Candace Camp (21 page)

She stopped as the maid let out a squeak and quickly covered her mouth. “Oh, miss, I’m ever so sorry,” the maid said in a rush. “But that Italian woman…” She hesitated, then continued in a rush. “She was in an accident this morning.”

“What?” Eleanor’s stomach went cold. “No.”

The maid nodded. “Yes, miss, she was. It was ’orrible,” the girl went on, her careful accent slipping in her distress. “She went for a walk this morning—not more than an hour ago, it was. Right out there on this street. And a carriage come down the road and hit her! I’m sorry, miss, but Mrs. Malducci’s dead.”

E
LEANOR SUCKED IN
her breath sharply and took an unconscious step backward, her hand coming up to her throat. “She died?”

“Yes, miss. It was ’orrible. And the missus, she took to her bed, and she can’t see anyone.”

“I—I see. This is so awful. Please, tell Mrs. Colton-Smythe that I called, and give her my most sincere sympathy.” She pulled out the calling card she had been about to give the maid earlier and handed it to her.

The maid took it, nodding, and shut the door. Eleanor turned and slowly retraced her steps to the carriage. Numbly, she let the coachman hand her up onto the seat, then sat back as the carriage rolled away.

Signora Malducci dead!
It seemed impossible. She had just seen the woman last night.

Eleanor rode home, her head whirling with suspicions. She wanted to see Anthony, to talk to him about what she had just learned, and she considered for a moment telling the coachman to take her to Anthony’s house. However, she was not sure that he would be there, and shaken as she had been by the news, she was uncharacteristically indecisive, so she did nothing. She would write him a note when she got home, she thought, and then scolded herself for feeling she had to have Anthony’s help. Surely she could handle this on her own, could do whatever had to be done. But, she realized, she had no idea what to do. Signora Malducci’s death had just closed her last avenue of inquiry. She feared that she would never find out what had really happened to Edmund.

When they arrived at her house, she hurried inside. A footman met her at the door to take her hat and gloves.

“Lord Neale is waiting for you, my lady,” he told her.

“He is?” Eleanor turned to the man, her chest feeling suddenly lighter. “Where?”

“I put him in the front drawing room, my lady.”

Eleanor smiled at the man, unaware of the way her face had lit up, and hurried toward the drawing room. “Anthony!”

He was standing at the mantel, and he whipped around at the sound of her voice. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

“Oh, Anthony!” Suddenly, seeing him, everything she had heard today seemed too much. Tears welled in her eyes, and she ran to him.

“Eleanor!” He moved to meet her, his arms opening to take her in.

Then she was against his chest, hearing the reassuring thud of his heart, wrapped in his warmth, his arms tightly around her. “Oh, Anthony, it was awful.”

“What? What was awful? Did something happen to you?”

He moved back a little and lifted her chin to look down at her, his forehead creased with concern.

“Not to me. To Mrs. Malducci!”

“Who?”

“The woman from last night. Mrs. Colton-Smythe’s guest from Naples.”

“Oh, yes, the one who wanted you to call on her.”

Eleanor nodded. “Yes. I went to see her, and when I got there, the maid told me she was dead. She was killed this morning in a carriage accident.”

“What?” He stared at her. “What happened?”

“The maid said she went for a walk and a carriage hit her.”

“My God.”

“Yes!” Eleanor turned away and began to pace agitatedly. “I cannot help but think that it is connected to Edmund and everything that has been happening.”

“But why? What would she have to do with Edmund?”

“She told me last night that she wanted to talk to me about him. She said that she had seen him the day he died.”

“She had? I didn’t hear that. She saw him?”

“I am sure that is what she said. And she seemed…I don’t know, a little excited. I didn’t want to call on her. I thought she was just morbidly interested in his death. But it occurred to me that perhaps she wanted to talk to me because she had seen something suspicious. If she saw Edmund right before he died, she might have noticed that he was scared or…or sad, or even, perhaps, that someone was dragging him along with them.”

“Surely she would have reported that earlier.”

“Well, perhaps it was not something that clear. It could have been that only after she thought about it, she began to realize there was something wrong about what she saw. So that is why I decided to call on her this afternoon. Then, when I got there, the maid told me a carriage had run her down this morning. That cannot be a coincidence.”

“Slow down. You cannot assume that she knew anything. She may simply have wanted to hear the gruesome details, as you said,” Anthony argued.

“No. I know it, Anthony. I know it! She had something to tell me, and now she is dead. I didn’t want to talk to her. I held back. I could have gone over there this morning and I did not. I think she had information we could have used, and I didn’t pay enough attention. I should have asked her right then what she saw. I should have gone over there this morning. But I didn’t. She is dead now, and it’s my fault!”

Eleanor’s voice caught on a sob. Anthony let out an oath and swung her back into his arms.

“Hush. Don’t talk like that. You are not responsible for Mrs. Malducci’s death.”

Tears clogged her voice. “I failed her,” Eleanor said thickly. “Just as I failed Edmund. Oh, God, why didn’t I see what was happening? I should have talked to him. I should have known what he was doing and stopped him!”

She broke into tears, crying into Anthony’s shirtfront. He wrapped his arms around her tenderly, cradling her against him and stroking her back.

“Shh…no…do not blame yourself for that. For either of them,” Anthony told her. “Eleanor, the whole world is not your responsibility. You could not have known that Signora Malducci would be killed. In truth, you do not even know that she had anything important to tell you. Accidents do happen. It may have been nothing more than that. And even if it was not, there is nothing to say you could have saved her. And you did not control Edmund. He was a grown man. He was free to do what he liked. He believed in this group’s ideals. He knew the dangers, and he took the risk because he believed so strongly. It was not your decision to make, it was his.”

He was right, she knew, yet still she cried, the remnants of her grief for Edmund pouring out. But Anthony’s words soothed her, and gradually her tears slowed and then stopped. Still, she continued to lean against him, enjoying the comfort of his strength.

Anthony pulled out his handkerchief and gently wiped the tears from her face. “There.” He kissed her forehead. “I hate to see tears on you.”

“I hate to cry,” she responded, letting out a little sigh. The bout of tears had left her weary somehow, and it was so pleasant to lean against him. The truth was, she wished she never had to leave the comfort of his arms. It was the place she wished to be. It felt like home.

It occurred to her that they were standing in a compromising position, that she should probably step away from him, but somehow she could not at the moment find it in herself to care. It felt too good to be there.

His hand stroked rhythmically up and down her back, soothing and warming her. Eleanor nestled a little closer, breathing in his masculine scent, and when she moved, she heard the steady thump of his heart suddenly flare into a faster beat, and his hand on her back was hot and a trifle unsteady. She realized in that instant that her movement against him had aroused him, and somehow that knowledge set spark to her own desire.

In a flash, the stroking of his hand became no longer soothing but sensual, a long, slow caress that caused her skin to tingle even through the material of her dress. Eleanor’s breath came faster in her throat, her blood heating in her veins. She arched back against his hand, raising her head and looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

His eyes were the color of molten iron, boring down into her, melting her. “I want you,” he told her bluntly, his voice taut. “I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you. You were Edmund’s wife, but still I wanted you.”

He bent closer to her, his mouth hovering only inches from hers. “Beyond all reason.” His lips brushed hers, then tantalizingly moved away. “Beyond all decency.” He kissed her upper lip, then her lower, each kiss lingering just a little more than the one before. “I want you in my bed. Beneath me. I want to hear you moan my name.”

His words stirred her unbearably, igniting a fire low in her abdomen. She trembled, hovering on the brink, stretching up to him. And then his mouth settled on hers at last, and he kissed her deeply. Eleanor clung to him, beyond words or thought, aware only of the hunger pounding through her.

At last he raised his head, breaking off the kiss. He gazed down at her for a long beat, then bent and swept her up into his arms and started out the door.

“Anthony!” Eleanor protested in a low shriek, laughter bubbling up in her. “Someone will see!”

“I don’t care,” he replied as he walked into the hallway and up the stairs.

Eleanor buried her face in his shoulder. She knew she should be embarrassed, but all she really wanted to do was to laugh with sheer delight.

As it happened, they passed no one on their way up the stairs and into her bedroom. He set her down inside the door and closed it behind them, turning the key in the lock with a decisive click. They stood for a moment, looking at each other. Eleanor knew that even at this last moment, she could turn away from him, could ask him to leave. There was still a chance to avoid taking this final step.

She looked into his eyes; then, slowly, not taking her eyes from his, she reached behind herself and began to undo her buttons. He watched her, his eyes feverishly bright. He peeled off his own coat and tossed it toward a chair, not looking to see where it landed. He unbuttoned his waistcoat and shrugged out of it, never taking his gaze from Eleanor.

The buttons down her back were small and legion, but gradually, as she worked her way down, the sides of her dress began to part and sag, sliding down from her shoulders, inch by inch revealing more of the tops of her milky breasts. Anthony’s eyes remained glued to that slowly lowering neckline, his chest rising and falling as his breath came ever faster.

It was still not completely unbuttoned, but finally the dress was loose enough that Eleanor was able to slip out of it, letting it pool at her feet. She stood, clad in her petticoats and chemise, blushing a little with embarrassment, yet at the same time filled with excitement as Anthony’s eyes roamed over her.

He had unbuttoned his shirt, but he seemed to forget what he was doing as he stared at her, his hands falling to his sides. Slowly he came forward until he was standing in front of her. He reached out and softly skimmed his fingers over the tops of her breasts.

“You are so beautiful,” he breathed. “You make a man forget everything else but you.”

He took hold of the ribbon that bound the top of her chemise and pulled. The bow slid undone, and the chemise parted, revealing the inner curve of her cleavage. He traced the line of her breast, skimming around it and down the middle, then moving back up, following the curve of the opposite orb. The soft flesh trembled beneath his light touch.

Her nipples tightened, her breasts full and aching for his touch. He slipped his hands beneath the sides of the soft cotton garment, pushing the fabric farther apart and down, revealing the full, white mounds. His hands curved around them, filling his grasp. He bent and laid his lips gently to the top of one breast, then the other.

Eleanor trembled, the hot moisture of desire flooding between her legs. She sucked in her breath, closing her eyes, as arousal swept through her, startling her with its intensity.

His thumbs moved across her nipples, circling and caressing them, teasing until Eleanor let out a soft moan of hunger and frustration. She wanted more, though she was not certain what that was. She knew only that she ached and yearned, her body softening and opening, eager for more.

At last he bent and touched the tip of his tongue to one nipple, and a hot frisson of pleasure shot through her. Softly, slowly, his tongue teased at her, until finally he took the hard button of flesh into his mouth. Desire shook her, and her knees threatened to buckle, but he looped his arm around her back and held her up as his mouth continued to feast upon her breasts.

She moved restlessly, and he slid his knee between hers, opening her legs to him. Instinctively Eleanor moved against him, pressing the hot, yearning center of her desire against his thigh. He let out a low, guttural noise, and suddenly his hand was there between her legs, pressing into her through the cloth of her petticoats.

Eleanor shuddered. She had never felt anything like the sensations that were flooding her now. She was all fire and hunger. She dug her fingers into his hair, almost sobbing with the intensity of her desire.

He released her to tear at his clothes, ripping off his shirt and flinging it away, then starting on the buttons of his breeches. Eleanor slipped out of her chemise, and her eager fingers slipped on the ties of her petticoats, turning the bows into knots.

Anthony, having divested himself of the rest of his clothes, turned back to her. Slipping his hand inside the recalcitrant tie, he jerked once, snapping the ribbon from its mooring, and the soft cotton petticoats tumbled to the floor.

He picked her up and laid her on the bed, then pulled off her slippers and slid her stockings down her legs, his hands caressing each inch of flesh as it was revealed.