Max returned at that moment, a tray in his hands, pushing into the room with his shoulder and kicking the door shut behind him. “Make a space please, ladies. I have tea and scones.”
“Oh lovely.” Grace eagerly rearranged the table top to make room. “Kitty’s found something, Max. Don’t touch her clippings just yet?”
Max laid out tea, cups and plates with a dexterity that would make Deery green with envy.
Kitty glanced up. “Is there possibly a period of servitude in your past, Max? You do that so well.”
“Be quiet.” He put a scone on a plate for her. “Here. What have you found?”
“Tea first please.” She noted his clenched teeth, and hid a chuckle. “Thank you.” It was good thing she didn’t take sugar in her tea. He might have choked her before she got her first sip.
“All right then.” She spread out the clippings around the china. “There is very little that is common to these announcements. But in these five here, and those two over there, there is one item that matches.” She leaned back. “The name of the carriage maker.”
Grace’s eyes widened and Max frowned in puzzlement.
He found his voice first. “The carriage-maker? Seven accidents to the same carriage maker?”
“Possibly eight,” answered Kitty. “Edmund finally ordered a carriage not long ago, so I learned a little bit about the business. Was yours ordered from Barker?”
“No,” he said.
“How about Rowley, Marshall and Cook?”
“My father had his made there, but no, I didn’t,” Max observed.
“Kanehall?”
He paused. “They’re new. Radical designs and some of them are outstanding. But there were rumours of pricing problems. So no, not them.”
Kitty nodded. “Could yours have come from Whetstone and Frank?”
“Yes.” Max sat down. “Yes. They’re a relatively new company. I liked what they offered and it was easy to turn it into something that was uniquely a Seton-Mowbray vehicle.” He paused, drumming his fingertips softly on the table. “Actually, it was Freddie Whitemarsh who recommended them. Said they were being quite innovative in the design of the body, and the interior was much more comfortable. Something to do with the springs…”
“Wait,” said Grace. “Isn’t Freddie Whitemarsh the son of Baron Stokingham?”
“Er, I think so…” Max looked at her. “I wouldn’t want to wager on it, but I’m pretty sure they’re connected.”
Grace nodded. “I thought so.” She looked at the clippings. “Stokingham’s carriage broke a wheel two weeks ago. The notice is here somewhere. Her ladyship got a few bruises. Showed them off at some ball or other, and accidentally revealed more of her leg than was seemly. Goodness…you can’t imagine the outrage.”
Max’s eyebrow lifted. “The present Lady Stokingham was once in the theater. So to speak. She is probably quite used to revealing her legs—and more, if memory serves me.”
Kitty laughed. “Oh dear. All the high and low points of London tend to connect at odd moments, don’t they?”
“All right then.” Max finished his tea, popped the last of his scone in his mouth, and stood.
“Here it comes,” whispered Kitty, glancing at Grace. “I think we’re about to hear the Master’s plan of action.”
Grace giggled, and sat up straight, folding her hands in her lap. Kitty did the same.
“Not amusing, ladies. This is momentous.” Max began to pace. “Let’s review this situation.” He held up his hand, fingers splayed. “We have a series of carriage accidents, seven to be precise. Possibly eight.” One finger was pressed down. “We’ve established that seven of them involved the same maker.” Another finger was pressed down. “Now mine was the first to involve a death, but it was being driven out of London onto much poorer roads.” Down went the third finger. He looked at both Kitty and Grace, his face betraying his excitement. “I believe we now have a focus for our investigations.”
Chapter Nineteen
As she prepared for bed, Kitty’s mind kept turning over the possibilities offered by their discoveries. It was a process begun over dinner, continued afterward and was still ongoing in her brain as she undressed.
She jumped as the door opened and Max walked in.
“My room. Now.”
Making a conscious effort to recall that she was, in fact, Max’s submissive mistress, she nodded her head and followed him silently back into his suite. He was in his robe, but he shrugged it off as she closed the door behind them.
He was quite naked.
She took a few moments to admire the view. A gentleman’s backside, especially one as nicely muscled as Max’s, was a delightful thing.
“Remove your gown, Kitty, then get into bed.”
He went around the room, snuffing out the candles, leaving only one branch by the bedside.
She did as he instructed, shivering a little as her warm skin met cool linens. Still not entirely comfortable when nude, she managed to hide most of her breasts in an attempt at modesty.
She noticed his look of amusement as he slid in beside her. “Don’t you think it’s rather late to be hiding anything from me, Kitty?”
She bit her lip. “I suppose so. But I’m not used to this, Max. To being naked…with a man.”
“I’m glad of it.” He turned onto one side and rested on his elbow, observing her. “So what do you think of it?”
She blinked. “Of what?”
He tugged down the quilt and ran a fingertip lightly around her nipple. It contracted, and shivers danced along her nerve endings. “Of this. You and I. Sex, Kitty. Fucking.” He paused and lightly pinched the hard nub, making her gasp. “Of being my mistress—in every way.”
“You mean being submissive to you, don’t you?” She watched his eyes as they roamed over her naked skin.
“Partly.” He bared her other breast. “But overall. You were a virgin—which I found surprising, given your age. But also it was quite an honor to be your first lover, the first to learn how you feel when you come around my cock. So I ask again. What do you think of it all?”
She was silent for a few moments, wondering how to answer such a simple but important question. “I think I like it,” she said, after much deliberation. “As for my virginity, well, I didn’t think much of that, although I certainly had no interest in parting with it until…” she gulped. “Until you touched me.”
Max shot her a quick glance from beneath his long eyelashes, then cupped her breast with one hand. “Go on.”
“I’m not sure what else to say.” She sucked in a quick breath as he ran his thumb over sensitive flesh. “I found, to my surprise, that I like being spanked. At least I like it when you do it. It’s…” she hated the heat she knew bloomed in her cheeks. “It’s sensual and makes me feel…”
“Feel what, Kitty?”
“I don’t know,” she frowned. “How to describe it…it’s hard. It makes me feel alive, Max. In a way I’ve never been before. I’ve always held back, kept my countenance. I’ve worked hard to never betray what I feel within me, since it will either be ridiculed or ignored. But with you…”
She sighed as he pulled down the quilt further and moved closer, giving himself access to both her breasts.