The Mystery Woman (20 page)

H
e surfaced from the trance, aware that he felt refreshed and invigorated. Beatrice had been right. He had needed rest.

He opened his eyes and looked toward the window. The fog was thicker than ever but now it was illuminated with the first light of dawn.

Beatrice was sitting in the chair, watching the street. She had taken down her hair. It tumbled around her shoulders. How was it possible, he wondered, for a woman to appear at once innocent and delicate but simultaneously infused with spirit and feminine power? The combination was enthralling and deeply arousing.

And this was not the time to be distracted by such fanciful thoughts.

He sat up on the side of the bed. “I’m awake.”

He spoke quietly, not wanting to startle her.

But she was already turning in the chair. She gave him a searching look. Whatever she saw in his face must have satisfied her because she gave him an approving smile.

“You look much more fit,” she said.

He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. “I take that to mean that I looked very unfit before I went into the trance?”

She glared. “Must you always twist my words?”

He winced. “I will try not to be so touchy on the subject of my physical limitations.”

“I would suggest that you try not to be so melodramatic, instead. By the way, how is your leg?”

“It’s fine,” he said, aware that he sounded touchy again.

“Do you have some of Mrs. Marsh’s tonic left?”

“Yes.”

She jumped to her feet. “Is it in your bag? I’ll get it for you.”

“Stop,” he ordered. “Do not move.”

She halted, eyes widening in alarm. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He pushed himself to his feet and gripped the cane. He went forward, putting himself directly in front of her.

“If you take one more step toward that bag,” he said evenly, “you will collide with me, in which case one of two things will happen.”

She blinked. “Yes?”

“The impact will either cause me to lose my balance and topple to the floor—”

“Unlikely,” she said. Her eyes were very bright. “What is the other possibility?”

“I will grab hold of you in a desperate effort to steady myself.”

“Oh,” she said.

She looked at him for what seemed like an eternity. His blood heated. The atmosphere in the small space was charged as if a thunderstorm was gathering. He dared not move.

“I might not be able to let go of you,” he said.

Beatrice took two very small, very cautious steps forward. When she stopped she was mere inches away. The skirts of her gown brushed his bare feet. She lifted one finger and pushed gently against his chest.

He got the deep, thrilling, breathtakingly intimate shock of awareness that he always got when she touched him. He knew the sensation was a product of his overheated imagination but it felt very, very good, nonetheless.

“Do you think you might be feeling somewhat unsteady on your feet?” she asked, smiling her mysterious smile.

“When I am near you I always find it hard to keep my balance,” he said. It was the simple truth, he thought.

She put her hand on his shoulder. “Then perhaps you should hold on to me, sir. I would not want you to fall.”

He raised his free hand and touched her hair. The silky stuff was irresistible. He twisted his fingers in it. “I do not think I have any other choice.”

He tightened his grip on the cane and wrapped his free arm around her. He pulled her slowly, deliberately against him. She was so light and so soft. She put her other hand on his shoulder and looked at him with her incredible eyes. He knew she must have felt the shudder of need that went through him.

He breathed in her scent and then he took her mouth.

He tried to use the kiss to ignite a slow-burning fire. He would go slowly, he vowed to himself. It had been a very long year in the country—a long time without a woman. But he could control himself. He wanted to seduce Beatrice, to please her, to make her want him as much as he wanted her.

She responded as she had last night, with curiosity and a sweet passion that set fire to his blood.

She sighed and pressed closer. Her fingers tightened around his shoulders. He realized that she was shivering a little. He moved his mouth to her ear.

“Are you cold?” he asked softly.

She rested her forehead against his shoulder. When she answered, her voice was a tight little whisper.

“No, I am not cold,” she said.

He lifted her hair and kissed the curve of her neck. “Are you frightened of me?”

“Of you? Never.”

“You’re shivering.”

She raised her head and gave him an uncertain smile. “I have heard that passion can generate a sort of fever but I have never truly believed it. I have always assumed such claims were so much romantic nonsense. Poetic license at best.”

“I have always assumed that as well,” he said. “But now I know the poets are right. There is a great deal of fire involved.”

“I do hope you are not going to stop now to analyze the sensation in a logical manner.”

“The only force on the face of the earth that could make me stop now is you, my sweet Beatrice.”

She wound her arms around his neck. This time her smile was less shaky. It held, instead, the glowing wonder of a woman who has made the decision to abandon herself to passion.

“I have no intention of stopping you, Mr. Gage. Indeed, I have been waiting a lifetime to experience a passion such as this. I had begun to fear that I might never know such fierce emotions. If I were to stop you now, I know I would regret it for the rest of my life.”

He smiled. “I assure you, I would regret it even more and for just as long, Miss Lockwood.”

Sensual laughter and heated excitement illuminated her eyes. When he drew her to the bed, she came willingly.

He set the cane aside, braced his good leg against the edge of the four-poster and began to unfasten the small hooks that closed the front of her gown. The process of opening the bodice proved to be a challenge. It was not that he had not had some experience, he thought, amused by his own awkwardness. The problem was that this time was different. Beatrice was different.

He eventually got the gown undone. He eased the sleeves down her arms. The skirts crumpled around her ankles, leaving her in her chemise, petticoats and stockings.

She untied her petticoats and they, too, fell away. In the dim glow of the early light he could see her flushed face. Her small, firm breasts were tight and full beneath the thin chemise.

“You are so perfect,” he whispered. He drew his hands down her sides to her hips and then slid them upward to cup her breasts. “As if you were made for me.”

“You make me feel beautiful,” she said.

Her blush deepened. He could have sworn that there was a radiance in her eyes. A trick of the light, he thought. But what a beautiful trick.

Gingerly she went to work unfastening the front of his shirt with trembling fingers. He thought he would lose his control before she finally finished. But when she flattened her palms against his bare chest he concluded the sweet torture had been worth it.

“I can feel the strength in you,” she said. She gazed at his chest as if fascinated. “Not just your physical strength but the other sort, the more important kind of strength that comes from the inside.”

“Ah, Beatrice, you are the strong one.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and drew her down beside him. When he pulled her close she came to him with an enthusiasm that warmed everything inside him that had been cold for so long.

He kissed her until she softened against him, until she was making hungry, desperate little sounds in the back of her throat.

The hem of the chemise was crumpled high above her knees, revealing the dainty holster strapped to her thigh.

“I have never before considered guns to be a sensual enticement,” he said. “But this one has an oddly stimulating effect on me. Something to do with where you carry it, I believe.”

She gave a small, choked laugh.

He unstrapped the holster and the small gun very slowly and set both aside on the table beside the bed. Then he rested one hand on the silky bare skin above her stockings.

She took in a sharp, startled breath at the intimate touch but she did not pull away.

“So soft,” he said against her throat.

“You are so strong but you handle me as if I were made of crystal. I’m not fragile, sir.”

He touched the corner of her mouth. “I know that you have your own kind of strength, but a man could easily crush you if he were not careful.”

Laughter gleamed in her eyes. “You underestimate me, sir. Not your fault. It happens all the time. Indeed, my appearance of timidity and naïveté is my stock-in-trade. It is one of the reasons I am such a successful investigator. But you, of all people, should know that appearances are often deceptive. I am not the innocent you seem to think me.”

“Are you trying to tell me that you are a woman of the world?”

“Trust me when I say that my various careers have combined to teach me more about the world than most ladies will ever know in a lifetime.”

He kissed her shoulder. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” she said. “And I assure you that I know what I am doing now.”

“Then you are aware that I’m seducing you?”

“I know that I am
allowing
you to seduce me.” She brushed her mouth across his. “And doing my best to seduce you in return. I do hope I am having some success.”

A rush of exhilaration swept through him. He groaned and fell back across the bed, his arm around her waist. She sprawled on top of him, her stocking-clad legs entangled with his.

“Can I take that as a yes, Mr. Gage?” she asked.

“Yes, you can, Miss Lockwood.” He framed her face with his hands. “What of my own seduction efforts? Can I assume they are having some effect?”

“Oh, yes. Indeed, I would say that you have a psychical talent for seduction, but as you do not believe in the paranormal, there wouldn’t be much point.”

He touched her nose with the tip of his finger. “It’s true that I do not believe in paranormal talents. But I am a great believer in the merits of practicing a skill until it is perfected.”

“So am I.”

She kissed him again, exploring and tasting him. When she had finished with his mouth she nibbled on his ear and then her warm lips were on his throat.

“You smell good,” she whispered.

He grimaced. “I must smell like a man who has recently been in a fight and had to make do with a sponge bath.”

“Perhaps I should have said you smell interesting.” She kissed his chest. “Hot. Exciting. Manly.”

“Manly?” The word surprised a husky laugh from him, a low rumble that came from deep in his chest.

Beatrice laughed, too, but her laughter was light, ethereal, enchanting. She raised herself on her elbows and looked down at him with a mockingly stern expression.

“I do believe you are growling at me, sir,” she said.

“Never.”

He shifted abruptly, rolling her to one side. He pinned her beneath him and opened the front of the thin chemise. Deliberately he kissed the tips of her apple-shaped breasts.

“You are the one who smells good,” he said. “You are a drug to my senses.”

“I do believe that you are the most romantic man I have ever met.”

“I am not a romantic but I am hungry for you in a way I have never hungered for any other woman. I do not believe in the paranormal but there may be such a thing as magic. I believe you have put a spell on me, Titania.”

She speared her fingers through his hair. “If that is true, then I am well and truly caught in the same spell.”

“For which I can only give thanks.”

He moved one hand down to her leg again and stroked his palm up the inside of her thigh. When he reached her core he found her wet and hot. She was ready for him but he wanted her more than merely ready. He wanted her aching for him, the way he was aching for her.

He thrust his fingers through the curling hair that guarded her sex and found the sensitive bud. It was already tight but he teased it until it was even more swollen and taut. Beatrice gasped and clung to him, one leg twining around his thigh.

He caressed her until his hand was slick and the coverlet beneath her hips was damp; until he was the one who could not take any more. He was walking a tightrope when it came to his self-control. One false step and he would be lost. But he longed to take the fall.

Beatrice clutched at him, her nails digging into his shoulders. “I cannot bear this pressure inside me any longer. Do something.”

He sat up on the side of the bed long enough to get out of his trousers and then he came back to her. He used one hand to guide himself to her entrance. He eased into her until he felt the delicate barrier.

“So much for your worldly experience,” he said.

She caught hold of his face with both hands and looked at him. In that moment he was certain that her eyes burned with the fire of a raging fever. He wondered if his own eyes appeared equally hot. Most certainly a trick of the dawn light, he told himself again. That was the only reasonable explanation.