Sally MacKenzie Bundle (221 page)

“Don’t come a step closer, Motton, unless you want to see the lady’s throat slit,” Wolfson said, backing away with Jane.

Someone in the corridor screamed, and Edmund closed the door behind him, shutting out the crowd. He did take a step closer. “It will only go worse for you if you hurt the girl, Wolfson. You know your carefully guarded secret is out now. You can’t escape.”

Lord Wolfson stiffened, causing the knife to dig deeper into Jane’s skin. The pain was good—it would help keep the aphrodisiac’s madness at bay. She would rather die than behave here as she had in the rented carriage.

She saw Mr. Helton had recovered his senses. He’d inched quietly across the floor and had picked up the book from where she’d dropped it. Had Lord Wolfson or Edmund noticed? Apparently not. They were too focused on each other.

Perhaps if she brought Mr. Helton’s actions to Lord Wolfson’s attention, he would let her go.

“Ah—uk!” The knife stabbed deeper; she felt blood trickle down her neck. So perhaps she wouldn’t mention Mr. Helton’s activities. The man was moving toward the fireplace now. What was he going to do?

She glanced at Edmund. His eyes hadn’t strayed from Lord Wolfson. He looked like murder. She could almost feel sorry for the baron—if he weren’t digging a knife into her throat.

“Let her go, Wolfson,” Edmund said. “Now.”

“I don’t think so. I still have the book.”

“Urk.” Jane tried again, but just got more pain for her troubles. If Lord Wolfson took his eyes off Edmund long enough to look at the floor where she’d dropped the blasted book, he’d see it was gone. And he must know Mr. Helton would take it at his first opportunity; hadn’t he heard the adage about there being no honor among thieves?

“Ah, yes, the book.” Edmund snorted. “It won’t get you out of this mess.”

“But it will. Do you even know what’s in it?”

Edmund shrugged. She knew he hadn’t a clue as to the book’s contents—they hadn’t even known there
was
a book half an hour ago. But Edmund was brilliant. He came up with an excellent, vague guess.

“Names,” he said. “It’s always names, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Lord Wolfson sounded as if he were gloating. “It’s names, lots and lots of names—the names of half the bloody
ton.
A list of every lascivious action, every perversion, every salacious sin they’ve committed. A list of all the whores and waifs that have gone missing over the last years and what each of my disciples has done to and with them. As long as I have the book, I am untouchable. No one dare harm me.”

“Urgle.” If she couldn’t get Lord Wolfson’s attention, she’d try for Edmund’s. She opened her eyes very wide and moved them in Mr. Helton’s direction. She couldn’t quite see, but she thought the man had just held a candle to the pages of Lord Wolfson’s precious book.

Edmund frowned at her and then darted a glance at Mr. Helton. He grinned, though the expression was a bit, well, malicious. “You mean that book Helton is feeding to the flames?”

“What?”
Lord Wolfson spun around, digging his knife farther into Jane’s flesh. If she survived this night, she would have to wear high-necked gowns for the next few weeks.

“Yes,
my lord.
” Mr. Helton dropped the burning book facedown into the flames in the fireplace. “I’ve destroyed it. I’m free. We’re all free—Ardley, Mouse, everyone. And you laughed at Widmore and his odd little sketch, didn’t you, you—”

Lord Wolfson screamed, fortunately drowning out Mr. Helton’s colorful description of the baron’s sexual preferences and the baron’s mother’s peculiar habits that had resulted in Lord Wolfson’s birth. Also fortunately, Wolfson shoved her out of his way so he could leap for Mr. Helton’s throat.

She should bolt from the room—no, if she rushed out into the crowd, she might attack the first male she encountered. The aphrodisiac was definitely beginning to take effect. She wrapped her arms around her waist and hung on tightly as she watched Lord Wolfson and Mr. Helton battle each other.

“Jane.” Edmund’s hands were running up and down her arms. “Your poor neck.” He brushed his lips over one of her cuts.

Damn. It was as if she were the pages of that blasted book and Edmund was the lighted candle—she exploded with a need that was going to consume her if Edmund didn’t put it out immediately. She didn’t care if Lord Wolfson and Mr. Helton killed each other; she half hoped they did. She just wanted Edmund—now. Sooner than now, if possible.

She pressed herself against him, locking her arms around his back. She straddled his leg quite by accident, but the pressure of his thigh against the throbbing spot between her legs was beyond wonderful. And if she rocked against him—

“Jane.” Edmund caught her hips and shoved them back. “I’m happy to see you, too, but—”

There was a loud crash as if someone had gone through a window. Edmund glanced up, so she took the opportunity to assess his interest—splendid. There was a sizable bulge beneath his fall. She stroked it as the door to the room was flung open and the
ton
poured in.

“Jane.” Edmund grabbed her hand and pulled it away. “We are in a rather public place.”

She flung her arms around his neck and rubbed her body against his to a chorus of gasps and other shocked sounds. “Lord Wolfson gave me some of that devil’s brew. I’m going to strip you naked in about three seconds if you don’t do something drastic.”

She licked his neck to underline her determination. She thought she heard two or three ladies swoon, and a few more called for their vinaigrettes. Some of the men resorted to whistles and rude encouragements.

“Jane!”
That was Mama’s voice. It loosened the aphrodisiac’s grip on her for a moment.

“Help?” she whispered. Edmund was her only hope of salvation, whatever salvation might be.

He did not desert or disappoint her. He gave her a swift kiss and then threw her over his shoulder, pushing through the crowd and out into the night.

Motton stretched, careful not to disturb Jane. She was sleeping on her back, snoring slightly. A strand of hair twisted close to her eye; he brushed it out of her face.

She grunted softly and turned away from him. He studied the gentle curve of her neck and shoulder. He wanted to kiss her there, and on her delicate back, following her spine to—

He slipped out of bed to find the chamber pot behind the screen. He hadn’t bothered putting in plumbing—he didn’t use this house much anymore—but he’d been happy to have it last night. Taking Jane home would have strained her mother’s and his aunts’ tolerance. And there would have been little chance of hiding what they were doing—Jane had been very loud and enthusiastic.

He grinned.
Very
loud and
very
enthusiastic. But he would like to make love to her slowly, without the aphrodisiac driving her. Perhaps when she woke up.

He headed back to bed, but stopped when he saw a sheet of paper on the floor. What was this? He picked it up. Someone—Henry, this house’s butler, was the most likely person—had slipped it under the door. Why? He’d sent the man to Motton House last night to let the ladies know Jane was fine and they’d be back today. He hadn’t wanted them to worry. Though what they were thinking…they must realize he and Jane were planning to marry.

At least, he was planning to marry Jane. She might need some persuading. He grinned again, looking over at her. She’d turned onto her back again. The covers had slipped to her waist, revealing the mounds of her lovely small breasts, their pink nipples just waiting for him.

He glanced down at the paper again. Henry’d written that Wolfson had broken his neck when he’d landed on the pavement under his study’s window; Helton had slipped out a secret door during all the commotion and got away scot free.

Motton shrugged. He felt certain without Satan, Beelzebub would not be a threat—it sounded as if he’d been an unwilling pawn for Wolfson all these years. In any event, he’d pose no further danger to Jane.

And what was this? He read farther down Henry’s missive. Jane’s father and brother John had arrived in London and were none too happy with him. They had, in fact, been on the verge of searching him out last night, castration apparently on their minds. He had Aunt Winifred and Jane’s mother to thank for the fact he’d remained intact.

“What’s that?”

Ah, Jane was awake. She was leaning up on her elbow, holding the coverlet to her chest. He put the paper down on his desk and walked toward her. “Why are you covering yourself? Are you shy this morning?” He laughed. “You weren’t at all shy last night.”

She turned bright red. “It was the damn devil’s brew.”

He watched her eyes dart to his growing cock and back to his face. She grew even redder.

“Really? Is that all it was?” He stopped next to her, close enough to touch her, but he didn’t touch her…not yet.

Her glance dropped from his face to his cock again, and then skittered away to stare at the boring pastoral he’d hung on the wall years ago when he’d first bought the house.

Where was his sharp-tongued, prickly, demanding Jane?

Mmm, he’d like to feel her tongue again.

He reached out and gently pulled the coverlet down to her waist. She didn’t resist; she let go with a small sigh and flopped back on the pillows, closing her eyes. He studied her pale, beautiful breasts for a moment—and watched their dusky pink nipples pebble. Did anticipation thrum through her as it did through him?

He looked at her face. Her eyes were still closed, her top teeth biting her bottom lip.

Yes, he thought it did. He’d wager if he touched her between her legs, he’d find her already wet and ready for him—and his cock swelled even more at the thought.

He skimmed his fingers lightly over her breasts, and she sucked in her breath, arching slightly.

Then he dropped his hand. “
Was
it only the devil’s brew, Jane? Do you feel no passion for me without that driving you into my bed?” He grimaced. “Or my carriage.”

She peeked at him and then squeezed her eyes shut again as if she were afraid to look at him. “The first time I shared your bed had nothing to do with drugs.”

“No, but that time you were reacting to a brush with death. Relief can be another kind of drug.”

Jane frowned. It was hard to think—her breasts ached; the place between her legs throbbed. Her body was almost vibrating with need. Why wouldn’t Edmund just climb into bed and do all the wonderful things he’d done last night? Why was he torturing her with talk?

Because he was uncertain. She struggled to control her lust long enough to think about his words. There’d been a thread of vulnerability in his voice. She finally looked up at him. There was vulnerability in his eyes as well. How could that be? Hadn’t she been spectacularly obvious in her lust for him?

But lust was for a body;
love
was for a person—body, soul, heart, mind. He needed her to say she wanted
him.
She leaned up on her elbow again and met his gaze. “You must know it was never the urge to find Clarence’s sketch that drew me into this search.”

“No?” He looked surprised. Men could be so stupid at times.

“Of course not. It was you. I’ve loved you for years, Edmund, even when you didn’t know I existed, and I love you more now. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

His smile lit up the room, and she could almost see the tension flow out of his body. He reached for her breasts, but she slipped away from him.

“Not yet.” She had uncertainties, too. “Do you lov—care for me? Or am I just another woman to find comfort with in bed?”

He laughed then. “I’m not sure I’ve found comfort with you, Jane. You’ve made me work far too hard.”

She scowled at him, then dropped her eyes to his enthusiastic male member. “You seem no worse for wear.”

“Apparently I’m not. I’m even eager to get back to work.”

He touched her breast and this time she didn’t have the self-control to pull away. The pleasure of it shot like an arrow to the part of her most in need of his attention. She whimpered and shifted her hips. She should wait, insist he answer her question, but her body didn’t want to wait.

But then he removed his hand—and she almost wailed with frustration.

“Jane.” He cupped her face so she had to meet his eyes. “I never sought you out before, because you weren’t a candidate for anything but marriage—and I wanted to put marriage off for as long as I possibly could.” He grimaced. “You know my parents didn’t have a pleasant association.”

“I know. And that’s why I don’t want you to feel compelled to marry me. I don’t want to trap you as your mother trapped your father.”

He laughed. “Believe me, I don’t feel trapped in the slightest. I’m very, very eager to get a special license as quickly as possible.” He grinned. “Though I do believe your family and my aunts will insist as well.”

She frowned. He said he wasn’t trapped, but he was. “I don’t want them to force you to marry me. I—”

He covered her lips with his fingers. “Our relatives would have to use force to keep me from marrying you. You are maddening and annoying—and amusing and intelligent and strong and beautiful. You have wormed your way into my life so I cannot imagine living it without you. Of course I love you.”

Happiness bloomed in her heart—but need was still blooming elsewhere. “Then come to bed and show me.”

“Again?”

“Yes.” He didn’t look as if he needed encouragement, but she would offer it anyway. She threw the rest of the covers off, so she was completely naked—body and heart. “Please, Edmund?”

“I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I refused such a delightful—and polite—request,” he said, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “But slowly this time.”

Slowly was torture. His tongue explored every corner of her mouth and his fingers teased her nipples. His lips trailed a lazy path down her jaw to her neck and then to her breasts. He lingered there, even when she moaned and wiggled, trying to encourage him to move on. She loved his lips—and tongue and teeth—on that sensitive flesh, but there was other, more sensitive flesh that required his urgent attention.

He finally took her hints and proceeded in the correct direction, down over her belly through her nether hair to—