Quicksilver

TWENTY-NINE

“I am very certain that Adriana acted on impulse,” Virginia said. “Nothing more.”

Owen looked at her from the opposite seat of the carriage. In the shadows of the darkened cab it was impossible to read her face. “She hates you.”

“She is seething because she fears Leybrook is going to let her go, and she blames me. I understand. But she is not the one who murdered Ratford and Hackett. You said yourself, the killer is a man.”

“It does not follow that she is not linked to the killer,” Owen said. A fever was simmering in him, but it was generated by frustration. It had not been easy to let Adriana escape.

Virginia hesitated. “Well, I suppose anything is possible, but my intuition tells me that Adriana is not involved in murder.”

“Intuition is not always reliable.”

“Think about it, Owen. If Adriana was in league with the killer, she would have had no reason to try to push me down the steps. Hurting me or even killing me in that manner would not have achieved the murderer’s ends. He is using his victims to lay down energy in mirrors. That requires planning and preparation.”

“She is dangerous, Virginia.”

“She is a woman scorned. I will be careful around her.”

“You should have let me go after her.”

“For pity’s sake, Owen, what on earth would you have done with her if I had let you catch her? She would have declared the whole thing an accident and pointed out that nothing bad happened. What proof would you have had to offer that the shove was deliberate? And all of this would have taken place in front of an audience of people who do not trust you. It would have been a fiasco.”

He said nothing.

“Well?” Virginia said. “What could you have done?”

“Frightened her out of her wits.”

There was a short, startled silence.

“Yes, well, you can be quite intimidating. I have no doubt but that you could have thrown a good scare into her.”

“I meant literally,” he said very softly. “It is part of my talent. I could have gone further. I could have frightened her to death.”

“Oh.” Virginia cleared her throat. “I see. Have you ever actually—”

“Yes.”

“But only monsters.”

“Yes.”

“Adriana Walters may be a problem, but she is not one of the monsters.”

“They hide in plain sight, Virginia. That is what makes them so bloody dangerous.”

“Which is why you need proof before you take such permanent action. You have no proof to use against Adriana.”

Owen tapped his fingers against the seat and switched his attention to the street scene outside the window. “You’re right, of course.”

There was a long silence.

“I do appreciate that you have committed yourself to protecting me while you hunt for the killer,” Virginia said after a while.

He turned his head to look at her. “I would walk into hell to keep you safe.”

There was a short, shocked silence.

“Owen,” she whispered.

Tension, desire and a lot of hot but unfocused energy shimmered invisibly in the atmosphere. He dragged the carriage curtains shut and reached for Virginia. He drew her toward him, opening his legs to make room for the waterfall of skirts and petticoats between his thighs.

“You cannot begin to guess how much I want you,” he said.

He pushed back the hood of her cloak, caught her face between his hands and kissed her, hard and deeply.

She returned the kiss with sweet, feminine excitement. His blood was already running hot in his veins, a volatile brew of sexual desire seasoned with the fierce, elemental need to protect Virginia. The knowledge that she wanted him brought the temperature to the scalding point.

He released her face and slipped his hands beneath the folds of her cloak. He found the hooks of the bodice and began to undo them one by one. She clutched his shoulder and made a soft, urgent little sound.

“Damned bustle,” he muttered a short time later. “How the devil do women manage with the things?”

Her laugh was soft, husky and sensual. “Carefully, Mr. Sweetwater. Very, very carefully.”

He would have taken her there in the dark, intimate confines of the cab, the bustle be damned, but for the unfortunate fact that the drive to her town house was far too short for what he had in mind. Nevertheless he could not restrain his passions entirely. By the time the carriage halted in front of Number Seven, the interior of the cab was as humid and scented as an overheated stillroom filled with exotic herbs and mysterious spices.

Virginia’s hair had come free of her tightly pinned chignon, and he had one hand inside the partially undone gown. His own clothing was also in disarray. His tie hung loose around his neck, the front of his waistcoat was open, and so was the collar of his shirt. He was as hard, if not harder, than he had ever been in his life, with the possible exception of the last time that he had made love to Virginia.

“It seems we have arrived,” he said against her mouth. He moved his thumb over one delicate nipple.

“Already?” Virginia sounded breathless and a bit dazed. She slipped her hands out from under his shirt with obvious reluctance.

“Perhaps we might continue this very enlightening conversation concerning the progress of our investigation over a glass of brandy?” he suggested.

“Excellent notion.”

He smiled and raised the hood of her cloak back up over her head to conceal her tousled hair. She pulled the folds of the garment around her to hide the unhooked bodice. An edgy anticipation aroused his senses like a potent drug.

Somehow he managed a reasonably dignified exit from the carriage. Virginia’s hand trembled when he assisted her down to the pavement, but she appeared outwardly composed, as always.

He paid the driver and waved the vehicle on its way. The need to get Virginia into the house and out of her clothes was almost overpowering, but he took a moment to survey the darkened street, looking for shadows within shadows.

One particular shadow shifted in the front area below the steps of Number Seven. A hand appeared out of the darkness, waving enthusiastically.

Virginia stifled a small yelp and peered into the inky depths. “What in the world? There’s a man down there.”

“Good evening, Uncle Owen,” Matt said.

“Where’s Tony?” Owen asked.

“He’s in the garden, watching the kitchen entrance,” Matt said.

“You’re both supposed to be in the attic of the empty house across the street, damn it,” Owen said.

“This is closer to the muffins and the coffee, sir,” Matt said.

“What muffins and coffee?”

Virginia looked at him. “Owen, who is this?”

“My apologies, Virginia. Allow me to introduce my nephew, Matthew Sweetwater. He and his brother have been keeping an eye on this house for several days. Matt is the one who told me that you had not returned from the Hollister mansion the other night. Matt, this is Miss Dean.”

“A pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Matt said respectfully.

“Mr. Sweetwater,” Virginia responded automatically. She looked at Owen. “You said you had put watchers on my house, but I didn’t realize they were your nephews.”

“Didn’t I mention that?” He took the key from her hand and opened the front door. “Must have slipped my mind. I’ve been somewhat preoccupied lately. Matt, what did you mean about getting closer to the muffins and coffee?”

“The housekeeper came out onto the front steps earlier this evening and signaled to us.”

“Oh, dear,” Virginia said. “She saw you?”

“Mrs. Crofton is a very observant woman,” Matt said. “We realized she had spotted us, so we crossed the street to introduce ourselves. She invited us in for muffins and coffee.”

“So much for instructing you in stealth and camouflage,” Owen said. “Keeping watch on this house was supposed to be part of your training.”

“Did you tell Mrs. Crofton that you were guarding the house?” Virginia asked, very anxious now.

“Yes, ma’am,” Matt said.

“She must have been horrified,” Virginia said.

“She didn’t seem horrified, ma’am,” Matt said. “She left extra muffins and coffee in the kitchen for us after she went upstairs to bed. Gave us a key. Told us to make ourselves at home.”

“She’ll probably give notice in the morning,” Virginia said. “I’m certain her previous employer did not have the sort of personal life that required men to watch her house.”

“What’s done is done,” Owen said. He opened the door and urged Virginia into the hall. “Forget my nephews and your housekeeper.”

“Easy for you to say. I’m sure, given the Sweetwater status and fortune, that you and your family don’t have any problem obtaining good housekeepers.”

Owen got the door closed. “No, we don’t. Most of our staff have been with us for years. Their parents worked in our parents’ households. The positions have descended down through the family.”

“How convenient,” she grumbled.

He peeled off his coat and hung it on a hook. “If you need a new housekeeper, I’ll see that you get one. Now, if you don’t mind, I have something else I’d rather discuss.”

“What?”

“This.”

He trapped her against the nearest wall, pushed back the hood of the cloak and kissed her until her eyes heated and she was once again breathless. Only then did he raise his head.

“Right,” she said, her voice low and sultry. “We’ll discuss my staffing problems some other time.”

“Definitely some other time.”

He scooped her up, the skirts of her gown and the frothy petticoats spilling over his arms. Angling her so that she would not bang her head or her knees against the wall, he carried her down the dimly lit hall and into the study.

The curtains were drawn across the window, casting the room in deep shadow. The only light was the narrow wedge of illumination that came from the sconce in the hall.

He set Virginia on her feet and turned up one of the lamps so that it burned very low. He closed and locked the door, intensely aware of the flaring heat in his veins. When he looked back at Virginia she smiled. Her eyes were fathomless pools of promise. She did not say a word, but the energy of her desire flashed invisibly in the atmosphere.

She stepped out of her dainty evening shoes, raised her hands and undid the strings that bound her cloak at her throat. The thick woolen folds fell away, revealing her disordered clothing. He caught his breath.

“Virginia,” he whispered. For a moment he could only look at her. Everything inside him tightened with longing.

He shrugged out of his evening coat, removed his waistcoat and dropped both over the arm of the nearest chair. He went to stand behind Virginia. Setting his hands on her shoulders, he bent his head and kissed the side of her throat. He felt a tiny shiver sweep through her.

Gently he eased the cloak off her shoulders and tossed it aside. He took down her hair. She was so soft and delicate. His own body was hard and tight, making him feel clumsy and awkward. The soft pings that sounded when he put the hairpins on the mantel seemed very loud in the shadows.

He turned her around to face him. Slowly, deliberately, he finished the task of unfastening the stiffly boned top of her gown. The bodice separated and fell away, revealing the gentle feminine curves underneath. He stripped the tight sleeves to her wrists and eased the rest of her clothing away until she stood before him, wearing only her chemise and stockings.

He fitted his hands to her waist, lifted her free of the heap of skirts and petticoats and set her back on her feet. She unfastened the remaining buttons of his shirt and flattened her palms against his bare chest. The touch of her hands made his temperature climb even higher.

“I love the feel of you,” she whispered.

She kissed his jaw and then his shoulder. Her mouth was wet and warm, thrilling all of his senses.

“I can’t take much more of that,” he warned her.

She raised her head and smiled a devastatingly mysterious smile. Her eyes were brilliant with feminine power.

“I don’t believe that,” she said. “Not for a minute. You are always in control, Owen Sweetwater.”

“That was mostly true, I think, until I met you.”

He kissed her, a short, hard kiss that was fueled by the edgy urgency crackling through him. Then he turned away and picked up her cloak. He unfurled it with a sharp, snapping movement of his hand and let it fall on the carpet in front of the fireplace. The thick woolen folds spread out and fluttered to the floor, forming a makeshift bed.

He got rid of his boots, his trousers and drawers. When he turned back to Virginia he saw that she was staring at him in consternation. At first he thought she was transfixed by his erection. He did not know whether to be flattered, amused or worried.

“Is that a knife you have strapped to your ankle?” she said, and gasped.

He looked down at the leather sheath, chagrined. She had not noticed it the first time because he had made love to her without removing his trousers.

“Sorry,” he said. “I tend to forget about it.”

“How could you possibly forget a knife strapped to your ankle?”

“I have worn it since I was a boy. All Sweetwater men do. It’s the family motto.”

She raised her brows. “Just what sort of motto would that be?”

“Talent is useful, but always keep your dagger sharp.”

“Not the usual family motto. But, then, I’m getting the impression that the Sweetwaters are not an ordinary family.”

“That’s not true,” he said. “The Sweetwaters are really a very normal sort of family.”

He unfastened the knife sheath and left it conveniently at hand. This time, when he looked at her he saw that she was, indeed, gazing at his erection.

“Is it always like that?” she asked.

His laugh came out as a groan.

“Only when I am near you,” he said.

He knelt on the cloak and drew her down onto her knees in front of him. She reached out and took him in her hands, exploring him intimately. He closed his eyes briefly, his jaw clenching against the surging need that pulsed through him.

“I’m desperate for you,” he said, aware that his voice was raw with need.

“You stir the most astonishing desire in me,” she whispered. “I have never known anything like it.”

“Then we are well matched.”

He tightened his arms around her and kissed her, letting her feel the full force of his need. When she sighed and sank against him, her breasts pillowed against his chest, he moved his hand between her thighs. She was damp and slick, and wonderfully full to the touch. He stroked her carefully, seeking out the sensitive hidden places.

When he inserted a finger deep inside her she cried out and dropped her forehead against his shoulder. He felt her body draw tighter. Deliberately he inserted a second finger.

She gasped. Her small, delicate muscles closed even more securely around him. She released his heavy erection and clutched his forearms.

“Now relax,” he whispered.

“I don’t want to,” she said into his shoulder. “I like it this way.”

“You’ll like it even better if you do as I say. I give you my word. Relax.”

Her narrow passage loosened almost imperceptibly. He withdrew his fingers partway.

“Now hold me as if you’ll never let me go.” He pushed back into her.

She tightened snugly around him again. Another tremor went through her. She was very wet now. He breathed in the scent of her body.

“Yes,” he said. “Like that.”

He removed his fingers partway and eased his thumb up under the taut little bud of her clitoris until she strained against him. Then he penetrated her again with his fingers.

“You are as tight as a handmade glove,” he said.

He hooked his fingers a little so that he could press them more firmly against the sensitive area just inside her hot channel. Then he slowly started to withdraw.

“No,” she gasped, and tightened abruptly, trying to keep him inside. “Don’t stop.”

“I have no intention of stopping. Relax.”

She did but just barely. She had the pattern of the dance now, and she was taking control, alternately clenching and releasing as he eased his fingers in and out of her. With each stroke he dragged his half-curled fingers against the roof of her passage, pressing harder and harder.

“Yes,” she said. Her voice rose to a faint squeak. “Yes.”

He knew she was hovering on the precipice. He felt the sudden release of the tension deep inside her and sensed the onset of the small convulsions even before she did.

Her lips parted. He covered her mouth quickly with his own to swallow the sound of her climax. Her fingers dug into his arms.

He let her ride the currents, glorying in the knowledge that he was the one who had sent her soaring. When the small tremors started to ease, he pushed her onto her back, fitted himself to her and plunged deep.

“Owen,” she managed. “Owen.”

He was beyond any coherent response, beyond the boundaries of his own control. He no longer cared.

He thrust in and out of her, his senses dazzled by the energy of their hot auras.

And then he, too, was poised on the high cliffs above the deep, mysterious waters. His release slammed through him, taking him over the edge. Virginia cried out softly again. Another rush of energy rippled through her.

It seemed to him that they fell together, their auras fused in a moment of searing intimacy. When the last of the shuddering waves faded he opened his eyes and looked down at Virginia’s flushed face. She was watching him with a strangely intent expression.

Do you feel it? he wanted to ask. Do you sense this bond between us?

He rolled onto his back, taking her with him. She sprawled across his damp chest. He wrapped her close, indulging his exhausted senses in her warmth and the soft, vital weight of her body.

He let himself drift into the hazy place that marked the indefinable border between the dream state and the waking state. It was a good place, a fine place. He could not remember ever having been in a better place. He wanted to stay there until morning.