Chapter Thirteen
Passing the mirror in her chamber, Alex did not spare it so much as a passing glance. At this late hour, she undoubtedly looked rather a fright. Weariness filled her, and she could well imagine the dark circles under her eyes. At the thought, she reached up and rubbed her forehead, as if that would massage away the tension.
Having no idea what might be considered appropriate attire for meeting a man in the middle of the night to inform him he was included on a rather ominous list, she’d donned a simple cotton day dress. She reached down to pet the purring cat who trailed her steps, then proceeded to the parlor. The men would soon return. She wanted this meeting with Benedict to flow smoothly with no distractions. Nothing so messy as feelings or desire should cloud their interactions. Keeping a tight rein on her traitorous emotions was paramount. She couldn’t afford the luxury of wanting him. The prospect was far too dangerous.
A coded knock at the door signaled the guard’s return. Taking her pistol in hand, she peered through the adjacent window. Sure enough, Inspector Eddington met her look with a faint smile. A pleasant sort, the man nodded for her to unbolt the door.
Benedict stepped through the threshold. He stared down at the Webley revolver in her right hand.
“Hullo, Alexandra. Not exactly the greeting I was expecting.”
She lowered the weapon. “Hullo, Benedict.”
“What have you discovered?”
Alex shot Eddington a glance. “Sir, might I prevail upon you for some privacy?”
“Of course, Miss Quinn,” he said. “I will stand guard at the entry. Call out if you find yourself in need of assistance.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Stone-faced, he turned and headed to the door. Taking his leave, he shot a glance over his shoulder, as if assessing whatever threat Benedict might pose.
“What is going on?” Benedict asked as soon as Eddington closed the door behind his broad back.
“I believe I’ve puzzled out the symbols on the photograph. The man was sending us a warning, even as he lay mortally wounded.” She motioned him to follow her to the study. “Of course, until I confirm the victims’ birthdates and consult a specialized text, I cannot be entirely sure.”
“Their birthdates? Why in blazes would you need those?”
She crossed the room to her desk, with Benedict close behind. “In this case, I believe they are highly relevant. You see, the message blends Egyptian hieroglyphs with Greek symbols for the zodiac.”
“The zodiac?” His brow furrowed, and he leaned over her shoulder to peer down at the image. “You’re referencing astrology?”
“So it would appear.” She pointed to the glyph she’d identified as Capricorn. “Are you familiar with this one?”
He shook his head. “I’d say it’s a horse. Or could it be a camel?”
“Neither,” she said with a little smile. “Benedict, I believe that represents you.”
“Me?” He edged beside her, a flippant doubt coloring his tone. “Am I to deduce this symbol represents an ass? Should I be offended?”
“Not quite,” she said. “I believe it is a goat.”
“A goat? I suppose that’s somehow preferable to an ass.”
“Benedict, have you no knowledge of astrological symbols?”
He shrugged. “I cannot say that was a part of the standard curriculum.”
“Or astronomy, for that matter?”
“My command of that science is elemental at best.”
“The constellation Capricorn is represented as a goat. According to astrology, those born in late December and much of January are influenced by the sun’s position in the sky at that time.”
“Now that you mention it, I do recall some charlatan at a carnival informing me of the positive qualities I possessed—some nonsense about whatever was going on in the heavens on the day I was born. To this day, I suspect the ability to place a coin in her palm ranked first and foremost.”
This near, she could detect the slightest hint of shaving soap against his skin. Her senses came alert. Blast it! With a little sigh, she dismissed the tingle of excitement. This was not a time to indulge her sensory pleasures, not even to the slightest extent.
His words brought back a memory, an image of Benedict and her brother, smiling and laughing. “I believe I was there with you. And Jeremy.”
A hint of a smile curved his mouth. “You’re right. Jeremy wanted to protect you from me, even then.”
“That wasn’t it at all. We were friends in those days.” She swallowed against a sudden surge of emotion. “It was all so much simpler then, wasn’t it?”
“Indeed,” he said. He pointed to the M with a curl. “Now, tell me, what is this supposed to mean?”
“My interpretation is that this symbol represents Scorpio.”
Benedict nodded his understanding. “November birthdates, as I recall the fortune teller’s blather to you.”
“You remember that?”
“How could I forget?” He grinned. “By her estimation, you are one part saint, one part diabolical genius.”
“An accurate assessment, I’d say.” She pointed to the photograph. “With the exception of the symbol for death, the other glyphs represent signs of the zodiac. I’m convinced of it.”
“Hence the need for the dates of birth of the dead men.”
“Yes.” She tapped a finger over the glyphs in the center of the array. “As you mentioned, this symbol clearly indicates death. I suspect this comprises a partial list of those who are in danger.”
Benedict leaned closer, indicating the unclosed circle with his fingertip. “It appears the man did not complete the symbol. This representation may not include all of those who have been at risk.”
“Quite so,” she said. “I believe the other symbols represent the zodiac signs of Gemini, Sagittarius, Aries, and Aquarius.”
“So, we need to identify the persons on this list. If your conclusion is correct and two of the symbols are intended to represent us, others are in danger.”
“So it would seem,” she said. “These likely represent the four men in addition to the guide who were killed.”
“Perhaps.” Benedict dragged his long fingers through his hair. “But how would Hamid have known this information about the victims?”
“I cannot answer that question. But this list is a start. Colton and his agents may soon ferret out the truth.”
“It’s obvious now that you cannot stay here. You must see that, Alex. I intend to see you safely away from London…away from the danger.”
She drew back a step, studying him. His features were taut with tension, his chiseled features sharper than usual. Worry darkened his eyes. He scrubbed a hand against his stubble-coated jaw, as if to massage away an ache.
Something in his expression touched her. She longed to reach out to him, to sweep her fingertips over the bristles of new beard, to savor the contact of her skin against his.
But she held back.
“What about the map? Have you forgotten that so soon?” She regarded him beneath her lashes.
“I will find it soon enough,” he said. “Keeping you alive takes priority over a blasted scrap of paper.”
“Does it, now?” she said, watching him. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Or could it be that you will have more opportunity to search for it if I am far from here?”
“I am not going to lie to you, Alexandra.” His mouth was a hardened slash. “I intend to search for that map. But in the meantime, I want you far away from this place. Out of reach.”
Slowly, she shook her head. “If there is a conspiracy in place, it’s not logical to think I will be out of danger, even if I am an ocean away.” She pulled in a low breath. Truth be told, the idea of leaving Benedict behind to face the menace on his own was too distressing to bear.
“It’s far more likely that one man is responsible for these deaths, someone with a very specific objective.”
“And what of your life, Benedict? Have you lost sight of the threat that has pursued you from Egypt? Rooney mentioned you by name. The brute was rather graphic regarding the fate he foresees for you.”
“I don’t give a damn about what that bastard says. He was trying to frighten you. And to sow distrust.”
“Think about it, Benedict—what reason would he have to do that?” she asked. “A date with the hangman seems highly likely in his dismal future.”
“I would not waste my time speculating as to that rotter’s motives.”
“But it is important to question his motives. If money alone had spurred him to come after me, I’d think he’d be willing to talk in exchange for a more lenient sentence.”
“Who is to say what drives a man like him?” Benedict asked. “We are dealing with a threat that so far has no name and no face. I intend to make clear to Colton that I am not satisfied with the security he’s arranged for you. His agents cannot protect you against a danger they cannot identify.”
She met his eyes. The intensity in his gaze nearly stunned her, and she pulled in a breath. The move was a colossal mistake, as it only served to fill her senses with that far-too-appealing aroma of shaving soap blended with his natural essence.
Collecting her thoughts, she steadied her voice. “Benedict, I must admit—I find you an enigma.”
His dark brows hiked. “In what way?”
“I am puzzled as to why you believe you have any right to speak to Colton on my behalf.”
He considered her words, seeming to mull his answer before he spoke. “I gave my word to Stockwell that I would see you safe.”
“Fair enough. But what makes you think I will agree to leave London? I have a life here and responsibilities I must meet. Even a short time away will interfere with my research.”
He turned to her. His hands rested lightly on her shoulders. “You must see that this is a matter of life and death. Everything else can wait. Nothing else can take precedence over your safety.”
“And what of yours? I gather that you are not planning to leave the city.”
He shook his head, slowly and deliberately. “It appears that this threat is somehow tied to me. The best course of action is to…put distance between us.”
His words cut through her with a dull misery. After all this time apart, being near him felt so right. Seemed so very natural. But she was not a girl of nineteen grieving the loss of a love.
The prospect of separation should not affect her so. She could not develop a taste for his nearness again.
“I see.” Turning away, she strolled to the window, peered into the night, and collected her thoughts. It would not do to put her emotions on display.
Beyond the house, Agent Harker stood beside the coach, tending the horses with a bit of oats. At this hour of the night, it seemed unlikely that anyone would take notice of his presence. Even if someone did, she could not muster a care.
She felt Benedict’s body heat as he came to her. Standing behind her, far too close to be proper, he coiled an arm around her waist. If she’d had more strength, she might have insisted he move away. But as it was, weary and frightened and craving the comfort his presence afforded, she stood very still and let his warmth wash over her.
“I don’t know how I would endure it…endure life…if something happened to you.” His voice was low and husky as his breath brushed the cup of her ear.
A shiver that had nothing to do with fear danced over her skin. Her heart stuttered as his words crashed into her, stunning her with the raw pain shading each syllable.
She breathed in, inhaling more of his essence. More of him. “You’ve no cause for guilt. You did not bring this menace to my doorstep,” she said. “You prevented that foul man from harming me. You’ve honored your vow to Stockwell.”
“This has nothing to do with Stockwell,” he said. “I would have killed Rooney if he’d harmed you…if I’d been too late.”
“But you weren’t, Benedict.” She turned to him, meeting his dark gaze. “There’s nothing to regret.”
He cocked a brow. “The hell there isn’t. There isn’t a day gone by that I don’t regret leaving London—and you.”
She considered his words. Why was he speaking of that crushing decision now? Far too much time had passed to change the course they’d each set.
“I was a fool, Alex,” he said, his voice raw, a near whisper.
“Was?” she said, forcing a small smile. Perhaps a spot of humor would lighten his mood.
His mouth curved at the corners. “I regret I did not have the courage to take a different path.”
“You claimed your fortune. Isn’t that what you set out to do?”
He nodded slowly. “But at what cost?”
“That is all in the past. There is nothing we can do to change it.”
“But what of the future, Alexandra?” He cupped his palm against her cheek. “Perhaps there is some hope…for the future. Hope for us.”
“There is no going back. What’s done is done.”
“And if I disagree?”
“I am not so foolish as to think we can return to what we once had. We were young. Less set in our ways. Now, we have our own lives, our own path. There’s nothing to be done about it.”
“You may be right,” he said. “But then again, I’d like to prove you wrong.” He traced the outline of her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. “I’d like to taste your kiss.”
Dipping his head, he brushed his mouth over hers. A gentle possession. Light as a butterfly’s wing.
“I’ve missed you, Alexandra,” he whispered against her lips. “So damned much.”
With a low, throaty groan, he kissed her again. Notes of good Scotch flavored the caress, earthy and tantalizing. She drank him with a thirst she’d long denied.
Kissing him was a heady pleasure. Sensual and tempting as a fine, rich chocolate, the feel of his lips against hers was a delicacy beyond compare.
How she wanted this!
She needed his kiss. His touch. The heat of his body against hers.
As if they had a will of their own, her arms curved around his neck. She melted into him. He was lean and strong and powerful.
His tongue traced the seam of her lips, gently parting them. Deepening the gentle contact, his tongue explored her mouth, teasing her, tempting her, conjuring a hunger for him unlike any she’d experienced.
When they’d been so very young, love had been new. Every kiss, every touch, had seemed urgent. Hurried. Frantic. But now, his kiss was a seduction, a pleasure that stirred her senses and brought her closer to his essence. He expressed his very soul to her in that tender caress.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured against her lips. “I want you, darling. Your kiss. Your touch. Your pleasure as you lay in my arms.”
She sighed, arching her back to intensify the contact between them. He edged her back a step, then another, until the backs of her legs touched the wall. Lifting her gaze, she drank him in. What was it about this man above all others that melted her resolve, that made her want to cast aside her reservations and delight in the earthy pleasures to be found in his arms?
His hands spanned her middle, lingering over her waist, settling at her hips. With one hand, he skimmed a light path over her ribs. His hand grazed her clothed breast, cupping the sensitive flesh against his palm. His nimble fingers made short work of the fasteners at her bodice, and he peeled away the fabric, baring her to her chemise.
And then, his lips pressed light caresses to the swell of her breasts. Each touch of his mouth to her flesh rippled pleasure through her body, from the bud of her nipple to the toes that curled with delight inside her slippers.
He slid her chemise lower, baring her to his eyes.
“You’re even more beautiful now,” he whispered, then kissed her again.
His irises had transformed from hazel to a deep, mossy hue. Dark brows framed his expressive eyes. What would it be like to look into those eyes every night of her life, to lie in his arms…in his bed…and warm her heart with the passion he could not hide?
He dipped his head. She gasped with pleasure as his lips closed over the bud of her breast. His tongue traced intimate little circles around the sensitive flesh. Tenderness infused every touch, every sensual flick of his tongue against her skin. Pure bliss filled her senses, and she heard a little moan, realizing through the haze of desire that it was her own voice.
As the delicious sensation surged through her, she writhed against him. A sweet, hot ache kindled between her thighs, and she canted her hips. Pressed to his lean body, she cradled the hard ridge of his shaft against her softness. He was hard with wanting, straining against his trousers. And yet, he held back, taking nothing for himself. Giving her bliss with his tongue and his touch.
He lifted his head, claiming her mouth once again. She savored the feel of him. Sleek muscle sheathed his broad shoulders. Beneath the linen of his shirt, his muscles tensed. She slid her fingers beneath the fabric, drawing in the warmth of his skin. His biceps flexed beneath her touch, strong and powerful and lean as a panther on the prowl.
With a grin, he scooped her into his arms, with as little effort as if she weighed no more than a child. He carried her to the settee and placed her there.
Dropping to his knees beside her, he kissed her again. His hand glided over her skirt, slipping beneath her petticoat.
“I want to touch you,” he whispered against her lips.
For a heartbeat, she considered the guard who patrolled nearby, but the press of his lips to a deliciously sensitive spot at the base of her throat silenced the nagging harpy in the back of her thoughts.
“Yes,” she murmured, nearly mindless with need. “Please. Yes.”
His hand skated along the length of her thigh, infinitely gentle, stirring delicious tingles of sensation. Exploring her softness. Kindling her desire. Tempting her to abandon all restraint.
With a sweep of his fingers over her achingly sensitive flesh, he stirred the first flickers of need to a blaze. Hunger filled her every cell. A sweet bliss washed over her, and she canted her hips, wanting more. More of his touch. More of his tenderness. More of his words of love.
“Darling, I want to hear you…when I give you pleasure.” His voice was low and husky, raw with longing.
The gravel-edge plea touched a wanting deep within her. She arched against him, pleading with each movement of her hips for the decadent sensations that were pulling her toward a mindless vortex.
Her inner muscles contracted and pulsed. Much more of this, and she would go mad. Or so it seemed. She couldn’t define the hunger. But it was so very real. A bittersweet ache only he could soothe.
“Oh, Benedict. Yes…yes.”
She cried out. Softly, for his ears only. Unrestrained in her delight, drinking in every pulse, every sensation, every moment of pleasure.
Each breath sounded amplified against her ears. She rested her head against his broad chest, secure in his arms. Content and utterly sated.
And yet, wanting more.
Wanting his pleasure, as he had wanted hers.
Shyly, she glided her fingers over the breadth of his shoulders. Slipping beneath his crisp linen shirt, she curved her hand over his shoulder, feeling the sleek power of lean muscle. The sheer maleness of him filled her with a craving to feel those muscles tense beneath her fingertips as he reached that delicious peak of sensation. She wanted to feel him shudder with the fulfillment of release. She wanted to hear him call her name, rough with passion, and desire, and sensual delight.
She slid her hand along the flat, hard plane of his chest. He let out a breath, as if he fought for control of his impulses. She did not want him to restrain himself. That was the most distant thing from her mind.
No, she wanted him to fully express his passion. She yearned to feel his response to her touch, to express the ecstasy he felt as she had given voice to hers.
With a smile, she ran the fingers of her left hand through his hair, savoring the silky texture of the wheat brown strands, as she ran the fingertips of her other hand through the feathering of dark hair that spanned his chest and tapered into a line bisecting his middle. A deeper brown than the strands on his head, the hue accented the meld of muscle and flesh and bone.
Pressing a kiss to his lips, she shifted her right hand lower, tugging his shirt loose from his trousers. Sliding beneath the fabric, she explored the contours of his male body.
His belly was hard and ridged with muscle, his skin bronzed. Growing bolder, she allowed her fingers to trace the same path he’d drawn on her with his touch. He shuddered with awareness.
His trousers could not hide the evidence of his arousal. The ridge of his erection pressed to the fabric, straining for release. Her mouth went dry with a primal yearning.
Gently, tenderly, she reached out to him. With the tips of her fingers, she caressed the length of him. Growing bolder, she cupped her fingers around his shaft. He groaned, even as he throbbed against her tender possession.
She let out a sigh, wondering if she possessed the daring to open his trousers and bare his body to her.
Sensing her thoughts, he gently shook his head. “We must not…go any further. I cannot guarantee my restraint.”
She pulled in a breath, fortifying her fragile daring. “And if I do not wish you to conduct yourself with restraint?”
He gulped a breath, and for a heartbeat, it seemed he might actually be praying for strength.
With a leisurely gentleness, he put an arm’s length between their bodies. His eyes gleamed with heat, even as he smiled. “This night was for you, darling. I wanted to bring you pleasure. Tonight, you gave me what I needed…you, in my arms, my name on your lips.”