Angel In My Bed (23 page)

“I trust you,” she heard herself say.

When she had never breathed those words to another soul.

She was hot and restless, seeking more as she followed David's hands to the hem of her camisole and helped him remove the last vestige of clothing between them, less than a whisper of cloth to have proved so capable of a barrier.

Her hair a loosened mass around her face, she watched him look at all of her without touching, yet touching her intimately. Then he met her gaze, her uncertainty rent asunder by the possessiveness in his eyes as he wrapped his hand around her nape and brought her mouth to his.

He eased her to her back and, rising on his elbow, looked into her face. “Everything heals with time,” he said, his words meaning more to her than physical healing of her body.

Victoria or Meg—she did not know herself any longer—found sanctuary within his gaze. He had his own scars, she realized, her finger tracing the ragged line across his left rib cage to the flat disk of his nipple. He spread his hand across the moist juncture between her thighs. His finger delved inside her with intimate thoroughness, touching her in a way only he had ever touched her, opening her to him. His mouth traced her jawline. Her eyes drifting shut, she felt her head sinking into the pillow. Felt her heart rise to the warmth
pressed against her. She instinctively moved her hips to meet his movements.

She gave a low whimper. “Love me, David.”

And he realized he had loved her always.

He'd been searching for redemption only to return to the beginning, as if he had the power to change his life and hers.

His fingers twining with hers, he rose above her and spread her thighs wide, possessing her with his eyes before entering her. He retreated, then forged deeper. Poised on his own crest, his eyes drifting shut, he could sense the drape of sunlight across his back, stripping away all restraint. She wanted all of him. She tried to catch his mouth with her lips but her head fell back. With a low astonished cry, she arched against him, her skin hot and tight to his touch.

“Don't stop.”

He could not if he tried.

She followed him as he twisted with her until she was on top of him. He tested the silken strands of her hair with hands that were no longer steady. She continued to move against him. Her breasts filled his hands. Then her mouth captured his with a strength that took his breath. Taking what he gave, she sucked his tongue between her lips. His breath harsh against the back of his throat, mingled with hers. He welcomed her hunger for it fed his, and the kiss went onward, spiraling upward, propelling him higher. Her orgasm pulled the breath from his lungs, until he gripped her hips, rocking them both hard.

She pulled back, her wild hair wanton and flowing over her shoulders, her gaze capturing his with a knowing intensity. And with a violent thrust that pulled her name from his lips, he spilled himself into her.

Later, when the wild tempo of their heartbeats slowed, and
he was breathing normally again, he could feel her eyes on his face and the sunlight bright on the bed.

“Continue to stare and you will find I am not yet finished.” David opened his eyes.

Meg was still sitting astride him, a cat-smile on her beautiful, wet mouth. “As I said earlier,” she purred, scraping tapered nails across his chest. “To the victor go the spoils.”

“Aye, colleen.” He wrapped a hand around her head and pulled her to his mouth, turning her beneath him, where he enjoyed a long, luxurious kiss as he fondled her right breast. “Had I known surrendering would be so sweet, I'd have done so long before now.”

Sometime later, they awakened and made love again, their drowsy state of awareness heightened as he brought them to slow completion. Reason abandoned him, but he was past redemption. For there was something impossibly selfish and futile in wanting her as much as he did. Then he was holding her tightly against him, aware that she was holding him too.

V
ictoria awoke slowly, stretching languorously against the downy comfort of David's mattress. This morning she'd lain in the arms of an angel. For just a moment as she watched dust motes dance in a beam of sunlight stretching across the covers, she smiled, before a noise turned her head, and she found herself staring at Bethany, sitting in the chair beside the bed.

Behind her, Moira was busy cleaning the room. The girl straightened, saw that Victoria was watching her, and startled.

“My apologies, mum.”

“It's all right, Moira.” Her arm lay across David's pillow and she struggled to her elbow.

“Lord Chadwick ate lunch an hour ago and went to see Sir Henry,” Bethany said. “Nathanial is with him. He told me that I was to let you sleep.”

“Oh,” Victoria breathed the word, feeling more than awkward. “What time is it?”

“It is past three o'clock in the afternoon.”

Holding the blanket to her chest, Victoria struggled to sit. “Oh!” She groaned, not because she'd slept away the entire day, but because every muscle in her body screamed at the same time.

“I'll draw up a bath, mum.” Moira dipped. At the door, she stopped. “Would you prefer the bath in your room or here?”

Wrapped in the blanket, Victoria slid her legs over the bed. David's scent lay all over her like a visible mark of possession. “My room, please.”

Everyone and the cat probably knew she was in these chambers at three o'clock in the afternoon. It would take no scholar to guess what she had been doing in David's bed, she thought, dragging the blanket with her as she met Bethany's hostile gaze.

“I'm shocked—” Bethany flung out her arm to encompass the state of the bed. “You're a grown woman, Victoria. I thought you were above allowing a man to…to ravish you like you are so much chattel in his keeping. How could you even care about him?”

Watching her whirl to leave, Victoria moved away from the bed. “Don't go.”

Bethany stiffened and turned. “This post arrived an hour ago,” she said, holding up an envelope. “I came up here to tell you I am the only person in the entire world not invited to Tory Birmingham's Yule soirée. Scandal of your escapades has probably reached London by now. But I have decided that it matters not whether I am invited to another soirée again. Who cares about such trivial matters, anyway? Certainly not I when I am the least important person in anyone's life. I can't even get a man to like me.”

“How could you believe that about yourself, Bethany?”

“What I don't understand is that it doesn't matter what
you
do, Victoria. Everyone still loves you and wants to protect you. Aren't you worried about making another baby? Or do you think another child will keep you out of prison?”

Victoria paled.

“I'm not dumb or deaf.” Bethany dabbed her sleeve against her eye. “I know you're not my stepmother. And when Peepaw dies, I'll have no one. Not even Nathanial. He isn't even my half brother.”

Victoria was still standing in the center of the carpet. “I'm sorry, Bethany.”

“Peepaw won't tell me anything. Except that you used Father's name because someone is after you. Maybe that person isn't the only bad one here. Maybe you are, too.”

The words cut straight across Victoria's heart. Not because they were a lie, but because they were the truth.

Bethany's eyes sheened with tears. Her back stiff, she strode to the door, but her hand paused on the latch. She turned, a blush climbing into her face and washing her cheeks pink. “I don't even know your real name, or what you did.”

“I was a little younger than you are now when I helped my father steal part of a government's national treasure,” Victoria said quietly. “When my father came under suspicion and a case began to grow against him, Lord Chadwick was the man they sent after us.”

Wiping her forearm across her cheeks, Bethany gathered her composure and appeared mortified. “But they can hang you for something like that.”

“I believe you are correct.” Victoria drew a short, steadying breath as she approached the growingly distraught girl. “What I did was wrong, Bethany. I make no excuses for the crime. But my affection for you has never been a lie.”

“Then I believe I really shall be alone, Victoria. For I will never live with Nellis. I am afraid of him.”

 

Victoria could not get Bethany's comment about Nellis from her head. After she bathed and dressed in a serviceable blue morning gown with half boots laced to her ankles, she asked one of the footmen to take her to the cottage so she could find David and Nathanial. Sir Henry was asleep. Esma was outside in the yard feeding the chickens.

“I don't know where Lord Chadwick took young Nate, mum,” Esma said. “He did send my William to talk to Mr. Gibson about hiring a stone mason.”

“Then he must be working on dismantling the walls of the church.” Victoria looked out across the yard. The snow had melted, but the gray clouds over the distant English Channel did not bode well for the current warmer temperatures.

Ever since David mentioned her father's disappearance six months ago, her realization that the event coincided with Nellis's interest in Rose Briar continued to nag at her. As did Sheriff Stillings's conversation weeks ago. “Has Bethany returned from the manor house?” Victoria asked.

“She is in the stables. If she had her way, I've no doubt she would live with the beasts. You have a knack for healing people. She has a knack for healing animals. It is unfortunate Sir Henry has never noted her talents before.”

Victoria folded her arms beneath her cloak. “Neither have I been as clear-headed in that direction. Bethany has taken the brunt of our distractions of late.”

“She is a good lass, mum.” Esma pumped water into a bucket. “But while you've been distracted, you've not noticed the tender affection she's developed for the young man ye hired.”

Victoria pressed her lips together, caught by an alarm that quickly escalated as her own past gave proof that young love and British spies were a dangerous combination. “Mr. Rockwell? Has he…?”

“He's set someone else to take his place here. I've seen him working at the church or at the manor house but he doesn't come here anymore.” Esma wiped her damp hands on her apron. “He's married, mum.”

That revelation surprised her. Ian Rockwell obviously had integrity not to allow himself to become involved with a moon-eyed romantic schoolgirl. Still, as she thought of Bethany, Victoria remembered being seventeen and feeling the whole world sided against her. Mostly, she remembered feeling alone.

David had a hundred reasons not to care about the other family in her life or feel he was responsible for Bethany's future, but she hoped in time he could be swayed. Bethany needed to know that she wasn't alone and would never be handed over to Nellis.

“Did Lord Chadwick say anything to Sir Henry about the will?”

“I'm not aware if he has, mum.”

“And you do not know where Lord Chadwick went after leaving here?”

“No, mum.”

Victoria stopped at the church on the way back to Rose Briar. The groomsman accompanying her greeted those who were working inside the burned-out structure. Rubbing the cramp in her side, she looked at Mr. Doyle's thatched cottage. Smoke issued forth from the chimney. She was suddenly standing at his wife's grave, staring at the headstone wondering at the magic of spending forty years with another
human being and the loss of having that person die. All of her life, she had never truly understood death, except it was a forever event. She'd never believed in heaven, though strangely she believed well enough in hell. A cold chill worked itself beneath her cloak and skirts, and she raised her hood, feeling as if someone was watching her, yet when she lifted her face, she saw no one.

She remained unnoticed in the cemetery. Mr. Rockwell's horse was tied to the iron gate that let out into the churchyard. She saw his tall form near the cottage, talking to the big man with the gold tooth. No one else was paying attention to her.

All week she had been trying to get out from beneath David's thumb, wanting to find a way to talk to Nellis. Now it was as if Providence had handed her a horse and a means to escape. At least a means to a goal.

Lowering her head, she said a brief prayer over Mrs. Doyle's grave as she'd promised Mr. Doyle she would. Heart pounding, she made her way to the gate, mounted, and rode out of the churchyard.

 

“You've a visitor, Mr. Munro.”

Nellis looked up from his correspondence as Victoria stepped into his library. He sat behind a large ostentatious desk. Two griffins balanced each end of a perfectly arranged desktop. “I fear she would not wait in the foyer,” the butler said.

Nellis rose and stepped around the desk. His eyes made a pass behind her before settling on her. “What a pleasant surprise.” He managed to sound casual.

“I hope that I am not disturbing you.”

“Shall I have tea brought in, sir?” the butler inquired.

“Why not?” Nellis waved his hand airily. “Make it our special blend. It will be an experience for her, I'm sure.”

After the butler bowed out, Victoria found her stomach unsettled as she regarded Sir Henry's nephew with a calm she did not feel.

“How long has it been since I've been graced with your presence alone in my home?” As he pondered his own wit, his mouth flashed a mocking grin. “Why, never.”

“It isn't necessary to be rude, Nellis.”

“I am only rude when provoked. Unfortunately, I am in a provoked state of mind. Or I was until your arrival.” His gaze warmed over her. He was dressed fastidiously in dark trousers, waistcoat, and jacket. “You're looking very lovely, Victoria. Won't you make yourself comfortable?”

It didn't occur to her until now that Nellis's position as chief magistrate made her current position more precarious. Deciding on prudence over hostility, Victoria removed her cloak. He did not press her to sit in any particular chair, but merely waited for her to do so. She chose the low-backed armchair nearest to the desk in deference to the view it provided not only of the room but also of the street.

“Is someone going to be pounding down my door at any moment looking for you?” Nellis inquired, leaning against the desk with certain significance as he did so—like a man at ease making life-and-death decisions over people.

“No,” she replied, reminding herself to sit tall.

He chuckled. “Why do you want to see me?”

“I thought we could talk,” she offered. “Bury the hatchet, so to speak, between our two families, seeing that you are Sir Henry's blood relative.”

“I have been Sir Henry's blood relative for forty-one
years. You are the one who is not. And yet, there you are making a claim on Rose Briar.”

“I believe Sir Henry inherited Rose Briar from his mother, who was your father's
stepmother
, hence no true relative of yours, since you didn't even know her.”

His features hardened enough to tell her she had hit a nerve. They also warned her that he was not as he seemed, that challenging him outright would not work. He was toying with her, for he was not a patient man at all.

She folded her hands. “May I ask why you were so intent on taking the land?”

“Sentimental reasons, Victoria.”

“But you've never lived there. I only want to do what is right and fair,” she stated, realizing at once she'd overplayed her concern. Giving up all pretenses, she forced a smile. “Perhaps if you are nice, Lord Chadwick will invite you to sup with the family on holidays.”

“Yes, an interesting chap. I was unaware Chadwick was so connected.” Nellis reached behind him and slid a yellowed sheet of paper off the desk. “That was mistakenly delivered to my town house a few days ago. Since you are here you can take it to him.”

Nellis dropped it in her lap. Victoria scanned the brief lines.

It was a telegram addressed to David. Wednesday was today. David had not told her where he might be going today. “Mistakenly? I doubt it.”

“Lord Ravenspur works for the foreign secretary in Lord
Ware's inner office,” Nellis said, ignoring the comment. “It seems your
cousin
has made quite a name for himself as an…emissary for our government in the various places he's served.” Nellis waggled another paper in front of her nose. “I was hoping you could tell me why Chadwick would be meeting with Lord Ravenspur? It is rather curious, is it not?”

Her palms grew moist. She had no idea why David would have arranged such a secret meeting. “Why should that be your concern?”

He laughed, leaning on the desk. “Knowing him as you do, then you probably understand Chadwick is very good at what he does. Truly, Victoria,” he said with sarcasm, “you have no idea the kind of man he is or you wouldn't have been so eager to invite him into your life. You don't think he's earned his accolades fanning the queen's bum, do you?”

Victoria could find no rebuttal to the crass statement. The rattle of a tray snapped her attention to the doorway. Wearing a white apron over her black dress, the servant pulled her gaze from Nellis as she set down the tray on the table beside Victoria's chair. She wondered what she'd briefly glimpsed in the woman's eyes as she accepted a cup.

“Aren't you curious about the kind of man for whom you seem to hold some fondness?” Nellis demanded after the servant departed.

Victoria gave him her full attention. “I know who he is.”

“Then you know fourteen years ago, David Donally stopped a purported assassination attempt on the royal family with a single bullet to the culprit's forehead. Almost six hundred yards. He was one of a few in the world who could have made that shot. Not the first time he'd done such a job, might I add. You don't believe me?” Nellis queried, pulling out another sheaf of paper from the stack he held in his hands. “He
belonged to an elite group of men called the League of the Condor. Men sent all over the world to infiltrate organizations to expose plots and bring in the worst sort of criminals.”