Deliciously Wicked (11 page)

“I'm not certain. Until my father's accident, I only visited the factory on occasion. Not enough to know Munden's regular routine. But that night we were locked in the factory together, I had come there to retrieve one of the ledger books for my father. If Mr. Munden took those boxes, then he would have had access to the ledger book as well.”

“Without these pages, there is no record of these funds. We can assume these are the only pages that are missing, so he hasn't been doing this for too long.” Gareth said.

“This certainly explains how he was able to pur
chase that racing horse. That animal belongs to my father,” she said defiantly.

“The horse or Munden?” Gareth asked.

Meg gave him a deliciously wicked smile, and Gareth resisted the urge to pull her to him. “I'd prefer only the horse. Although it might cause great amusement to watch Mr. Munden graze on the lawn of our country estate.”

Blast it, she was attractive. That red hair drew him in until he wanted nothing more than to bury himself in it. It was mostly hidden at the moment, bundled up beneath that silly cap, but tiny curls around the nape of her neck had escaped. He wanted her. With an urgency he'd never experienced with any other woman.

“What shall we do with these sheets?” she asked, holding up the bunch.

“We should take them with us. We'll put everything back where it goes so it might take him a while to notice they're missing. But when he does, it will drive him mad. He'll know someone is on to him.”

She smiled. “This could be fun.”

“Yes, it could. We have a few more minutes to look around before we need to leave.”

Gareth continued digging through the rest of the items littering the top of Munden's desk, but found nothing relating to the sale of the chocolate boxes.

He did find something that resembled a receipt for the purchase of the racing horse. He pocketed the scrap of paper, then picked up an envelope.

“That son of a bitch!” Gareth said, as he read the contents.

“What? What is it?”

“This.” He handed her the letter.

“A gift for you,” she read aloud.

She looked up at Gareth. “A riddle?” she asked.

“Or a bad poem.”

“Someone paid Munden to accuse you? Now it makes sense why he won't let the accusations go. He wants the rest of the payment,” she said.

Gareth nodded. “Can't even make a decision himself. He was probably grateful to point the finger at me for something like this while he's stealing money. No doubt if he were ever accused of taking this money, he'd blame that on me as well.”

“Who do you think it is?” she asked.

“I have no idea. I don't know anyone in this town. I can't imagine why they would have selected me out of the rest of the workers at the factory.”

“Perhaps because you're the newest and no one knows much about you.”

“We should leave,” Gareth said. “We've found enough information.”

Meg tucked the ledger sheets into her bag.

“Snuff out that candle.”

She did as he said. Gareth stood for a moment, allowing the darkness to settle in around him before he attempted to move. He could see Meg's outline in front of him, but little else.

“It's quite dark,” she said, her voice shaking with nerves.

“Indeed. We'll be in the carriage before you know it.” He stepped beside her and grabbed her hand. He'd held it as they'd entered the building, and that seemed to have eased her fears.

They stepped into the hallway, and Gareth heard the back door open. Instinctively he grabbed Meg and pushed her against the wall, then covered her with his own body.

“Shhh,” he whispered into her ear.

Gareth's heartbeat seemed to mimic Munden's footsteps as the man moved closer toward them. They were enough in the shadows that if the man wasn't paying too close attention, he just might miss them.

They had proof of his theft, but they had no weapon to protect themselves, and while Gareth was in choice shape, Munden was an imposing man.

Munden entered the house, singing loudly.

Gareth winced. He was certain Meg would miss the bawdy tune's meaning, but he needed to get her out of here now.

Gareth could feel Meg's breaths, short and tight, against him. She was terrified. He, on the other hand, felt something entirely different. The familiar heaviness as his erection swelled. He hoped she could not feel him
pressed up against her, or that she was too frightened to notice his hardness. He tried not to move, tried not to move against her. Tried to keep still so as not to alert her to his arousal and not to add to the stimulation. But it was a battle of will because all he wanted to do was bury his face in her glorious red hair and lose himself in her dampness.

Munden stepped into another room still singing, and Gareth took the opportunity to pull Meg down the hall and out the back door. He closed the latch silently, then turned to face her. Her eyes were wide, but she was smiling.

“
That
was close,” she said.

She didn't know how true those words were.

H
e led her to the carriage and closed the door behind them. At least in the safety of the carriage, he wouldn't have to press his body against hers.

“I thought for certain he would see us there. My heart was beating so fast.” She grabbed his hand and put it against her chest. “Still is,” she said breathlessly, her eyes lit with excitement.

His eyes moved to her chest as if somehow he expected to see his hand pulse with the beat of her heart. Instead he felt only the hint of her breast moving up and down. He tried not to notice how it felt rising against his hand. Tried not to remember how it had felt the last time he'd held it in his hands.

He snatched his hand away. He needed to get away from her before he did something they both regretted.

“Can I have the ledger sheets?” he asked, in hopes that discussing Munden's crimes would divert his
thoughts from laying her back on that seat cushion, slowly peeling off her breeches, and entering her quick and hard.

Her smile melted away. “Why?”

He shifted in his seat. “I thought to keep them safe.”

“I want to show them to my father.” She frowned, clearly confused. “How else can we prove that Munden is guilty of stealing money from the factory?”

The diversion was not working; he still wanted her. “I thought you would want to do that, but I feel as if we should wait before you discuss this with your father.”

“But he's stealing, Gareth. I can't knowingly allow him to continue working there knowing he takes money from my father. Why would you even suggest such a thing?”

“Because he's the one the real culprit has been in contact with. We'll likely never discover the criminal's true identity if Munden is gone. I need to know who's trying to frame me.”

She was silent for a moment before responding. “I still don't like it, but I suppose you're right. We'll simply have to make certain Munden isn't given any private time with the money or the ledger book. I can see to that most of the time, but when I can't be at the factory, you'll have to keep an eye on him,” she said. “And we mustn't allow this to continue for very long. He doesn't deserve his wages.”

“I can watch him, but I can't do much more than that. If I confront him, he'll suspect something,” he said. She was so intense, so loyal, so passionate. No matter how unconventional and dangerous her schemes were, she
had one motive. To help others. At the moment, that meant him and her father. He'd never before had anyone go to such lengths for his benefit. He wanted to be grateful, show his appreciation, but he simply couldn't bring himself to do it.

“Maybe he knows who sent him that note.” She dug around in her bag. “Oh no, I thought I put the note in here. I must have dropped it.”

“We don't need it. It didn't make all that much sense in the first place.”

“Perhaps we can think of a way to pry some information from Munden,” she suggested.

“Let's wait until we see if the information we have can be more useful,” Gareth suggested.

She nodded. They sat in silence for a while as the carriage rattled through the streets. Gareth couldn't see her full features since the curtains were pulled, but everything about her tonight was burned into his memory.

The way her breeches molded against every curve; he would have had to be blind not to notice that. He'd known she had a rounded bottom, but seeing it outlined was almost more than he could bear. But even more than that, he tried to ignore the reminder that her delicious little bottom had been in his hands. Briefly, yes, but he had touched her that night in the factory. He hardened with the thought.

Slinking around in the dark with her had done nothing to aid his good intentions of keeping his hands to himself.

The way she'd smiled up at him, her glorious hair tucked beneath that hat. The way she'd felt pressed against him. Her warm breath on his skin. Then she'd
put his hand on her breast. Blast it, how was a man supposed to act the gentleman in that sort of situation?

Then it occurred to him. He might have been born a gentleman, but he'd never behaved as such. He needed to touch her. If only for this one night. He knew he had no right, but he would not take more than she was willing to give. His abdomen tightened with the thought, and with an undeniable impulse, he reached across and pulled her to him. He situated her until she straddled his legs.

“What are you doing?” she asked. It wasn't an accusation; there was no fear in her voice, merely a question as if she'd simply asked him about the weather.

“I'm tired of this,” he said as he reached up and pulled the cap from her hair. He dug through the mass and removed each pin. A waterfall of red curls fell down her back. “I'd prefer you not ever wear a head covering of any sort or pull your hair up. It's so beautiful.” He ran his hands through the silky mass and wondered how it was that she managed to get her hair that soft.

A bump in the road slid her farther onto his lap and he groaned in response. He reached up and pulled her face down to his and kissed her. He was so hungry for her, he hoped he had enough restraint to at least keep her virtue intact.

Her lips were pliant and soft, and he wanted so badly to be controlled and patient, but found he could not. Instead he took her with a ferocity that shocked even him. His tongue slid inside her mouth and caressed hers until he thought he would spill beneath his own trousers. A mere kiss had never aroused him to such a degree.

She didn't seemed bothered or frightened by his forcefulness; she met him with every moment, every kiss. Her hands snaked their way around his neck and now clung to his back. She bucked a few times and made contact with the hardness in his trousers. She moaned and rubbed herself against him.

All the while kissing, she moved against him and he fought with every bit of his control to keep from losing himself completely. She could find her release and leave this carriage with her virtue intact. He would simply enjoy seeing her writhe with pleasure.

He grabbed her buttocks and pulled her even tighter against him, and she released a throaty growl. Moving his mouth from hers, he traced his tongue against her jaw, then down her neck to her collarbone.

Unbuttoning her shirt, her found her breasts bound with a strip of fabric. It explained why he hadn't felt their entire fullness earlier. It didn't take long for him to tear it out of the way and cover one aching tip with his mouth.

Her breasts were perfect—enough to put a little weight in his hand. It was the rich color of their centers, though, that nearly rocked him over the edge. Dusky pink. He stopped himself before he growled. Never before had he seen such luscious nipples. He suckled hard and she cried out. Her fingers dug into his back.

Her bucking against him became erratic as her control slipped further away. He held her hips and rocked her in a steady rhythm until her release hit her. She shook in his arms, then fell against his chest. An innocent with her first release.

God, he wanted her. Wanted to be inside her. But no
matter how thick his desire, he would not ask her for that. He would not become a complete cad. He'd already taken more from her than he had any right to.

She lay against him while her breathing slowed, then she cautiously leaned back. He smoothed a curl away from her face. Her eyes were heavy lidded and she gave him a satisfied smile, not unlike a cat who'd just had its cream.

She licked her lips before she spoke. “I'm not quite certain,” she said. “But I feel as if I must thank you.”

He chuckled in spite of himself. “So you enjoyed it?” he asked.

“Very much.”

“You have perfect breasts,” he said.

She looked down at them, then back at him. “Indeed? I always figured them to be too small.”

“No.” He weighed both of them in his hands, tormenting his arousal. “Perfect.”

“There is more to all of this, yes?” she asked.

“Much more.”

Her eyes widened. “Are we going to do more?”

He swallowed hard. God, he wished. “No. Not tonight.” He pulled her shirt closed to remove the tempting morsels from sight. Not ever. He shouldn't ever have laid a hand on her, but damn, she was a temptation. More tempting than anyone he'd ever encountered. He would do well to stay away from her. But he knew he wouldn't be able to do that until they solved the mystery surrounding those chocolate boxes.

“Gareth?”

“Yes.”

“Are you playing the gentleman?”

If only she knew the truth. A gentleman playing a
peasant playing a gentleman. It was enough to confuse even him. “Something like that,” he said.

She scooted off his lap and sat next to him. His arousal had not diminished, so he leaned forward to hide it from her view.

It wasn't much longer before the carriage pulled up in front of his residence. He turned to her.

“Stay away from Munden at the factory. I don't trust him. And now you know too much. That could be dangerous.”

She grabbed his arm before he could step down from the carriage. “Thank you for helping me tonight. I would not have been able to do this on my own.”

He nodded, then turned to leave. He knew she would question everything now. It was in her nature to do so. Why he touched her. Why he hadn't completed what he'd started. Damn, if he hadn't made one hell of a mess.

She had expected him to protect her. And he had. He'd protected her from the men on the street and from the drunken Munden. But with himself, he seemed unable to do the same. Her confidence in him never wavered. She expected the best of him, but he knew that eventually she'd see the truth, see the selfish bastard that he was, and then where would that leave him?

 

Meg raised her hand and recited the oath. She was still tired from not getting enough sleep the night before. But how could she? She'd become a criminal, discovered a thief, uncovered a clue that led to an even bigger thief, and then Gareth had done sinful, amazing things to her body. She still tingled. She hoped the girls would interpret her silly grin as excitement about the
case. Perhaps they would even have insight into how to put the rest of the pieces together, to solve this mystery once and for all.

Because the memories of last night were still so vivid, she needed some distraction before she discussed it. She didn't want to slip, share more than she intended. So they could discuss the Jack of Hearts first. That would give her enough distance to calm her nerves, plan her words better. It was a perfect excuse as well since the Jack of Hearts had actually made the front page of the
Times
, and there was much to discuss with that mystery first. It was a nice reminder that she had existed before she'd met Gareth. Regardless of how he filled her mind now, she still remembered how to think of other things. All was well; she, like the other ladies, was intrigued by the masked thief.

“Meg, we are all quite eager for you to fill us in on the details of your excursion last night,” Amelia said.

All eyes turned on Meg. She swallowed, then took a deep breath and smiled. “We will get to that.” She hoped she successfully hid her nerves. “But first, shouldn't we discuss the Jack of Hearts?” She passed a pleading look to Charlotte.

“I know we've all seen it,” Charlotte said. Thank goodness for her dear friend.

“The front page,” Willow said.

Charlotte smiled. “People are beginning to take notice.”

“What do you expect when he robbed a duchess? He's disgraceful,” Willow said.

Jack was a perfect diversion for her friends, so enthralled were they with him. And she would join the
conversation and it would slow her pulse and alleviate Gareth's plague on her mind.

“He never harms anyone. I'm not even certain he carries a weapon,” Charlotte said.

“That doesn't make any sense,” Meg said, attempting to add to the discussion. “Why would you relinquish your jewels to someone who doesn't threaten you with a weapon?”

“He does use a weapon,” Willow said. “Remember, from the second article we found? When he stole Lady Babcock's diamond and ruby earrings. She distinctly said he carried a pistol. She said he aimed it right at her.”

“Willow's right,” Amelia said. “If I remember correctly, he aimed the pistol right at her heart.” Amelia shuddered.

“Wretch,” Willow muttered.

“Well, he's never used that pistol,” Charlotte protested.

“We don't know that,” Willow said. “We only know that no one has been injured thus far, or if they have it has not been publicized.” She sat straighter. “He's nothing more than a well-dressed highwayman.”

Meg smiled. It was somewhat comforting to know that despite the upheaval in her own life, the rest of the world was as it should be. Willow and Charlotte constantly disagreeing—their new favorite subject about which to do so, the Jack of Hearts.

“Have we been collecting the information we've learned of him in some common list?” Meg asked. She certainly hadn't been taking notes, but she wasn't the sort to do that type of thing.

Willow reached in her bag just as Amelia unfolded a sheet of parchment. Alike in so many ways, those two.

“We know that our baiting him doesn't work,” Meg said.

“Not completely. We know that he hasn't taken Charlotte's bait,” Willow said.

Charlotte frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing to reflect poorly on you, my dear, I can assure you,” Willow said. “What I've noticed is that you're the one we've sent out to bait him, believing that with your beauty and some well-placed jewels, you might prove a temptation.”

“But you don't believe she's a temptation?” Amelia asked.

“No, I do think she is.” Willow leaned forward. “But what else do we know about Charlotte when she goes out in public? What happens?”

“She's surrounded by other men,” Meg said.