Lillian Holmes and the Leaping Man (17 page)

She put on the emerald silk Aileen had purchased that very day, which had yet to be altered, fixed her own hair, and loaded her pistol. After pressing a kiss to the letter from Mr. Conan Doyle, she left her room, left the security of her home, which had indeed felt like a prison these many years, and strode up the street toward the Altamont. As she walked, she rehearsed her speech for George should he be there.

I am here to inquire about my mother because I believe you may have information on her. If you do not, will you at least tell me the whereabouts of Annaluisa? I am ready for her message. Thank you for your help.

Her stomach churned. At best, she would not betray her confused feelings for him and he would be able to tell her something. At worst, he would kill her because she knew his hand in two murders. As she took the stairs to the hotel entrance, she was no longer sure she’d weighed the equation properly.

The clerk inclined his head and smiled. “I believe I’ve seen you before, Miss. You are a resident of this neighborhood, correct?”

“Yes, I’ve walked by here many times. But today I am looking for one of your guests. A Mr. George Orleans.”

The clerk ran his finger down the register and shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not, Miss. Perhaps he will check in tomorrow?”

Lillian asked him to try again, and looked with him. She caught her breath. “There! I’m very sorry, how silly. I am to see a Mr. Lestrade, not Orleans. Orleans is the cousin.”

“Ah! Wonderful. I will have the bellman deliver a message for you, if you would take a seat.”

“I’d rather go myself.”

The welcoming smile turned dour. “It’s rather late.”

“Nevertheless, I will see him now.”
Go ahead, think what you like.

“The fifth floor, suite B, Miss.”

Ignoring the brand-new elevator, Lillian climbed the curved staircase, each step making her heart pound in terror of what she might find. How would he receive her?

As she reached the fifth-floor landing, she checked the empty hallway and patted her pistol secure in her waistcoat. She straightened the dagger strapped to her wrist, and willing her hand to stop shaking she knocked on the door of suite B.

“It is unlocked. Enter,” a voice called from within. George.

Perhaps he’s expecting someone? A lover?
Lillian turned the handle and opened the door a few inches. “It is Miss Holmes. May I come in?”

He pulled the door open and stared at her in shock. “Good Lord, how did you find me?
Why
did you find me?”

He wore a simple heavy black dressing robe over his night pants, exposing a good deal of neck and chest. Barefooted and disheveled, he narrowed his eyes at her silence.

The churning in her gut changed in an instant. She feared him, but she desired him more.

Sensing that he could read could read her longing on her face, she peered past him into the room and took a deep breath. “I have my methods, Mr. Lestrade.”

“Goodness, is that the name I used?” He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “You must have been on my mind at the time. I wanted to come visit you, to see how you fared, but I also did not want to frighten you again by approaching through your window. I… I…”

He shook his head and motioned for her to enter and sit. When she hesitated, he pulled her by the hand to the settee. Only a single lamp lit the large suite. Lillian found it comforting, found it too easy to be with George again. Her speech forgotten, she took in the scent of him, spicy and exotic, and tried to pull her gaze away from his lips and sad, deep chocolate-colored eyes.

“You look forlorn, George. It is not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” He brushed his fingers along her jaw and she clutched at them to stop his caress. She could barely think in his presence; his touch made it impossible.

“Some devil-may-care shenanigans, perhaps. Why are you not in your home? Is something amiss?”

He blew out a breath and propped his bare feet on the table. “It is not your problem. Let us just say that I am awaiting an inevitable meeting.”

“With the police?”

“How I wish. No, an old enemy who wishes to harm me. That is why you must leave. You may become a casualty in that petty war.”

“I see.” Lillian nodded. George would not share his secret life with her even though he knew hers.

“No, you don’t. You know nothing about me, except for a few facts you choose to ignore because I helped you escape the asylum.”

“That is not it.”

“I am not your savior, Lil. You look well. You look wonderful, beautiful.” He held her gaze and then lowered his eyes to her lips, to her neck. “Do not confuse me with a normal man interested in your health and happiness.”

“No, I know you are not a normal man.”

He sat up straight and pulled his hand away. So, it was all true. He
was
hiding something, something extraordinary. “Are you ready to confess that you are a murderer?”

“Not in the sense you mean. But I have caused great pain, suffering…and yes, death.”

“And do you enjoy causing these things?”

He seemed to seriously contemplate her question, his brow furrowed. “Enjoy? Why, I suppose I have enjoyed it, yes. I’ve always thought of it as more of a need, as you have needed your ‘medicine.’ But at times I’ve gone far past need into enjoyment. At most times, in fact. I…”

“You are enjoying it less. Is that correct?”

He nodded. “Something like that. I’m tired, Lil. You…you remind me so much of myself when I was…younger. I wasn’t so ordinary, ever. I didn’t fit in like Phillip did. People didn’t warm to me. They thought me daft at times. Excessive, brash, impulsive, even irrational. Nothing, and no one, held my attention for more than an hour. But it was better than what I have become. That is why I’m allowing my enemy to find me.”

“How old are you, George? You said I remind you of yourself when you were younger, but in truth, we look about the same age. That is far from reality, is it not?”

He hooded his eyes and shrugged with a deep sigh. “It is a painful topic, and one that defies logic. Please don’t trouble yourself over it. In any case, this life is nearly over.”

“You would give up? After convincing me to push on and live my life to the fullest?”

“There’s nothing left for me. I have no family except Phillip, and I’ll no longer put his happiness at risk. I have no friends. I’m tired and bored and more than a bit angry at myself for how I’ve wasted my life.”

“I don’t see how we are different now. Except that you are not following your advice to me. You are not choosing to live.”

“For what? You can’t understand, and I am not able to make you understand. Please leave, Lil, before it’s too late. I came back to make sure you were sound. I don’t want to have gone to all that trouble merely to have you killed at the Hotel Altamont.”

“You came back for me, and yet…”

“Yes, and yet. It cannot be.”

Can I love a man who hates himself? It doesn’t matter, he does not want me.

“Then I will leave you. May I ask if you know the whereabouts of my mother, or failing that, the name of someone who might lead me to her?”

George smiled, and Lillian’s heart broke. She knew she’d not be likely to see that beautiful smile again.

“You are formidable, Miss Holmes.” He threw his arm around her and pulled her in for what felt like a brotherly hug. She wanted to slap him, it felt so awful.

“My mother’s name and whereabouts, please?”

“I don’t know. But Madam Annaluisa Pelosi does. Unfortunately, it seems she has fled Baltimore with Phil and Kitty, and I’m not sure where they went. Likely back to New Orleans. I’ll wager that they will return before long, and you’ll be able to question Annaluisa in person. She was willing to help once. I’m sure she will again.”

“Then I won’t trouble you any longer.”

Lillian wanted to stand, tried to stand, but she couldn’t make her muscles respond. George seemed to note her hesitation. He turned her chin so that she faced him, and angled his face an inch from hers. His breath sent a chill across her soul, his deep eyes turned midnight black. He put his hand around her neck and sent ice-cold shivers down her back with the rub of his thumb.

“I am your worst enemy, Lil. If I did not care for you… If I did not want you so badly I’d consider living this bleak life a while longer, I would ask you to stay.”

“Ask me,” she whispered. “Can we not feel bleak together? I would dearly love your help now.”

“Eventually I would be the death of you.”

“I do not believe it. You have had every opportunity to kill me.”

“You cannot know what you’re saying.”

She closed the distance between them and pressed her lips to his. He resisted for a heart-stopping second, and then he fell into her with a hunger she didn’t know possible. As he claimed her mouth again and again, she heard herself moaning and the quiet hiss of her name from his lips. His skin was cold, so cold, and his eyes so dark, she felt as if she were freezing into his world inch by inch as he tossed aside her hat and loosened her chignon. He clutched her hair in one hand and yanked her head back so that he could kiss her neck.

If she’d ever dreamed of passion before, the memory disappeared beneath his demanding lips. A nick at her neck and she gasped, sensations pouring through her whole body, pooling in hot-cold spirals to her womb.

He groaned and pressed his lips to hers again, but he now tasted of blood, of
her
blood. Tangy. When she reached her hand to her neck, he whimpered and pushed it behind her back.

“I am sorry. It will not happen again.”

“Is this the preamble to murder, this nick upon my neck?”

“No, not with you. It is a lust to taste all of you… How can I explain? All my desires blend into one. But you are safe.” He ripped her waistcoat away and leaned back, staring at the pistol tucked in her skirt band. “Might we remove that for now? I will return it to you.”

Looking into his eyes, Lillian believed him. She pulled the pistol free and put it on the table next to the settee. Then she reached up her sleeve and removed the slender dagger she wore.

George narrowed his eyes and shook his head. Then smiled. “Anything else I need to know about?”

“My diary names you as my killer should I not return home.”

“Splendid. How much time do we have before they come looking for you?”

“At least a year.”

She slid her hand down his chest and brushed the smooth skin with her palms. With a growl, he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. He threw his nightgown onto the floor and knelt next to her, a pale muscular marble statue, chest heaving with effort as he tore layer after layer of clothing off of her.

“Aileen will be angry; this dress is new.”

“Shut up and help me.”

When she was down to her corset, he fell on her, licking an icy hot path down her neck and, after freeing her breasts from the tight fabric, licking and suckling on her nipples. This was not the ardor of her fantasies. It was better. This man would tear her apart, inch by inch, and she would beg him to do it again. She arched against his mouth and cried his name, raking her nails across his back and pleading for more, for less, for mercy as his touches sent lightning to her sex and thunder in her ears.

“Tell me you want this,” he whispered as he ran his palm down her stomach and ripped her bloomers away. “Tell me you need this, that I don’t frighten you.”

“You do frighten me. And I want this, I want you.” She tensed for a moment, remembering a night in which she was young, naked, and frightened, when no one asked or cared what she wanted. This man,
this
man cared. She pushed down the past and blew out the breath she was holding.

“This is so cruel.” He brought her hand to his stomach, and she ran it down the cords of muscle along his hips. She found her prize, thick and hard with urgent need. As she ran her palm over the slick head, he cried out and then took her in a kiss again.

She ran her hand along the shaft, tentatively at first, then in long, hard strokes that seemed to please him most, and he bucked and nipped at her neck. Another tiny nick—she felt it—and he backed away.

“I’m so sorry, Lil. The taste of you, it draws me, it overwhelms me…”

“I will be wearing high collars this winter,” she joked.
But God, is it true? He wants my neck more than my womanhood?

George pulled away and stared into her eyes. “I am damaged, my love. I am not sure of myself. You are everything… You don’t know…”

“We are all damaged, George. Please, please do not stop now.”

“Forgive me, then, for I was always a selfish man.”

He tore the rest of her clothes away and stripped himself fully naked, a beautiful man with fire in his eyes. She brushed his overlong hair from his face as he hovered over her, and she watched as his irises and pupils blended to black. Slowly at first, he pressed himself into her, and when she stretched to receive him, he built a slick fire with a steady rhythm that sent sparks through her veins. She watched him as long as she could keep her eyes open, watched the greed and need on his wondrous face. When she had to close her eyes as sensations drowned her and stars exploded in the darkness, she heard his hiss and whispered curse. He fell on her finally and said her name.

She nestled against his chest and held on, knowing that like everyone else who mattered, he would be taken away from her as well. Willing herself not to cry, she wondered what she would wear home. Hopefully her skirt was in one piece.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

A hint of better times.

In silence, George retrieved his robe and moved to the sitting room, giving Lillian time to wash and dress as best she could. He regretted the interlude, regretted ever having met her. Didn’t she feel the same? It was
not
better to have lusted and lost. Especially in the space of a few days.

Why should he not feel sated now? No, his hunger intensified by the moment, both for her blood and her sex. No, for all of her. To own her, to own her forever.

Why not, then?
Take her, turn her, keep her!
But he knew he wouldn’t, and he wondered if he’d ever understand why.