Jessica muttered.
Mrs. Woods stopped in front of a door only two doors away from them. Because the door lay on the same side of the hallway, they could not see who opened it, but they heard the sound of it opening, and Mrs. Woods passed through it.
“Who was it?” Jessica asked.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t see him. But that door belongs to Kestwick’s room.”
“So Lady Vesey has an assignation with the minister, and Mrs. Woods is rendezvousing with Lord Kestwick. I wonder if Lord Vesey was meeting someone downstairs.”
“There is no one young enough for him except Gaby, and he already failed there.” Richard sighed. “Unfortunately, I cannot see how a few romantic assignations could have caused someone to break into the study. Which makes it more likely that it is Vesey.”
He glanced out into the hall. “I am half-afraid that if I go in pursuit of him, I shall run into someone, there has been so much traffic in the hall,” he said dryly, then stood up. “Well, I shall venture downstairs after him. You keep watch.”
Jessica nodded, and Richard slipped silently out the door. He was gone from sight in a moment. She waited, watching the dark corridor, but nothing happened. She wondered what Richard was doing, if he had found Vesey. Minutes inched by. Just as she was beginning to think of going after Richard, a dark shape appeared at the top of the stairs. Her heart began to pound violently, but then as it turned and made its way stealthily down the hall, Jessica recognized it as Richard.
He came down the hall toward her. There was the crack of a door opening. Richard whirled and looked over his shoulder, then quickly took a few more steps and ducked down between the potted plant and the table, where Jessica had originally intended to hide.
Jessica watched as Mrs. Woods once more came into view. She walked to her door, which lay almost directly across from where Richard was hiding. Jessica held her breath, afraid that the woman would glance over and see him.
But she did not, merely went to her door, opened it and walked inside. Richard stood up and hurried the rest of the way down the hall to the alcove. He opened the door and stepped in, flopping onto the bench beside Jessica.
“Thank God,” Jessica said in a low voice. “I thought you were caught.”
“So did I. I was wondering how I was going to explain to Mrs. Woods what I was doing in my own house, hiding behind potted plants and spying on people.”
Jessica smiled. “It does seem somewhat absurd.” She leaned closer, whispering, “But what of Vesey? Did you find him?”
“Yes.” His tone was filled with disgust. “The fellow’s lounging in one of the chairs of my study, drinking my port. Insolent bastard.” He glanced at Jessica. “Beg your pardon.”
“No need,” Jessica replied absently. “It doesn’t seem likely, does it, that he would be there so coolly now if he had been ransacking it in the dark two nights ago.”
“God knows what Vesey would do.” He was silent for a moment, then said softly, “Why were you avoiding me today?”
“What?” Jessica glanced at him, then away. “I was not.”
“Everywhere I went today, you were not there.” Richard had spent much of the day drifting about the house, not even realizing that he was looking for her until he walked into Rachel’s room and his chest had felt suddenly lighter upon seeing Jessica there. Then she had left immediately, scarcely giving him a look.
Jessica looked at him coolly. “I was doing what I am employed to do—instructing Gabriela.”
“I see. Yet that scarcely explains why you would not look at me at supper tonight.” He leaned closer to her, and when Jessica turned to answer him, she found his face only inches from hers.
She froze, unable to move, unable to think, aware of nothing but how intensely she wished he would kiss her. Heat blossomed in her abdomen, just thinking of it. “Please…”
There was a faint tremble to her voice, a vulnerability, that stabbed him with lust even as it made him want to wrap his arms around her and protect her. “Jessica…”
He laid his forefinger against her cheek, slowly sweeping it down over her silken skin. Jessica closed her eyes as pleasure washed through her. She knew she should stop him, should protest, but her tongue seemed stuck, her lips unable to move.
“You are so beautiful.” He spread out his hand, cupping her cheek. “So passionate. The other night, I—”
“No,” Jessica choked out, flushing at his words.
“Please, don’t. I know I was—I am so ashamed that I—”
“No! Don’t say that. Don’t think it. You did nothing wrong,” he said, his voice low and fierce. “
I
was the one who was wrong. I was a—a cad to act as I did, to kiss you when I had no right. You did nothing wrong. You were lovely…desirable…you were everything a man could want.” His hand slid caressingly back into her hair.
Her curls twined around his fingers, clinging and soft, catching against the rougher surface of his skin, sending desire slithering along his nerves. Jessica looked up at him, her eyes dark pools, and he had trouble remembering the thousand reasons he must not kiss her. All he could think of was how soft her breasts had been in his hands, how delicious her skin had tasted on his tongue, how trustingly she had given herself up to him, dissolving in passion when he had barely begun to pleasure her. He thought of what she would be like when he explored her body fully, when he showed her how much more awaited her, of how she would shake, her skin like fire, and cry out her release.
“Jessica…” His voice was thick with desire as he bent and kissed her.
He heard her little sigh, felt her breath in his mouth, and he shuddered, burying his lips deeper in hers. His hands went to her shoulders, digging in, pulling her to him. Jessica’s arms went around his neck, and she kissed him back, her tongue twining with his. The blood thrummed through her veins, pounding in her head. Her breasts felt fuller and tender, and she knew that she wanted to feel his hands on them. She was aware that she was acting shamelessly, that she must be a horribly wanton woman, but at the moment she did not care. The only thing that mattered was the desire coursing through her.
Her hands caressed his back, exploring the hard muscles beneath his shirt. She slipped her hands over his shoulders and down his chest. She heard his quick indrawn breath of pleasure as her fingers caressed him, and the sound aroused her even further. Jessica remembered his lips on her skin, and suddenly she wanted to taste him the same way, to kiss and caress him. Her fingers went to the top buttons of his shirt, unfastening them, and her hand slipped in under the material, gliding over the bare skin of his chest.
Richard jerked, a low moan escaping him, and Jessica hastily started to withdraw her hand. But he clamped his hand over hers, stopping the movement. “No,” he murmured, his breath coming raggedly. “Don’t stop.”
He kissed her cheek and ear and throat as Jessica explored his chest. Her fingertips slid over the smooth skin, padded by muscle, and dipped down to find the flat masculine nipples. She circled one with her fingertip, pleased by the discovery that it tightened and hardened with desire just as her own did. Her fingers raked through the triangle of curling hairs that centered on his chest and moved lower, following as it narrowed into a single line going down to his stomach. His shirt impeded her movements, and she stopped, frustrated, but he quickly unbuttoned it the rest of the way, allowing her hand to drift farther down.
Richard let out a soft groan as Jessica placed her hands on his stomach and moved them apart, opening the sides of his shirt. She pushed at his chest, and he gave in easily, leaning back until he touched the wall. She moved in, bending over to place her lips lightly against the center of his chest. He made a soft noise, his hands curling into fists, but he did not move away, so Jessica was emboldened to continue. She kissed her way across his chest until she reached his nipple, and there she ran her tongue around it as he had done to her. He dug his hands into her hair, squeezing handfuls of it. Softly Jessica began to suckle. He stiffened, but when Jessica started to lift her head, he held her down.
She smiled against his flesh, aroused by his response to her, and moved to the other side to begin to work on that nipple. She teased him with her tongue, delighting in the way his breath caught and his skin flamed when she touched some point that particularly aroused him. Her hands went around him and up his back under his shirt as her mouth finally fastened onto the nipple. He shuddered, groaning her name, and he reached down, undoing the buttons of her dress and thrusting his hands beneath her chemise, gathering her breasts in them.
Suddenly he pulled her over on his lap so that she straddled him, and he buried his face between her breasts. Cupping the full white orbs in his hands, he feasted on them. Moisture flooded between Jessica’s legs. She could feel the length of his desire pulsing against her through their clothes, and she moved instinctively against him, seeking to ease the ache that grew there, hot and soft and vulnerable. His hands went down to her skirts and moved up under them, gliding up her thighs until they reached the curve of her buttocks, and his fingertips dug into the soft flesh.
It was at that moment that a scream ripped through the air.
J
essica and Richard sprang apart at the sound, and for an instant they stared at each other, stunned.
Richard jumped to his feet and threw the doors open, running out into the hall. Jessica was right on his heels. They ran toward the staircase, where it seemed the sounds had come from, Jessica hastily buttoning up the front of her dress. All around them, up and down the hall, doors were opening, and there was the excited buzz of voices. Richard reached the top of the stairs and stopped, and Jessica jerked to a halt beside him. Both of them looked down the long flight of stairs to the bottom. Jessica’s stomach turned, and her head was suddenly light.
A dark-haired woman lay at the bottom of the stairs, her navy-blue gown tangled around her. Her head was turned to the side at an unnatural angle. It was Mrs. Woods.
Richard’s hand went around Jessica’s arm, his finger biting into her flesh. “Don’t you faint on me now.”
Jessica nodded slightly. “I won’t. I’m all right.”
Richard started down the stairs, Jessica behind him. At the bottom of the stairs, he knelt beside the body and, unnecessarily, took the woman’s wrist in his hand and felt her pulse. It was clear her neck was broken. Jessica stood, looking down at Mrs. Woods’ lifeless body. She was so pale in death.
There was a wordless cry above them. Jessica turned and looked up. The guests were crowded together at the top of the staircase, all gazing down in stunned astonishment. It was Reverend Radfield who had made the noise. He stood frozen, staring, his face white and stamped with horror.
“Reverend Radfield…” Jessica said.
For a moment the man did not move; then he turned and looked at her blankly. Jessica nodded significantly at Mrs. Woods. His eyes turned back to the body and returned to Jessica, still uncomprehending.
“A prayer?” Jessica suggested.
“What? Oh! Yes. Yes, of course.” He started down the stairs, holding on to the banister for support.
Jessica supposed that he had never seen anyone die a violent death before, given the way he looked. Surely a minister would have seen dead bodies before, but they were, no doubt, tidier than this.
He sank down onto his knees beside Mrs. Woods and picked up her hand, holding it between his. He began a stumbling recital of the Lord’s Prayer, then sat back on his heels, wiping at his cheek with the heel of his hand. “‘She should have died hereafter,’” he murmured, and laid the woman’s hand back on her body. He stood up and walked over to the side, sitting on one of the steps and leaning against the railings.
Lord Vesey came around the stairs from the Great Hall, carrying a candle, and stood, swaying slightly, looking down at the woman. “Good Gad,” he said blankly. “What the devil happened here?”
“Did she fall?” asked a woman’s voice from the top of the stairs. Jessica turned to look. It was Rachel, standing with her arm comfortingly around Gabriela.
“I don’t know.” Richard rose to his feet, frowning. “She obviously took a tumble down the stairs, but I don’t know if she slipped—or was pushed.”
There was a collective gasp from the top of the stairs.
“The devil!” Lord Kestwick snapped. “Why would you say that? Who would have pushed her? Why? Clearly she tripped and fell.”
“At this hour of the night? It is a little late for her to be traipsing down the stairs.” Richard walked over to Lord Vesey and took the candle from him, bringing it back to the body and once again crouching beside her. “There is a cut here on her cheek, and it is red around it. It seems to me that might have been made when someone hit her, sending her backward down the stairs.”
Miss Pargety began to wail, and Lord Kestwick said pettishly, “Now see what you’ve done.”
“That’s nonsense!” Leona exclaimed. “Richard, you are being melodramatic. Why couldn’t she have hit her cheek as she tumbled down the stairs and cut it?”
“It is possible, I suppose…” Richard looked up at the group on the stairs. “Did anyone see her fall?”
He was met with intense silence. He nodded shortly. “All right. I think we have to treat this as if it might have been done deliberately. We are snowed in. We cannot reach the village to fetch the magistrate. Therefore, for the time being, I am going to take charge of the matter.”
He raised his head and looked around him, catching sight of Baxter and the other servants, who had gathered in a small huddle at some distance from them. “Baxter, give us some light. Get blankets and wrap up the body.” He paused. “For the time being, given the weather, the best thing would be to place her body in one of the outbuildings. Lock it securely.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“We need to get down all the facts we can right now,” Cleybourne went on, speaking to the guests. “I am sure that none of us would be able to go back to sleep now, anyway. All of you go into the drawing room.” As one or two of them started to turn away, he added quickly, “Don’t go back to your rooms, just down to the drawing room. Baxter—” he turned to his butler “—send a couple of the footmen up. They can escort everyone to the formal drawing room by the back stairs.”
“Very well, Your Grace.” Baxter spoke to the servants, and two of the burlier footmen started up the stairs toward the knot of people, carefully skirting the body lying at the foot of the steps.
“Now see here, Cleybourne,” Lord Kestwick snapped, his face flushing. “Just what do you think you’re doing? I don’t intend to be shuffled around by your servants. I am going back to my chamber, and—”
“No!” The word cracked through the air like a whip. Cleybourne faced Kestwick, his face like stone, and he was suddenly every inch a duke. “No one is to return to their room. You are all going to the drawing room to wait, and I will speak to each of you in turn. There has been a death in this house, and I do not intend to let that go without investigating it. As long as you are in my house, you will do as I say, and I don’t believe there is much possibility of your leaving here right now.”
“How dare you!”
“Do you intend to challenge me, Kestwick?” Cleybourne asked softly, and he took a step up the stairs, his hands knotting into fists.
Kestwick’s gaze went to Cleybourne’s fists, then cut away. He pressed his lips together and inclined his head slightly toward the duke. “No. Of course not. It is, as you say, your house.”
“But, really, Richard, is this necessary?” Leona whined.
“Yes, my lady, it is.” Mr. Cobb spoke up suddenly, surprising everyone. He came forward through the crowd. “The duke has the right of it. There’s something odd about this death, and that’s the God’s truth of it.”
“What do you know about it?” Darius Talbot asked scornfully.
“Quite a bit, as it happens,” Cobb replied calmly. He looked down at Cleybourne. “I’m a Bow Street Runner, Your Grace, and I’m offering my services to you in this matter.”
“A Runner!” Goodrich squeaked.
Miss Pargety gasped and put one hand to her throat dramatically. Gabriela looked at the man with new interest. Jessica felt an urge to let out a faintly hysterical giggle. Of all their guests, she would have guessed that the most likely to be a criminal was Mr. Cobb, and he had turned out to be an officer of the law!
Cleybourne assessed the man for a moment, then said, “Very well, Mr. Cobb, I accept. If you will go with the others to the drawing room, then escort them one by one to my study, you and I will question them there.”
Cobb nodded. “Done, Your Grace.”
He turned and started to herd the guests before him along the hall toward the back staircase, assisted by the footmen. Lord Kestwick looked as though he was about to protest again, but Cleybourne quelled him with a look.
Jessica walked over to where the Reverend Radfield still sat on the steps, leaning against the railing and staring down at his feet. Jessica leaned over and touched his shoulder, saying quietly, “Reverend…”
He looked up at her vaguely.
“You need to go with the others.” Jessica pointed up to the top of the stairs, where the other guests were trailing along toward the back stairs.
“What? Oh.” He grasped the banister and pulled himself up, then turned and started up the stairs after them.
Jessica turned back to Cleybourne. His eyes softened a little as she walked up to him. “I suppose now you are going to challenge my authority, as well,” he said without rancor.
“Oh, no, I would never do that,” she replied, smiling up at him.
She knew it was probably quite wrong of her and showed that she lacked the sensitivity a genteel woman should have, but, however sad and upset she felt about Mrs. Woods’ sudden death, she could not keep from feeling warm, even happy, when she looked at Richard’s face. Was that love? she wondered. Had she already fallen into the trap she had sworn she would avoid? Or was it merely the leftover glow of the lust she had felt in his arms just a few minutes ago in the alcove? Whatever it was, she noticed that he smiled back at her.
“I was just going to point out,” Jessica went on, “that you would need someone to take down what the others say to you. So you will have something to show the authorities once we are able to get out.”
“Yes, you are right.” He paused, then said, “And I don’t suppose that you know anyone who is adept at writing things down quickly and accurately?”
“As it happens, I used to help the General write his memoirs. He would tell me what he wanted to say, and I would write it down. I developed a few little codes to make my writing quicker.”
“Very well, then.” He surprised her by taking her hand and squeezing it briefly. “To tell the truth, I would value having your judgment.”
Inside, Jessica could feel the glow his words brought to her. She was unaware of how it lit her eyes, but Richard saw it and was struck all over again by her beauty. He wanted suddenly and quite fiercely to pull her to him and hold her for a moment, but he was well aware of the presence of the servants at the foot of the stairs, so he did not.
“Perhaps you would prefer to go to the study by the back stairs, also,” he suggested. “I am going to place a footman on guard at the door to Mrs. Woods’ room. I think it might be a good idea for us to look it over after we talk to everyone else.”
A few minutes later they were set up in the study, Jessica at Cleybourne’s desk with paper in front of her and a sharp pen in the inkwell, and Richard seated in front of the desk in one of the two chairs. The guest of the moment would sit in the other chair, facing him, while Mr. Cobb had been allotted a chair by the door, apart from the others but with a good view of the face of the person being interviewed.
Mr. Cobb started toward the door to bring in the first person, but Richard stopped him. “Wait. Mr. Cobb, before we start, I think we should clear up something first.”
“Oh. You’d be wanting to see my credentials, I warrant.” The man reached into a back pocket and brought out a paper, which he handed over to the duke.
Richard perused it and handed it back to him. “I think, considering the circumstances, I have a right to know exactly what you are doing here and why. You did not arrive on the stagecoach. Did you plan to come to this house before the snow came? Who are you working for?”
The Bow Street Runners, Jessica knew, were hired by private citizens to find out who had committed a crime.
“I don’t mind telling you, Your Grace,” the thickset man answered easily. “It were a Mr. Joseph Gilpin that hired me, a rich cit in London. He had some expensive jewelry stolen from his home, and he set me to find it. He suspected the theft was done by a middle-aged dancing master he had hired to teach his daughters. I had reason to believe he had taken the mail coach to York, so I was following him.”
“You mean—the very coach the other guests arrived here in?” Jessica asked.
Mr. Cobb glanced at her and shrugged. “Mayhap, miss. I had reason to think so. He couldn’t have got away much earlier. If he was on the coach, then he’s here in this house. Personally, I’ve got a notion it might be that Goodrich chap. He’s a nervous sort. Always does his best to keep as far away from me as ever he can.”
“I see.”
“Course,” Cobb went on philosophically, “if the fellow did happen to catch a coach the day before, then I’ve lost his trail right proper, what with the snow stopping me.”
“A thief…” Richard mused. “Then do you think Kestwick might have been right the other night at supper when he said it was a thief in my study that night? That he was looking it over to decide what he might steal?”
“Well, he’s an audacious one, he is,” Cobb said. “If Mr. Gilpin’s right, he lived with them for a couple of weeks, then stole the jewels right out from under their noses. Not the usual thing of slipping into and out of the house under cover of darkness. If I was a thief, sir, and I found myself in a house like yours, I think I’d be tempted to see what I could find to take with me. Especially if I thought I was a crafty one.” He tapped his temple. “That’s what brings ones like that down, I’ll tell you that. Thinking they’re so much smarter than anyone else. Trips them up, that pride.”
Mr. Cobb left to bring in the first of the guests to be interviewed. After he walked out the door, Jessica said, “Do you think that Mr. Cobb’s thief has anything to do with what happened to Mrs. Woods? Even if he is who you surprised in your study?”