Forty-Two
I know you don’t believe in the paranormal, let alone the ability to sense the future, but we have agreed that there is such a thing as a sense of intuition,” Beatrice said.
They were alone, strolling through the large conservatory attached to Hazelton’s mansion. On any other night, the scene would have been conducive to romance, Beatrice thought. Moonlight slanted through the glass walls and ceiling, illuminating an impressive array of greenery that ranged from ferns and palms to orchids of all descriptions. It was the only room in the house that was not drenched in gloom. In this space life thrived. Victor Hazelton should spend more time in his conservatory.
Dinner had been a subdued affair. The dark, paneled dining room, like the library, was drenched in the accoutrements of deep mourning. The walls were hung with more billowing black silk. A photograph of Emma dressed in an elegant gown gazed down upon the diners from above the mantel. The somber-faced footman who served them wore a black armband. He had maintained a hushed silence as he came and went from the kitchen.
Beatrice knew that she would not have enjoyed the meal even if the atmosphere had been more cheerful. Her sense of unease had been stirring all afternoon. It had only grown stronger throughout the evening.
“In spite of appearances, I can take care of myself, Beatrice,” Joshua said.
“I am well aware of that. But that does not mean that you should not pay attention to intuition. What is yours telling you?”
He stopped and leaned back against a raised bed of ferns. He set the cane aside and pulled her into his arms.
“I’ve told you, time is running out,” he said. “I cannot risk another moment. I must find the Bone Man tonight and use him to find Lancing. There is no time to devise another plan.”
She wanted to argue with him but she knew it was no use. Perhaps if she had an alternative strategy to offer she might have been able to convince him, she thought. But she could not think of one.
She gripped the lapels of his coat. “Promise me that you will be careful and that you will come back to me.”
“I promise,” he said.
He tightened his hold on her and kissed her. Her anxiety and her fear for his safety acted like fuel to a low-burning fire. She clutched at his shoulders and returned the kiss with a sense of desperation, as if she was afraid she might never see him again.
He responded with a rush of desire that swept both of them into a hot torrent of energy.
He pulled her down onto a nearby pile of canvas sacking and pushed her skirts up to her waist. He found the open seam in her drawers and stroked her until she was wet and aching. He opened the front of his trousers. She closed her hand around him, guiding him into her.
“I cannot stop,” he warned against her throat. “Not tonight. You’re a fever in my blood.”
“It’s all right,” she whispered. “It’s all right, my love.”
My love.
And suddenly she knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that it was the truth. She loved Joshua.
If he heard her he did not react to the words. He was consumed with a feverish passion.
He thrust deep and hard, once, twice, and then he was gritting his teeth against an exultant roar. She held him tightly until the waves of his release finally ceased.
He collapsed on top of her for a moment. When his harsh breathing was back to normal, he groaned and rolled to one side on the canvas and looked up at the moon through the glass-and-steel roof of the conservatory. He picked up her hand and kissed her palm.
“My apologies,” he said after a while. “I did not wait for you. I could not. That was ungentlemanly of me.”
She smiled and levered herself up on her elbow to look down at him. In the moonlight his eyes gleamed with the heat of the aftermath.
“See to it that you come back safely so that you can finish what you started here tonight,” she said. She kept her voice light and teasing.
He did not respond to her attempt to lighten the mood. Instead his eyes got very hot. He wrapped his hand around the back of her head and drew her face down until her mouth was very close to his.
“You have my oath on it,” he said.
He kissed her once more to seal the promise.
—
TWENTY MINUTES LATER she watched him go out into the night and climb into the anonymous carriage that would take him deep into the dark streets of London. When the vehicle disappeared into the fog her intuition shrieked in silent warning. But there was nothing she could do.
Victor took her arm and gently guided her back into the house. He looked at her, his eyes filled with understanding.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Josh was always my best agent. Even in his present condition, I’m certain that he can take care of himself.”