Chapter Eight
“A
STRONG STEEP OF
E
NGLISH TEA
, and I shall be restored.” Mia curled up in a comfortable corner of the settee and stirred a lump of sugar into her Earl Grey.
Their brief voyage across the channel had gone smoothly and uneventfully. Exeter had spent most of the hour’s journey speaking in low tones with Jersey and Valentine, while she and America enjoyed a brisk walk around the deck.
The moment they stepped foot in Calais, they were greeted by a cloudburst and had made a mad dash to L’Hôtel Meurice. Their suite turned out to be wonderfully inviting and would be a comfortable place to rest and regroup while they waited for the train to Paris.
Mia sipped her tea and sighed. “Out with it—You three have been conspiring ever since the
Princess Beatrice
left Dover Harbor.”
“Prospero toys with us. It’s the only explanation for why he might send such an apparition.” Jersey popped a delicate tea sandwich in his mouth and chewed with such purpose, it caused her to grin.
“Yes, well, thank goodness we don’t terrify easily.” Mia’s smile dimmed somewhat at her next thought. “I suppose this means those snippets of Phaeton were a deliberate transmission?”
“A lure from the start. He wants us in Paris.” Exeter’s jaw was flexing.
America leaned forward, clearly alarmed. “We’re not calling off the mission. No matter what, I’m going ahead—”
“We are proceeding as planned, but doubling the guard on you, America. As soon as Noggy has the portal ready, we’ll bring over Cutter and Ruby.”
Mia bit her lower lip. “Cutter and Ruby are needed to care for Gaspar—as well as Lovecraft’s son.”
“What about Mr. Ping?” America offered. “He knows many of the secrets of the Moonstone and is a powerful jinni.”
“I have sent urgent cables to the four corners. Hopefully, he will meet us in Paris.” Exeter groused. “I had hoped we might get a few days to ourselves—scout the catacombs, start formulating some ideas about where Prospero’s lair might be—whether it’s in our time or some future realm.”
Mia loved watching the wheels turn in Exeter’s brain. She sampled a smoked trout deviled egg and wrinkled her nose. “I imagine there is an alternate Paris, just as there is an alternate London.”
“There is also the matter of an exhaustive and expensive shopping excursion.” Mia looked up from the platter of delicacies and found him staring at her—and not in the way she was used to her guardian viewing his charge. His gaze sent a tingle running from her breasts to her womb. Something in his eyes spoke of secret kisses and velvet touches, and suddenly she knew. He was remembering last night.
The woman inside Mia met his gaze and held it. “I very much look forward to spending a vulgar amount of your worth at the House of Worth.”
Exeter’s mouth slowly curved upward. “I’m quite sure the results will be—well worth the price.”
“Shall one of us send a wire?” America asked, setting down her cup. “Try contacting Ping, again?”
Exeter rose from his chair. “All this talk of my dwindling income reminds me to contact my solicitor—I want to make sure he’s wired an ungodly amount of British Sterling to Lloyds in Paris.” Then he did something he rarely, if ever, did. He winked at her. “I will also wire Mr. Noggy about the matter of Mr. Ping.”
The moment Jersey and Exeter were gone, America and Valentine called Mia into the bedroom. “Out with it, Miss Chadwick,” America teased. “Something is different between you and the dashing doctor.”
Mia could hardly contain herself. “Is it obvious? Oh, I do hope so.”
Valentine shot her a sly mile. “Exeter has never looked or acted more romantic. You both exude, well, to be frank—there is an evident underlying sexual tension, Mia.”
“Just seeing you both . . .” America sighed. “I miss Phaeton, so very much.” Mia hugged America tight, or as close as she could. Mia rubbed her roundness. “Exeter refers to this as your ‘goddess belly.’ ”
America’s eyes brightened, then narrowed. “And this very pregnant goddess would like an arousing and delicious tale now. You must tell all, Mia.”
“From the start—he was so worried about losing control—and I was so worried he wouldn’t.” She supposed the look on her face gave it all away—because a squeal went up into the air. All three of them piled on top of the giant four-poster bed. Mia shared as much as she thought seemly—with perhaps a few tantalizing bits just for fun.
The fruit was sweet, the pastry as light as a cloud, and the roast duck, succulent. In other words, they were in France, and the diner fare was perfect. Unfortunately, Mia picked through the lot of it. There was an agitation that gripped her belly—the cat stirred inside and another thing . . . she and Exeter shared a private compartment together.
Lifting a fork, she could not help but admire the large gemstone that sparkled from her ring finger. An oval-cut emerald surrounded by diamonds, and a de Roos family heirloom. Not long after they boarded the train for Paris, they had freshened up for dinner. He had fastened her dress, complaining softly about the number of small covered buttons. Fumbling a bit, she had helped with his cuff links. Reaching into his portmanteau, he produced a velvet box and slipped the dazzling emerald on her finger. “As a precaution, you are Mrs. Exeter for the duration of the trip.”
She had lifted her hand to admire the ring—as well as the fit. “The emerald was part of my mother’s dowry.” He had spoken softly, with a good deal of emotion evident in his voice. “The baron had the ring made for their first wedding anniversary.”
She had met his gaze. “It’s . . . perfectly . . . stunning.”
He had nodded, smiling gently. “Family legacy has it the gemstone comes from an ancient mine in Upper Egypt, and was worn by Cleopatra.” He had taken her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. “In keeping with its history—the emerald adorns yet another beauty.” They met their cadre of friends in the club car and made their way to a crowded dining car. She and Exeter were seated at a table for two, while Jersey, Valentine, and America dined together several tables away.
She nibbled on a tender piece of duck breast. There was something daring and naughty about this ruse. Mrs. Jason Alexander Exeter, Baroness de Roos. Another glance at the ring forced a hard swallow past the lump in her throat. She angled her bustle to one side of her chair and lengthened her back.
She felt like stretching—or prowling.
“How are we feeling this evening?” The doctor in Exeter didn’t miss much, and she was beginning to exhibit signs of a shift. A distinctive flush to her chest, neck, and cheeks along with restlessness.
“The cat stirs—and my head hurts.” She lowered her eyes. “Would you mind, terribly, if I retire early?”
Exeter reached for her hand across the table. “Stay with me—just a few more minutes.” He signaled the waiter. “Cognac.” He looked to her. “Darling?”
Stunned, slightly, at his endearment, she ordered a Cointreau.
“Avec eau gazeuse, s’il vous plaît.”
Exeter brushed his index finger along the inside of her wrist. “Can you describe what it was you saw, or thought you saw, through the train window as we approached Dover this morning?”
Mia pieced together a careful description before answering. “A hooded face, not unlike the Nightshades when they wear their warrior gear and cloaks—and the cape swirled about, trailing strands of glittering particles. There was a flash of iridescent green in the creature’s eyes as they passed over me.”
“Any recognizable facial features?”
“It was a specter that came and went so quickly, I could almost believe the apparition didn’t happen at all, but for the eyes . . .” An icy shiver ran through her. “Strange beams of light passed through the glass, but I felt as if there was no life behind them—like the moving images Tim receives from the Outremer. The ones that act and talk like a human being, but are in fact, particles of light.” Tim Noggy often communicated using this form of science, or magic. Frankly, it all seemed rather Jules Verne to Mia. She looked up at Exeter. “What do you make of it?”
“An automaton from the Outremer.” Exeter added, “It is possible there is a flesh-and-blood maker who manipulated the—let’s call it a wraith—from a remote location like Paris.” He ordered another cognac.
Mia pressed her lips together and remained neutral. She was quite certain he was avoiding being alone with her. And yet, some part of her knew . . . it was all he could think about. The thought not only gave her comfort—but strength. Mia rose from her chair. “Might I have the key?” He shot up from his seat and handed over her request. “Take your time, perhaps you might enjoy a cigar in the lounge car . . .” Clasping the key, she smiled a patronizing, wifely sort of smile. “. . . darling.”
She made her way down a narrow aisle to the door that matched the number on the key fob. Weeks ago, America had cautioned her. “Men love the hunt—the chase, whatever you wish to call it. If you truly love him, don’t deprive Exeter of the joy of capturing you.” Esmeralda Parker had offered similar advice.
A silver half-moon illuminated the compartment interior as well as the passing countryside. Mia moved to the window. It would not be long now, they traveled on
Le Train Bleu,
a luxury French night express train that traveled from Calais to Paris and on to the French Riviera. If there were no delays, they would arrive in Paris before dawn.
As the train crossed over a river, the image of the moon traveled with them, reflected in the calm waters below. “The Seine is quite broad here.” Even though Exeter spoke softly, she started at his words.
Mia glanced back. “Rather stealthy of you.” She returned to the river. “I’m a bit jumpy tonight, I’m afraid.”
“Mia, I never expected last night to feel so . . .”
“Awkward?” she offered, cynically.
“Right.” He was close—so close the word warmed the tip of her ear. He wrapped an arm around her. “All morning I’ve had to fight off a reverie of licentious urges—thoughts that might consume me if I let them.”
She leaned back against his chest. “Undo me, Exeter.”
Long, tapered fingers patiently unbuttoned and removed her dress. She unbuckled her bustle and stepped out of silk petticoats. Silently, in the moonlight, they performed the kinds of duties a husband and wife traveling without servants shared—a delicious intimacy suffused the air. “And how are you both?” He asked softly.
She pivoted within his arms. “She is aroused.” A blush flamed up her neck. “As am I.” Exeter lifted her hand to his chin, and rubbed playfully. “Untie my cravat.”
Gas lamps from a passing rail station briefly lit the side of his face. His heavy-lidded, primitive gaze spoke of a wildness inside him that matched hers—something she hoped to let loose.
She slipped the tie from around his collar.
“Hand it to me.”
Her gaze lowered to his mouth. “Kiss me, first.” Even in the dark she knew he smiled as he tugged the neck cloth from her grip.
“I believe you do need to be kissed.” He pressed against her camisole and corset, and her nipples peaked. “Hands together—in front.” He wound the cloth around her wrists and then lifted her arms overhead. He tied the ends of the cravat to the brass rail of a luggage rack.
Loosing her pantalettes, he pushed them down an inch at a time, until they fell below her knees. He wrapped an arm around her waist and she lifted one leg, then the other, stepping out of silk drawers. His hands skimmed her naked hips and buttock cheeks. Cupping her bottom, he brought her pelvis against him and rubbed in a lazy way—back and forth, as he nuzzled her neck. “Open your legs.” He whispered his demand and inserted his leg between hers. “Wider, darling.”
As he massaged her bottom, a finger slipped down between her buttock cheeks. “I want to know exactly how hot you are right now.” Exeter reluctantly backed away. “I think it’s time I take your temperature.”
Mia blew a few stray hairs out of her face and glared. “Take my word for it—hot.” Exeter struck a match, lifting the chimney on a wall sconce. The compartment glowed with warm flickering light. He blew out the match. “Not that kind of hot—I want a reading on your internal body temperature.” Exeter opened his bag and removed several instruments. He poured rubbing alcohol over his fingers and dried his hands with a sterile cloth. He shook a long thin instrument several times and held it up to the light.
Her lower anatomy was completely exposed; all she wore was the briefest camisole, corset, and striped stockings. And another thing—she was quite sure she was wet—dripping wet.
He dipped the glass temperature gauge into ajar, then wiped it clean. Exeter turned and ran his gaze up silk stockings, stopping at the apex of her legs—the dark triangle of her sex. “If it makes you feel any better, Mia, you have aroused me to the point of agony.”
Good God—this was so disturbing and yet . . . she was also aroused.
He approached her slowly. “I intend to make this as pleasurable for you as possible.” He tilted her head and kissed her lips—teasing out her tongue, with soft pillowed kisses. His arms went around her and a slick finger moved down between her buttock cheeks, where he gently circled the small tight opening. Her knees trembled as his finger penetrated her anus. A wave of pleasure shuddered through her body.
Exeter angled back. “Now, open wide and lift your tongue.” He inserted the thermometer into her mouth and flipped open his pocket watch. “Five minutes—keep your mouth closed.” Glancing up, he smiled. “You were expecting something else?” Mia thought better of a glare, flicking her eyes upward and away from him.
“I realize this is difficult, but do keep in mind—you are not alone.” He moved up beside her, nearly straddling her hip. “As the pleasure climbs and you find yourself at the edge, try to use the last waves of pleasure as a release—from her. Use the power of your climax to settle her down.”