CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
SEDUCING HENRY COULDN’T BE this easy, Barnabas thought. He expected her objection any second, but she’d allowed him to carry her to the bed without a protest. Not only had she allowed him but she was clinging to him and kissing him back as if she, too, had wanted this all the time they were locked in together.
The trick would be peeling off all the layers of clothing she wore. He’d managed to undo her dress and slip the tiny buttons of her chemise through their holes, exposing her corset. He wanted to feel her silky soft skin against his. He wanted no barriers to his caresses. He wanted their hearts pressed together.
He explored her skin just above her corset and she made a cooing sound that curled into a warm place inside him that wanted her and liked her and needed her to want him almost more than he wanted her. Which was a near impossible thing, and all the more confusing for his thoughts and feelings being so jumbled he couldn’t make sense of himself.
For a second he stared at her. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and after a moment she opened her eyes as if wondering why he’d stopped.
Her eyes were what made her face come alive. The deep blue irises were always brimming with emotion. They sparkled when she was excited, they sheared into him when she was angry, they snapped when she was figuring out a clue. Just now they were luminous and dark. He normally didn’t consider eyes a good barometer, but with her they were.
“You do have the most beautiful eyes,” he told her.
Her cheeks reddened. “So do you.”
He didn’t. His eyes were an ordinary brown. He’d been told they were too serious by half. He gave a tiny bemused shake of his head. The edges of his lips curled almost in spite of himself.
“But I like your mouth better,” she said in a breathy whisper.
The things that came out of her surprised him more often than not. Surprised him, amused him, maddened him, and enchanted him. How had she gained so much power over him?
“Good. I’ve things I want to do with my mouth to make you like it better.”
She had that hesitation that showed she was thinking about what he’d said, that she was trying to guess what he meant. “More kissing?”
“Much more than kissing,” he promised.
While she watched him, he hooked his fingers around the edges of the steel busk of her corset, opening the stiff material one fastener at a time. Underneath was the thin fabric of her shift, with its drawstring neckline, but he didn’t allow himself to look just yet. He watched her eyes and the faintest glimmer of trepidation growing there. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.
His pulse thrummed like a full regimental band and, lower, his desire was like a heavy kettle drum, insistent, loud, vibrating through him. Yet, she was all he was thinking about. Her softness, her curves, her pleasure. Her fear. He shouldn’t allow her time to think, to form a protest, but he had to.
Brushing his lips across hers, he concentrated on her mouth, on holding her instead of tugging her shift down and exploring the generous treasures of her breasts. Part of his brain was cursing and calling him a fool, but he wanted her with him every step of the way.
He kissed her until they were both breathless and her hips rolled under his. Burst after burst of pleasure roared through him, yet he tried to ignore the building ache. He doubted she knew what she was doing.
Drawing back, he slid down and loosened the drawstring to her shift. With his index finger, he eased down the material and followed with light kisses on each centimeter of skin he exposed. He bared a tightened nipple, but diverted his kisses to the valley between her breasts. Her stiff intake of breath pleased him. Teasing, he circled her nipple with his fingers. She clenched his hair as if to direct him, so he complied to her unspoken desire, drawing the tightened peak into his mouth and flicking with his tongue.
She moaned and arched upward as he pulled back. She was perfect, responsive, and unrestrained.
A knock on the door made him jerk. Henry went from bowed back and shifting hips to stiff and straight as a plank.
“Miss Brown, are you well?” Miss Hall asked.
Henry scrambled underneath him, half trying to sit and pushing him away. “I’m fine.”
Her voice wavered. She didn’t sound fine. He rolled to the side as panic flooded across her face. She scrambled to pull up her shift.
The earl’s new housekeeper hesitated and then said, “If you are through with the supper tray, I could take it down.”
“Not now,” Henry said.
“Are you not done?” Miss Hall asked.
Henry swiveled, glancing frantically at the empty plates on her tray and then back at the door. “I’m done. It was lovely. I just can’t answer the door.... I’m not dressed.”
Barnabas put a hand over his eyes. Perhaps he should just announce his presence.
“I just had a bath,” Henry added.
“You’re not wet,” he whispered into her ear. Not bath wet, anyway.
She scooted to the edge of the bed and put her feet down. “You could come back for it in fifteen minutes.”
Fifteen minutes? He made the smallest exhale of protest. That wasn’t near enough time.
Henry slapped at him, tapping him on the arm.
“All right,” said Miss Hall. “May I bring you anything else? A fresh pot of tea?”
“No, no. I don’t need anything. Thank you.”
“Yes, you do,” he whispered. She needed a lot more attention.
Henry twisted and clapped a hand over his mouth, her eyes wide. He touched his tongue to her palm and was rewarded with her shudder. She pushed her hand down harder and gave him a stern look.
“You are more than welcome to come down to the drawing room,” Miss Hall said. “Although his lordship is likely to spend the rest of the evening in his office, I believe Mr. Harlow has gone down. I will send a tea tray in for him and Mr. Gilvaroy.”
“I thought I would have an early night,” Henry said. “I haven’t had much sleep of late.”
Hope surged—straight to his groin. That part of him didn’t need more encouragement. He was having a hard enough time holding back because Henry was an innocent.
He peeled her hand away from his mouth and sat up beside her. “Don’t over explain,” he whispered in her ear.
“I will return for the tray in fifteen minutes then.”
That wasn’t good.
Henry sprang away from him and knelt in front of the door, placing her face nearly on the carpet, giving him a rather nice view of her bum sticking up in the air. Too bad she was still wearing all her clothes, even if they were in disarray.
“She’s gone,” Henry hissed.
He didn’t rise from the bed. “I thought you said it didn’t matter if I was found in your room.”
She stood and paced away from him, tucking and fastening as she went. “That was if we were talking.” Her voice was still a hushed whisper. “Do you think she bloody well heard me”—her arms did a big circle and her voice dropped lower—“moaning?”
Henry darted a glance in his direction, but her cheeks fired and she looked quickly away.
“I doubt it.” He slid off the bed. “You know fifteen minutes isn’t enough time.”
“It would be, if you weren’t taking your time.” She looked up and then away so fast her gaze was like a frantic rabbit skittering for a hole to dive into.
Her complaint stung. He folded his arms. What woman complained that the man was taking too much time? Henry. “Really, you want faster? I’m sure I could accommodate.”
She swiveled and backed away, reaching behind her until she hit the wall. She’d buttoned her dress unevenly. “You gave me too much time to think. I realized this is a bad idea.”
He took a step toward her. “Before or after your moan?”
She studied a spot on the floor, her cheeks so red it looked painful. “It’s not even dark, yet.”
“All the better to see you, my dear.”
She darted an anguished glance at him. “You know what happened to the big bad wolf.”
“Henry—”
“Just go. Please.” Her gaze was back on the floor. “Before she comes back.”
He didn’t want to leave her in a panic. “You know me. You know I am capable of restraint.”
“I know,” she said in such a small voice he had to strain to hear her.
“All you had to do was ask me to stop.”
“I know,” she repeated.
Something blackened inside him. For the life of him, he didn’t understand her. He prided himself on understanding why people did what they did, but her motives were as murky as the bottom of a stagnant pond. “Were you so afraid to be alone here?”
She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture.
God, was he that monstrous of an idiot? He shouldn’t be here in her room anyway. He had work to do. He gave her a slight bow. “My pardon, Miss Brown. It won’t happen again. But you might want to fix your buttons before Miss Hall returns.”
*~*~*
Henry stared at the door after Barnabas shut it behind him. She knew she’d hurt him, sending him away as she had. But she’d been terrified that he’d touch her again, and she’d melt into a quivering pool of need, hungry for his kisses, his caresses, his complete possession of her. She didn’t recognize the woman who had held his head to her breast as he did things to her that made energy coil and zing between her legs.
She’d wanted him there.
She might be naive, but she had enough knowledge to know that he was to put that hard appendage she’d felt into her there. She’d more than felt it, she’d been rubbing her mound against it—him, well that male part of him. She’d wanted him to rip off the remainder of their clothes and do the rest of it, ease the ache that had formed in her nether regions, and damn the consequences.
And she had a sister who’d committed suicide because she’d been pregnant and unmarried. Not that Henry would do that, but she wasn’t the least bit prepared to take care of a child. Or give up her writing and independence. Or accept his half-hearted help. She didn’t trust any man to follow through on promises, be they at the altar or not. God forbid, if she became pregnant she couldn’t just give her baby away—although that might be the least selfish thing she could do.
She’d completely lost control of her faculties, and Barnabas—damn him—hardly seemed affected. Oh, he’d been aroused, but completely sangfroid about it all. He could stop at any moment. Capable of restraint, he’d said. Would he be the same with any woman who might seem available?
He didn’t seem to like her much, let alone care about her. Nor had he said any tender words about his regard for her. Even if it was a lie, he should have.
The knock on her door made her heart thump as if it had flipped completely over. Had he returned?
“Are you ready for me to take that tray, Miss Brown?” called Mrs. Hall.
Her stomach was so heavy it was as if she’d swallowed lead pellets. “Yes, thank you.” Henry quickly fixed her buttons. “The door is unlocked.”
Mrs. Hall opened the door and entered the room. “Are you settling in all right?”
“Yes. Fine.” She was anything but. Now that she had one of the women who had fallen under Coleraine’s spell standing before her, she should question her. But she couldn’t even think of a question to ask.
Mrs. Hall crossed the room to the table. “Breakfast will be a buffet in the morning room.” She nodded toward a loop of velvet near the bed. “You can ring if you’d like someone to direct you. Or if you need anything.” She picked up the tray. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
Henry should be writing an article for the newspaper. “Paper, pen, and ink. And my gun.”
“By all means. I’ll have that sent up for you straight away.” She looked as though she wanted to say something more, but tightened her lips and headed out the door she’d left open.
Henry followed, closed the door, and shot the bolt.
A few minutes later she opened it to a maid who had brought a sheaf of papers, ink, and a pen, along with a blotter and envelopes.
She should write something. If nothing else, writing was cathartic for her.
She should start her arrest article for the newspaper. But the dramatic clapping on of manacles hadn’t happened. She wasn’t quite sure if there had been an actual arrest. In any case, both men had been rather stoic, as if taking Coleraine back to trial was a duty akin to going to the front line in a war. She didn’t know if she’d ever understand nobs and their sense of obligation.
But she half feared if she took the pen to hand she might start writing her name as Henry Harlow, which would be stupid. Barnabas wasn’t going to propose again. He hadn’t wanted to the first time. He didn’t want to marry her. He certainly didn’t love her. He just wanted what men had wanted from women since time immemorial. And she’d be stupid to encourage it, especially since she doubted she’d find the wherewithal to resist him.
*~*~*
Barnabas tried to shake off his disappointment. It was a good thing, he told himself. He didn’t have time to waste. He should be interviewing Coleraine’s cousin, not having sex with Henry. Not that sex with Henry wasn’t an excellent way to spend the evening.
How had he been so wrong about her?
Because she was willing to use her feminine charms to learn information. She’d done that from the beginning.
He needed a drink or something. He hoped to find a decanter and glasses in a library. Unless the earl had banned spirits from this house, too.
It appeared he might have banned servants as no one was around for him to ask where to find a library, so he started opening doors. He found a billiards room, the dining room, and the breakfast room before opening a door to a book-lined room. The room was occupied.
The man in front of him was similar to Coleraine and his brother, with the same black hair and tall lanky build. He stood before the wheeled tea cart, piling the offerings on a plate.
“Good evening,” said Barnabas.
The man startled and swung around, only saving pastries from flying in all directions by wrapping his arm around the plate.
“You must be the heir,” said Barnabas, approaching.
“God, I hope not.” The man shook his head. “But I am Brody’s cousin, Aidan Gilvaroy. You must be the fearsome inspector.”
“Hardly fearsome. Barnabas Harlow, at your service.” He stretched out his hand. Why did the man object to being called the heir?
Aidan wiped his hand on his trouser leg then took Barnabas’s. He looked around a minute before setting the plate down on the cart. He gestured to the one broken biscuit left on the serving tray. “Did you want...?”
“I just finished the supper tray that was sent to my room.” An hour ago, not that Barnabas was hungry. “I was actually looking for something stronger than tea to drink.” He spied a decanter and glasses on a shelf near the window. “But don’t let me stop you.”
“There’s brandy,” said Aidan.
Barnabas twisted his lips. He didn’t want brandy. “Never mind. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
“Don’t care for brandy? Brody keeps whiskey in his office. He’s in there now.” Aidan looked hopeful, as if he wanted Barnabas to go. “He usually has his tea in there with...the housekeeper.”
Barnabas tried to relax Aidan with his questions, but the man kept looking between the clock and the plate of treats that he never touched in spite of Barnabas taking the broken biscuit and eating it.
Finally he asked the question, “Why don’t you want to be heir to the earldom?”
Aidan Gilvaroy looked down and his shoulders slumped. “I don’t want to believe that Brody could have killed that woman. If he did, then he’s gone as mad as his father.” He glanced up suddenly. “And that would mean all the earls go insane. I don’t want to be the next one.” He wiped his hand across his forehead. “The Brody I knew growing up never would have killed anyone.”
“If it wasn’t Coleraine, who do you think might have murdered Jane Redding?”
“I wish I knew,” he said fervently. “He hasn’t been the same since his father died and his wife ran out on him.”
But to Barnabas it almost seemed like he was trying to resign himself to learning his cousin was a murderer. Searching for a reason to explain it.
“I think I will go get that drink now.” Barnabas stood.
Had he been wrong about Coleraine all along? Admittedly, Aidan had seen little of his cousin since the previous earl’s death seven years earlier, but nothing about what he said led Barnabas to believe he wanted his cousin out of the way. So he was an unlikely suspect.
He found the earl’s office. Miss Hall was sitting across from Coleraine. A silver tray rested on the desk between them. The door was open as if to preserve propriety, and they had a chaperone in the form of Jane Redding’s baby. The earl was holding the sleeping child, as if trying to paint a picture of a harmless man. Or was Barnabas now weighing everything in the light of guilt? Was the man truly mad? He no longer knew. But he was incredibly weary.
“You know I have to arrest you and take you back to London.”
*~*~*
Henry stared at the canopy of the bed, listening for Barnabas to return to his room. Where was he? And what was he doing?
She should just close her eyes and go to sleep, but she couldn’t. She heard footfalls, and a shimmer of light flashed under her door. Her heart raced.
She made herself count to ten before going to her door and easing it open. No light shone from under Barnabas’s door.
She was about to go back into her room when she heard a woman’s voice. A man shushed her in a low tone.
Tiptoeing down the hall, Henry listened intently. There were a few more low spoken words she couldn’t make out. They came from the cousin’s room near the servant’s stairs.
Interesting.
The bachelor Mr. Aidan Gilvaroy had a female in his room.
Henry slipped back into her room. She didn’t bother with going back to bed. Instead she went to the desk and reread the cable she’d composed for Barnabas. She resisted the urge to tinker with a word or two and rewrite it. It said everything he wanted, but in an innocuous way.
Maybe she should just wait in his room. Then she heard him. Fairies in her stomach staged an all-out battle. Her palms grew damp. She took some deep breaths and gathered her pocket with her pistol and the cable she’d written.
She carefully shut her door and then tiptoed across to his. Hesitating, her heart tripping in her throat, she debated knocking, but in the end decided against it. She reached for his doorknob and gently turned.
“Barnabas,” she whispered as soon as the door cracked.
He didn’t say anything. Had he not heard her? She pushed open the door. He sat on the edge of the bed in his shirtsleeves, his shoulders slumped and his head bowed forward. He looked more weary than she’d ever seen him.
She wanted to comfort him. “Are you all right?”
“You shouldn’t be in here, Henry,” he said in a low voice. He removed his shoes.
“I know,” she answered. It wasn’t exactly what she’d planned on saying. She bit her lip. The things she wanted to say: I don’t want to sleep alone, I missed you—which sounded stupid under the circumstances—or I want you, all seemed even more unsayable than ever.
He stood and put a hand on the buttons of his vest. “Why are you?”
“I brought you this.” She pushed the door shut and crossed the floor holding out the paper. Her cheeks burned and her pocket dangled from her other hand feeling very much like an albatross. “I can change the words if it isn’t what you want to say.”
His brows drew together, but he held out his hand. After taking it, he tilted it toward the lamplight to read. He sighed. “We probably should just head back on the morrow. I’m just postponing the inevitable by staying here.”
She put a lot of effort into getting the words right. But she shoved down the disappointment. “If that is what you think best.”
He looked up at her, his brown eyes intense. “I don’t know what is best.” He waved the paper before setting it down on the nightstand. “But this is very good. Thank you.”
“It was nothing. Writing is what I do.” She gave a toss of her head, dismissing the work she’d put into it. It was now or never. She set her pocket down on the nightstand with a clunk. “Did you learn anything useful?”
“Henry.” He probably meant to sound stern, but he sounded exasperated.
While he stared at her pocket, she launched herself onto his bed and knelt on it. He might not want her anymore, but he’d at least be interested in what she’d heard, even if it wasn’t really much more than gossip. “I learned something.”
“You can tell me in the morning.” He put a hand in his hair. “Come along, I’m taking you back to your room.”
“I don’t want to sleep alone,” she whispered.
“I can’t do this.” He let out a half growl, half exhale. “You’re not trapped with me.”
“I’m not,” she agreed.
“You’re not safe here. In my room.”
“I know that.”
He stared at her for what felt like a whole minute. Her face was burning and she wondered how obvious it was in the lamplight. Even her ears were hot. A horrible fear that he didn’t want her in that way anymore churned inside of her. At the same time her whole body buzzed with an energy she barely understood.
“Henry,” he protested.
“I think you should kiss me,” she said finally.
He didn’t make any move toward her or the bed. Instead he stood breathing heavily.
Her whole body clenched waiting. Maybe she’d mistaken him. Maybe he’d grown tired of her. Maybe he no longer desired her. She looked at the lamp feeling foolish. “Unless you don’t want to.”