Late for the Wedding by Amanda Quick
Tobias sipped his brandy and lowered the glass. “Young men are rarely inclined to take a practical view of life. They are far more apt to let fanciful ideals, a too-refined sense of honor, and a passionate notion of what constitutes right and wrong interfere with logic and common sense.”
“Perhaps.”
“There is no perhaps about it.” Tobias tilted his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. “I have seen the same tendencies in Anthony often enough to recognize them on sight. I shall have to find a way to ensure that both he and Dominic learn they do not carry the burdens of old sins on their shoulders.”
She smiled, lowered her glass, and got to her feet. Tobias opened his eyes halfway and watched her come toward him.
She sank slowly down onto her knees on the carpet in front of his chair and rested one arm on his right thigh. The skirts of her lavender-blue gown crumpled around her legs.
“I do not think that Anthony and Dominic are the only ones who sometimes fail to take a perfectly practical view of the world.” She could feel the heat of him through the fabric of his trousers. “You are a fine man, Tobias, a man of ideals and honor with a passionate, deeply rooted sense of right and wrong. Do not rail too harshly against such attributes. They are among the many reasons that I love you with all my heart.”
Surprise and then dark passion stirred in his partially shuttered eyes.
“Lavinia.”
With a soft, urgent groan, he reached for her, drawing her up into his arms so that she lay cradled against his chest. His mouth closed over hers, compelling and fierce and heavy with desire. She spread her fingers across his shoulder and returned the kiss with all of the intense emotion that he inspired in her heart.
She had judged him near to exhaustion, but when his arms closed around her and his palm covered her breast, she concluded that she had been wrong. It was as though he had drunk some reviving tonic rather than brandy. His arousal was swift and complete in a matter of seconds.
She felt his fingers on the back of her gown, and a moment later he lowered the bodice to her waist. His thumb glided across her bare nipple. Her breath caught in her throat. This was certainly not the first time that he had touched her like this, she thought, but he never failed to achieve the same effect. He somehow managed to steal her breath on each occasion.
The rough costume he had chosen to wear tonight did not include a cravat. She edged her hand beneath his shirt and savored the play of muscle beneath skin. Gliding her fingertips lower, she found the fastenings of his trousers. When she freed him, he thrust his member against her palm. She encircled him with her fingers and stroked him until he made a hoarse sound. Hastily, he covered her hand with his own, stilling her fingers.
He made to ease her off his lap. She knew that he intended to put her down on the floor in front of the hearth and make love to her.
“No,” she whispered against his throat. “Let me do this for you tonight.”
“Lavinia—”
She silenced him with another little kiss. Then she slid back to her knees on the carpet between his thighs and took him into her mouth.
The air left his lungs in a low, heavy groan and his hands locked in her hair.
Within a very short time she felt the muscles of his thigh tighten into steel bands. Once again he made to halt her lovemaking.
“I cannot wait any longer,” he muttered.
She released him briefly, her fingers cupping him. “I do not want you to wait.”
She took him between her lips again. His hands fell away from her hair. He gripped the arms of his chair. His entire body went rigid. His head tipped back.
She felt his climax pulse through him in a series of surging waves. He made almost no sound. It was as though he abandoned himself so completely to the release that he had no energy left to whisper or even groan.
After a while he went limp and still. Slowly, she looked up and saw that his eyes were closed, his head resting against the wing of the chair.
She rose slowly and reached down to take hold of his right leg. Tobias did not stir when she propped one booted foot alongside the other on the hassock.
She opened a cupboard, took out the blanket stored inside, and arranged it around him. When she was satisfied that he was covered, she checked the fire, picked up the candle, and went to the door of the study.
She let herself into the hall, closed the door softly behind her, and climbed the stairs.
A few minutes later she lay in her bed, alone in the darkness, looking up at the shadowed ceiling. She thought about Tobias sleeping downstairs in her study for a long time before she finally turned onto her side and closed her eyes.
Chapter 25
The muffled clatter of pots and pans awakened Tobias the next morning. His first thought was that Whitby was making a good deal more noise downstairs in the kitchen than usual. His second thought was that he felt rested and refreshed. This was the first good night’s sleep he’d had since Beaumont Castle, and he’d needed it. He was no longer Anthony’s age and able to stay awake until dawn night after night without suffering the consequences, he reflected.
Those damned ravages of time.
Then he opened his eyes and saw the books of poetry on the shelves next to the hearth.
Lavinia’s study.
He glanced toward the window, where the cheerful light of a summer dawn was streaming into the cozy little room. The clang and bang was coming from Mrs. Chilton’s kitchen, not Whitby’s domain.
Images from his final waking moments last night came back to him in a warm, pleasant rush. The memory of Lavinia on her knees between his legs caused his cock to harden again.
He raised his eyes to the ceiling and contemplated a mental picture of his business partner upstairs in her bed. She would be snuggled beneath the quilts, flushed with sleep, her red hair tucked up beneath a pretty little lace cap.
Another telling crash of metal disrupted his reverie. Mrs. Chilton was apparently trying to send him a message. Light footsteps sounded overhead.
It finally occurred to him that Lavinia and her housekeeper were not the only ones in residence. Miss Emeline was a sensible young lady, but she would no doubt be shocked to the core if she were to discover that he had spent the night in Lavinia’s study. Young people these days seemed to have developed rather rigid notions of propriety. One could only hope that they would eventually outgrow them.
He tossed aside the blanket and got to his feet, stretching his arms toward the ceiling. He rolled his shoulders a little to work out the tightness created by a night spent in a chair.
He contemplated making use of the small water closet tucked away behind the staircase but reluctantly decided against it. There was every possibility that Emeline might appear just as he was emerging from the facility.
He could wait until he happened upon a private spot in a park on the way home.
With a few quick, efficient moves, he put himself to rights, shoving his shirttails into the waistband of his trousers and raking his fingers through his hair.
When he was ready, he went to the door of the study and opened it cautiously.
Mrs. Chilton stood in the hall, a steaming mug of tea in hand. Her expression was unreadable.
“Thought you might like to drink this on the way home,” she said brusquely. “Here’s a hot currant muffin for you to eat with it. You can bring the cup back when you return for breakfast.”
“Mrs. Chilton, you are an angel.” He took the mug and muffin from her and headed for the front door. “I shall see you in a couple of hours.”
“Aye, I’ve no doubt of that.” She followed him down the hall and reached around him to open the door. Casting a meaningful glance over her shoulder at the staircase that led to the floor above, she narrowed her eyes.
“This sort of thing cannot continue, sir,” she said in a low voice. “There is a young, unmarried lady in the house. It simply won’t do.”
“I’m well aware of that, Mrs. Chilton
“Won’t last,” she said. “There’s a summer storm on the way. I can feel it coming.”
She closed the door very quietly but very deliberately in his face.
He blew the steam from his tea, took a large bite of the warm muffin, and went down the steps.
A trickle of awareness between his shoulders made him glance back at the windows of the upper floor of Number 7. Lavinia looked down at him from her bedchamber. She wore a flower-spattered wrapper. He could make out the little white lace cap that crowned her tousled red hair.
She raised a hand, smiled at him, and blew a little kiss. Mrs. Chilton was wrong about the storm, he thought. Birds were singing and the sun was out. There were only a few puffy clouds in the summer sky. It was going to be a fine day.
The sun was still shining two hours later when Mrs. Chilton cleared away the last of the breakfast dishes.
“I still say there’s a storm brewing,” she muttered as she swept past Tobias’s chair.
Lavinia looked up from her newspaper and saw a peculiar steely glint in Mrs. Chilton’s eyes.
“It won’t do any harm if there is. A little rain will wash out the alleys.” Tobias helped himself to some more currant jam. “Getting low on the jam, Mrs. Chilton.”
“Not at all, sir.” Mrs. Chilton prepared to back through the doorway into the kitchen, a loaded tray in her hands. “I’ve got three more pots on hand. Expect that will do us for a few days.”
“I doubt it.” Tobias spread jam on a slice of toast. “I can go through three pots in no time, Mrs. Chilton.”
“If I were you, sir, I’d make those three pots last,” Mrs. Chilton said in a very pointed manner. “There’s no telling when I’ll have time to make up another batch.”
She bustled through the door and disappeared into the kitchen.
Tobias ate a bite of his toast.
Lavinia rattled her newspaper a little and glared at him. “Did you say or do something to annoy Mrs. Chilton when you arrived for breakfast this morning? She is in a rather sharp mood today.”
“Yes, I noticed that as well.” Emeline poured coffee into her cup. “Quite prickly, isn’t she?”
“I won’t have you upsetting my housekeeper, Tobias,” Lavinia warned him.
He gave her an expression of injured innocence. “I don’t have any notion what you are talking about. I assure you, I said nothing untoward to Mrs. Chilton. Wouldn’t think of doing such a thing. Indeed, I am enormously fond of her. You know that.”
“Humph.” Unsatisfied but not quite sure what to do about the matter, Lavinia retreated to her paper.
She did not know what to make of the odd relationship that had developed between Tobias and the housekeeper. She had gained the impression that the pair had come to an understanding in recent weeks. Indeed, Mrs. Chilton had seemed to take a decidedly indulgent attitude toward Tobias, who, for his part, was inclined to alternately tease her and praise her cooking, especially any delicacy made with currants.
But things had changed since the return from Beaumont Castle. Mrs. Chilton was no longer quite so good-natured and approving toward Tobias. It was as if she was in a state of expectation, anticipating that he would say or do something. But thus far he had disappointed her.
A pang of alarm shot through her. She lowered the newspaper again with a decided snap. “Tobias, I trust you are not plotting to steal Mrs. Chilton away from this household.”
He looked genuinely surprised by the accusation. “Wouldn’t think of it,” he mumbled around a mouthful of jam-smeared muffin. “Whitby would never forgive me if I brought a housekeeper into his domain.”
Emeline chuckled. “Do not concern yourself, Lavinia. I’m sure Mrs. Chilton would never dream of allowing herself to be lured away from your employ.”
“Mmm.” Lavinia lowered her gaze to her newspaper again. She had more misgivings than ever now. Something was wrong.
Mrs. Chilton might be in an unfortunate mood this morning, she thought, but Tobias was certainly in fine spirits for a man with an unsolved murder case on his hands. When he had reappeared on her doorstep an hour ago, he was bathed and freshly shaven. Renewed determination gleamed in his eyes. Evidently a good night’s sleep was just what he had needed.
“Do you know, I am not the least surprised to hear that Mr. Hood is Anthony’s half-brother,” Emeline said, returning to the conversation in which they had all been engaged before the small skirmish between Tobias and Mrs. Chilton. “It certainly explains a few of the similarities I had noted in both gentlemen.”
“Yes, it does,” Tobias said.
“Will you be needing my assistance on this case today, sir?” she asked hopefully.
“I don’t think so, thank you.” He raised a brow when Emeline looked ruefully disappointed. “Why?”
“Nothing. It is just that Priscilla sent a note around this morning practically begging me to call upon her this afternoon. I interpret that to mean that her mama has made some dreadfully boring appointment for her with a dressmaker and she does not want to suffer alone.”
Lavinia tut-tutted. “More pink, I suppose?”
“No doubt. Priscilla says that the only really good reason she can come up with for getting married is that her mama would no longer be able to force her to wear pink.”
Lavinia looked at Tobias. “What of your plans, sir?”
“I must find some evidence of Pierce’s involvement in this affair. I’m going to search his lodgings this afternoon when he goes off to pay his calls on his clients.” Tobias’s face tightened. “Assuming he actually does do some legitimate hairdressing.”
“I’m sure he does,” Lavinia said. “He is quite skilled in that profession, as I have told you. He must have any number of regular clients.”
The muffled thud of the front door knocker reverberated throughout the house. Mrs. Chilton’s solid footsteps sounded in the hall.
Emeline put down her napkin. “I wonder who that can be at this early hour. Perhaps a new client, Lavinia.”
“More likely an old client,” Lavinia muttered. “Come to demand to know how the investigation progresses.”
Tobias looked amused. “Clients do like to be kept informed.”
The murmur of voices drifted down the hall. A moment later the door of the breakfast room opened.
“Mrs. Gray to see you and Mr. March, madam,” Mrs. Chilton announced.
“I knew it,” Lavinia said. “Well, at least we have some news at last to give her.”
“Indeed.” Tobias took one last swallow of his coffee and got to his feet. “Now all we need is a bit of evidence to go with it.”
At two o’clock that afternoon, Lavinia stood with Tobias in the sitting room of Mr. Pierce’s lodgings. Fortunately, Mrs. Chilton’s predictions of rain had failed to materialize, so they were not obliged to deal with dripping garments and wet shoes when they made their clandestine entrance. The curtains were drawn across the windows, blocking the afternoon sun. Long shadows cloaked the small, neat space.
A short while earlier, the young street urchin Tobias had paid to watch Mr. Pierce during the day arrived, breathless, at the small park where Tobias and Lavinia waited. He told them that he had just seen the hairdresser leave, a large satchel in his hand, and that a maid at one of the houses across the street had told him Pierce went out every afternoon at this time. He was not expected back until five o’clock.
“Why is she so aware of Pierce’s comings and goings?” Tobias asked, digging into his pocket for some silver to pay the small spy.
“I think she’s sweet on him, sir.” The boy pocketed his coins. “Don’t worry, I’ll watch at the corner. If I see him coming back sooner than expected, I’ll toss a couple of stones against the window.”
Lavinia was intensely aware of the fizzing excitement in her stomach and the rapid beat of her pulse. She wondered if professional inquiry agents ever became accustomed to the thrill that came with knowin
She sensed the subdued, controlled anticipation that emanated from Tobias and knew he was feeling similar emotions. Perhaps heady anticipation was an addictive elixir for those in their line.
“Shall I take the bedchamber?” she asked.
“Yes. Do not forget the wardrobe.” Tobias opened a cupboard. “And be quick about it. I do not like doing this kind of thing during the day.”
“Yes, I am well-aware of your preferences.” She walked into the small room and started to open drawers in the bedside table. “I suppose it would be too much to hope that we will come across a blond wig and some women’s clothing.”
“Who knows? He has to hide that damned wig and the clothing somewhere. It is certainly about time that we had some luck in this case.”
“Very true.” She closed the last drawer and got down on her knees to peer beneath the bed. “Aspasia seemed quite stunned by our conclusions this morning, did she not? I vow, if you had not been there to reassure her, she would have dismissed me on the spot.”
Aspasia had been incredulous when they told her that they believed Mr. Pierce to be the killer. In the end Lavinia knew that she had allowed herself to be persuaded only because Tobias had assured her he was convinced of the hairdresser’s guilt.
“She has every right to be astonished,” Tobias said from the other room. “I am still amazed myself. I have encountered a great many villains in my time, but this is the first hairdresser I have suspected of murder.”
Lavinia rose and went to the wardrobe. She opened the door and surveyed the array of shirts and crisply ironed cravats. “It really is the perfect cover for a professional murderer who wishes to move in Society, is it not? A hairdresser is invited into the most exclusive houses, and no one thinks twice about his entering a lady’s bedchamber or dressing room.”
“It occurs to me that a bloody hairdresser is able to get into your bedchamber far more easily than I can,” Tobias grumbled. “I am obliged to plot and plan and wait about until Emeline decides to call upon Priscilla and Mrs. Chilton has set off on a shopping expedition.”