The Copper and the Madam (6 page)

“And what does that mean? You can speak the
Irish?”

“No, darlin’, a few words and phrases. I
said, “A day lasts until it’s chased away, but love lasts until the
grave.”

Rea raised her glass. “To the happy
couple.”

They each took a sip then returned to eating
the salad.

“I am pleased for Desmond, truly. You
mentioned before she is older than him?”

“Yes, by at least ten or twelve years,” she
replied.

Rory shrugged. “A more mature, steady hand
could be what he needs. Someone old enough to appreciate him and
love him completely.”

Rea laughed. “That is what Desmond said, in
not so many words.”

He sipped his wine. “I suppose it will be
something I should consider soon. Marriage, that is.”

Her heart crashed to her toes. The thought of
Rory married to a strange woman almost brought up the food she had
consumed. She lifted her napkin to her mouth and coughed into it to
fight back the nausea.

“You have someone in mind?” she managed to
croak behind her napkin.

“No, but I am not getting any younger,” he
replied.

“What is your age?”

“Thirty-two.”

She coughed again, God, she’d thought he was
older somehow. Two years younger than her. What had Desmond said,
age is just a number
?

“And you, Rhiannon?”

Should she lie? Thirty-four could be
considered ancient according to society. She was, as they said,
“firmly on the shelf.”

She laid her napkin on her lap. “Two years
older than you.”

Rory shrugged and continued eating.

When they had finished, Jacob appeared to
take the plates away, then returned a few moments later with the
soup.

“Cian O’Connor, do you know him?” Rory asked
between spoonfuls.

“Yes, a copper, like you. Detective. I know
of him.”

Cian had been an occasional customer, but she
would not tell Rory that, or anything of the detective’s
proclivities.

“He spent all afternoon checking on Southen.
No one has seen the man in London. Doesn’t mean he isn’t here
somewhere, holed up. Cian also found out about his country seat. He
has an estate outside of Sutton-on-Sea in Lincolnshire. It is a
couple of hours by train. I thought to go there tomorrow and poke
around. Mind you, I did not let the inspector know this. I want to
be sure before making a report. I managed to take long overdue
personal time.”

Rea lowered her spoon. “Kerrigan, I want to
go with you.”

He halted his eating and arched an eyebrow in
question. “Why?”

Why indeed? Rea wasn’t exactly sure. Perhaps
Gordon deserved her attention in this matter.

“I owe Gordon. Besides, if you have a woman
with you, the inquiries would take on a less officious slant. I
think it wise you not let on you’re a copper, don’t you agree?”

He nodded. “Aye, true enough. I will be
staying overnight.”

Rea picked up her spoon, dipped it in the
bowl, and sipped quietly. “I am sure there is an inn of some sort
there. We can reserve two rooms.”

Rory’s eyes twinkled. “Two rooms? Who are we
to be, brother and sister, then? We will have to fabricate a story.
Perhaps you should be my wife, and then we would need only one
room.” He winked, chuckled, and ate more of his soup.

A roll of crackling heat moved through her.
Wife. One room. One bed. She should call his bluff. And then what?
Have him rebuff her should she wish more than a hug? Far better off
staying here, hiding as usual. Desmond embracing life and Gordon’s
being cut short brought many things into perspective. In all these
years, no man had appealed to her, only Rory Kerrigan. At last,
here lay a chance to see if she was capable of feeling anything at
all.

“Very well, Kerrigan, One room. I’ll play
your wife.”

Rory could not believe his ears. He teased,
never thought she would take him up on the preposterous scenario.
Rhiannon did have a point. Traveling with a “wife,” he might be
able to find out more than if he identified himself as a
copper.

She sipped at her soup. Rhiannon, as usual,
shuttered her emotions. However, the last few days he had observed
a depth of feeling he’d never seen in her before. She cared for the
people working for her and all those who went before. She acted as
mother hen to all those lost, damaged chicks. However, Rhiannon
might be more lost and damaged than all the rest.

Jacob entered the room, took away their
bowls, and reentered with a platter of salmon and sauce. Rory had
to admit, he derived great enjoyment from this fancy meal. Rory
picked up the serving utensils on the dish and helped himself to a
large portion. Been a long time since he’d had fresh salmon. He
poured the sauce over the fish, and then placed the serving dish
back on the platter. Jacob moved to Rhiannon, but she waved him
away.

“Come on now, darlin’. Have some of the
fish,” Rory said.

He took a bite and moaned as the salmon
melted in his mouth.
Dill sauce, bloody wonderful
.

She sighed and cut a very small portion,
forgoing the sauce. Jacob closed the door behind him, and they were
alone once again.

“I’ve given the matter some thought,
Rhiannon. You could be right. Better pack for an overnight trip.
Can you be spared from your duties here?”

Rhiannon played with the fish on her plate.
“I really haven’t left this place in years. Perhaps a train trip
would be just the thing. Yes, I think I can be spared,” she
whispered.

She struggled to hide her emotions.
Too
late, darlin’, I know what to look for
. Since the murder,
Rhiannon’s deftness in appearing detached was not as apparent as in
the past. He liked this new facet of her personality. So much he
did not know and wanted to find out.

They exchanged small talk until Jacob
returned with the main course. After they were served and the wine
glasses refilled, Jacob left and closed the door.

“There is one thing you haven’t really
explained, Rhiannon. Last time I came for dinner, I told you things
I’ve never shared with another living soul. Aspects of my life I
wish to remain secret. I trusted you with the information. I think
it only fair it be quid-pro-quo.”

Her fork dropped to her plate with clatter.
“No, Kerrigan. I can’t.”

The stark expression of trepidation on her
face made him pause.

“Well, tell me this at least. Why do you
watch others have sex? Why did you watch me? You never adequately
answered my questions about the matter the other night.”

She lowered her head. “You ask too much.”

“No, darlin’. I’m not. You asked me here to
dinner. If you think I am going to sit here and discuss the weather
or the best place to buy fresh bread, you are sadly mistaken. What
you do is called voyeurism.”

Her features hardened. “Is it a crime,
Sergeant?”

“No, it isn’t. Answer my questions.”

“It means nothing! I train those wishing to
stay on and work at The Blind Cupid to perform, to falsify their
responses, and give pleasure while removing themselves from their
own. I gave instruction, so I stayed in the room while they had
sex.” Rhiannon slammed her napkin on top of her plate.

A stab of lust tore through him as he
pictured her observing a couple writhe in passion.

“And you remained clinical, logical, and
removed from what you were seeing? Do you dislike the act of sex so
much?”

“Yes, and yes!” she cried.

Rory grasped her arms and helped her to her
feet. “And did you stay so detached when you watched me, for three
long years? Did you peek through those holes so you could study
your whore’s technique? Tell me the truth.”

Jacob entered the room. “Oh. Beg pardon. Are
both ready for dessert?”

Rory laid his lips at her ear and spoke for
her alone. “Am I to get dessert in the usual way? Do you want me to
go in a room and fuck one of your girls so you can observe? Or
perhaps, you would like to come in the room with me.”

“Kerrigan, stop. I am sorry. I
never...I....”

Her voice quavered on the edge of tears. Aw,
hell. He hadn’t meant to upset her, at least not to such an
extent.

He faced Jacob. “Bring the dessert and leave
it on the sideboard.”

Alone together again, he patted her arm.
“There now, calm down. We won’t talk of this any more tonight. Know
this, Rhiannon. If you come with me to Lincolnshire, we will be
having this discussion and more. We will be alone for hours
together on a train and at the inn. Do you still wish to accompany
me?”

Rhiannon’s eyes were moist. Biting her lower
lip, she nodded.

“Very well, then. Meet me tomorrow morning at
nine on the platform of the Brixton Station, you follow?”

“Yes, Kerrigan. I follow.”

He kissed her forehead, then stepped away and
returned to his seat. Unknown emotions had his insides in turmoil.
There was one thing he could not deny. Those emotions concerned
Rhiannon, and had for a very long time.

Rory pulled his timepiece out of his vest
pocket and snapped it open. Five minutes to nine. He closed it and
put it away. Brixton Station was alive with chattering travelers of
all classes. Shrill train whistles and huffing steam engine sounds
filled the air, and the acrid odor from burnt coal filled his
nostrils. Would Rhiannon appear? Things had become a little heated
and testy between them last night. While they ate dessert, or he
should say while he ate dessert—Rhiannon would not touch it—he
turned the conversation to more mundane matters to calm the
swirling emotions that seemed about to overcome them.

He meant what he’d said, however, when he
stated they would be having the discussion that day or night,
whatever served. He’d sent a telegraph on his way home last night
and reserved a room at the inn in the village of Sutton-on-Sea.
He’d never been to this part of England before, and he doubted
Rhiannon had either. It would be an adventure for them both.

Rory glanced up and the vision he saw heading
toward him felt like a punch to the solar plexus by a strapping,
bare-knuckled fighter. His breath caught in his throat.

A woman dressed in an attractive gray and
silver traveling outfit that hugged and caressed every ample curve
glided toward him. By God, Rhiannon. Jacob accompanied her,
carrying a carpetbag. The closer she came, the more stunned he
became. All the layers of painted makeup had been wiped away. But
even more of a revelation, under the fashionable silver hat, she
had golden hair. Dear Christ, had she been wearing a wig all this
time, or perhaps she wore one now? He’d touched her hair when he
embraced her a few days before. Felt real enough to him, but what
did he know? Apparently, nothing at all.

Rhiannon stopped in front of him, a sweet,
but sly smile on her face.

“Rhiannon Davies reporting, Sergeant.”

He could not stop from tracing her jaw line
with his finger. He moved over her chin to caress her moist, full
lips. Without the ruby-red lipstick, her lips were a delightful
shade of coral pink. He stroked her cheek; she felt like the finest
silk, supple, vibrant, and alive. Rory’s hand began to shake from
the intensity of touching her. The effect stunned him in its reach,
all the way to his very feckin’ soul.

“My God, why would you hide such perfection
under layers of paint? A portrait artist could not do your skin
tone justice.”

Rhiannon flushed, the color adding to her
unfettered beauty. Her blue eyes appeared more vivacious with the
golden hair and alabaster skin.

“Rory,” she said in a low tone. “We are in a
public place.”

His cock, already stirring, hardened further
upon hearing his name on her pink, petal-soft lips.

“In all these years, you’ve never said my
first name. Say it again, darlin’, and never stop,” he rasped.

Jacob cleared his throat, the noise enough to
break the spell. Rory stepped back and reached for the
carpetbag.

“Thank you, Jacob. I will return her safely
tomorrow.”

Jacob bowed and disappeared down the
platform.

Rory reached for his own bag. Juggling both
in one hand, he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her
close to his side.

He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Say
it, Rhiannon. Say my name.”

She glanced up at him.

“Rory.”

Sweet Jaysus
. His control had just
been thrown under one of the trains. Rhiannon would be in his
arms—and his bed—tonight. She would be screaming his name over and
over if he had anything to do about it.

He maneuvered her toward their carriage.

“I purchased first-class tickets. We will
have the compartment to ourselves the whole way.”

A porter bustled over and took the bags.
Rhiannon slipped her gloved hand in Rory’s, and climbed in. He
followed, sitting opposite, and the porter checked their tickets,
and closed the door.

The compartment was private and plush, as
Rory had hoped it would be. He lowered the window, and a loud hiss
of steam from the train echoed in the air. The dark brown and beige
colors of the interior complemented the rich shade of walnut wood
on the walls.

“Have you ever been on a train?” Rhiannon
inquired.

“Not for years. When I did, I traveled in
third class. Sat on a wood bench, bloody uncomfortable. Nothing
like this. How about you?”

“I never have. I came up from Wales with my
father by mail coach. All he could afford.”

Something from her past. A tiny nugget of
information he savored. Should he comment on it? No, not yet. They
hadn’t even left the station, but he filed it away for future
inquiry. Rory sat back in his seat and studied Rhiannon as she took
in all the sights and sounds of the busy area. The train gave a
decided jerk and shudder, and then the whistle shrieked. More steam
expelled, and they moved at last.