Stages of Desire (14 page)

“You know the boy Orlando is in love with you.”

“And you know Mrs. Ivey is quite taken with you.”

“I don't care about Mrs. Ivey.”

“And I don't care for Orlando.”

“Well then.”

Without taking his eyes off hers in the mirror, he placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. He knew he ought to turn around and leave, go off to the pub and have a drink and forget about her, but an overpowering urge kept him rooted to the spot. The temptation proved too much. He drew his fingers up the sides of her neck and heard her gasp. He continued until his fingertips lingered upon her temples.

“You're beautiful.”

“Billy.”

The word was barely a whisper, but it was all the permission he needed.

* * * *

Harriet shivered with delight when William leaned down and kissed her neck while his fingers slid the flimsy dressing gown off her shoulders.

She'd spent the past three hours on stage wondering what William was thinking. If he was nervous for her, or proud of her. The first time she heard his distinctive laugh, she'd had to stop herself from looking up. As the play went on, other voices drowned out his laughter and she'd been ever so slightly disappointed to lose her direct connection with him.

He was everything she could imagine in a man and she had to know what it would be like to be his lover. She didn't want to think of Marianne, or Mr. Hopplehill, or the duchess or anyone else. She only wanted to feel William's touch on her skin and breathe in his scent, a mixture of rosewood and mint. And, as if by magic, he'd granted her wish.

His lips were on hers and she opened her mouth and invited him to take more of her. Their tongues met and they devoured each other, the onstage kiss a mere peck compared to this. He knelt down between her legs and pulled her close.

“You feel so good. But we shouldn't.” His voice was ragged.

This was wrong in every way, but in twenty-four hours she'd be back in the quiet, dull house on Brook Street, playing the part of the dutiful ward. Right now she wanted to play the part of the temptress.

Harriet was an actress, after all, and this was to be her final role. “It's only the two of us, no one will know. There are no rules for us to obey. Not at this moment. I trust you.”

She moved her hips closer and he responded as she'd hoped, wrapping his arms closer around her. She arched her back so her breasts came free of her chemise and he eyed her taut nipples greedily. When he put his lips around one, she couldn't help but cry out. Ripples of pleasure bordering on pain ran through her body as he gently bit down on the tender nub.

She ran her fingers through his hair and felt the wetness increase between her legs. There'd be plenty of time to regret their actions later. She pushed him back, stood, and turned around. “Undo my stays.”

His fingers were deft and within a minute, the corset and her chemise dropped to the floor. He led her to the chaise and pulled her down onto his lap. His hardness moved beneath her, and in response, she ground her hips slowly back and forth as they fell into another languid kiss.

A year ago, Marianne had told Harriet what was to be expected from a man, having learned the sordid details from her more experienced friends. Harriet was nervous, but she let her body's natural responses be her guide. William's longing fueled her own, overriding her fears.

When he suddenly shifted her off his lap and rose to his feet, her heart fell. Was he having second thoughts? With a deliberate step, he locked the door and when he turned she could plainly see he was ready for her.

“Come here.” She held out her arms.

He moved closer, put one knee on the chaise, and undid his cravat and waistcoat. When she helped him out of his shirt, a shiver of delight ran through her once again at the sight of his physique. His arms were strapping, his torso well-defined, the muscles rippling under his skin.

After they'd undressed each other fully, she sank back into the pillows. He rolled off her stockings, then lifted one leg and kissed her ankle. With an agonizing slowness, he kissed and sucked and bit his way up her leg, tantalizing the delicate areas behind her knee and along her inner thigh. He avoided the cleft between her legs that now throbbed with longing, and instead savored her belly and the underside of her breasts. She opened her legs to either side of his hips and tensed. She was completely vulnerable now, and unsure of how to proceed.

With a sureness of hand, he tilted her hips so his cock touched her wetness. She stiffened, panicking, and pushed his shoulders away with her hands. Although her body physically ached for him, she had never done anything like this before. She should say something, but then he might stop and she didn't want that either.

He pulled away and she breathed a sigh of relief that quickly turned to astonishment as his lips trailed down toward her stomach. His tongue grazed the skin around her navel and kept going lower. And lower.

She opened her eyes wide and stared incredulously at the top of his head. Marianne had never said anything about this. When he touched her most private place using only his lips and mouth, she melted into the pillows. He moved his tongue around in a circle, first one way and then the other. The sheer intimacy of the moment was surprisingly exquisite. She cried out, unsure of where he began and she ended, as he licked and sucked her, and before long an explosion ripped through her body.

She bucked and rocked her hips, gasping for breath. With one sure movement, he rose on top of her and, gently, carefully, placed his cock where his lips had been. Inch by inch, he eased his way inside. It hurt, but the pain was a sweet, strange one. As her passion subsided, his grew until he stiffened, gasped, and released himself within her.

The sweet spasms were replaced by a dull aching from the sheer size of him. It was too much, too soon. Panting from the exertion, he raised himself up to look into her face.

“Harry, I'm so sorry. What have I done?”

He lifted himself off her. Wetness ran between her legs and he reached down, touched the blood with his finger. “You're a virgin.” He looked abashed. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have taken advantage.”

“I wanted you to.” And she had. She loved the idea he'd been driven by an equal, unstoppable passion.

He picked up her silk dressing gown where it had fallen on the floor, and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I behaved like a brute.” His eyes were worried, serious.

She laughed and pulled him back down beside her. “It was wonderful. Particularly the part where you, you know.” No matter how bold she'd been then, she couldn't say the words. “I had no idea.”

“No, that was wrong of me.”

“I could have told you the truth before we started, but I was worried it would stop you.”

He reached for her hand. “Harry, when I saw you onstage, I can't tell you how much it made me want you. Like this, but more than this. You are marvelous, on stage and off. I feel we've been partners, the past few days. You've helped me immensely.”

Warmth spread across her entire body. He understood her like no one else. “I feel the same way.”

“But I've done a terrible thing here. I've ruined you.”

The term seemed inadequate and wrong. And silly. “I chose to be ruined. And it's only fair, as I'm certain your own reputation has been tainted, gallivanting with a theater company across England.” She meant it lightly, but his eyes grew dark. She'd said something wrong.

“Dear God. My brother was the one who ran around with actresses and got into trouble. And now here I am doing the same thing.”

She stiffened.

“I didn't mean it like that,” he said quickly.

“It's not the same, William.”

“I know it's not. I look at you and feel so much. But my actions were wrong.”

He was being honest, his words tinged with a profound sadness.

“Tell me about your brother. Tell me of Oliver.”

He sat back, stone faced. “I can't speak of it.”

Harriet curled up next to him and breathed in the scent of their two sexes, mingled together, along with the woody aroma of his skin. She stayed silent, hoping he'd continue.

He let out a long breath. “I used to think people like you, like your family, were irresponsible and reprehensible while my family was morally superior. My father believed that, and he instilled the idea in me.”

“What was your father like?”

“He was a beast. To me, at least. He favored Oliver, and allowed him to do as he pleased. My brother had always been a troublemaker, but before he died, he began behaving abominably, even for him, and I blamed it on the company he kept.”

“You mean the woman, the actress he was with when he died?”

“Yes.” He stared at the far wall. “That evening he brought her into our home and tried to introduce me to her, told me he was going to marry her. He was drunk and she was excited to meet me, thrilled, even. As if this were a perfectly normal way to announce an engagement.”

She could only imagine his shock at such audacity. Turning his family's well-ordered world on its head. “What did you do?”

“I told him in no uncertain terms his behavior was scandalous. The girl was right there when I said it and she was crushed. She was only a girl. I see that now, she wasn't a bad person at all. He insisted he loved her.” He rubbed his head with his hands.

“Why did he bother to check with you? Couldn't he do as he pleased, being Lord Abingdon?”

“He could have, but he'd always looked up to me. My father was so strict, and he saved the harshest discipline for me, even if Oliver was the one to blame. My brother often sought out my approval. I don't know why.”

Harriet knew. William had an air of dignity and honor about him. It was what had drawn her to him in the beginning. Sometimes it was shrouded in his serious, watchful manner, but he was, deep down, a compassionate, good man.

“That evening, Oliver became angry, said some awful things to me. He threatened me, told me stories that were horrible lies. I told him in no uncertain terms what I thought of him. And the girl. Harsh words were spoken. They left.”

He was silent for a long moment. “In the middle of the night I was awakened. He'd driven off with the actress in the dark and turned over the carriage in Hyde Park. They were both crushed and lived for a few hours, but neither survived.”

“How horrible. But it wasn't your fault, William. You must believe me.”

“If I hadn't said what I did, they might still be alive.”

“You don't know that.” She leaned in close to him. “You're a true gentleman. Everything you've done for your sister, and me, and my family. A lesser man would have scurried back to London in a heartbeat.”

He gave a wry smile. “And you're spectacular. Not only on stage. Ordering people around, getting your way with people like your father and Wilkinson. You're a natural leader.”

“Is that so?” She ran her hand over his thigh. She wanted to make him forget the pain. She imagined the two of them running off together and not caring what anyone said. Waking up in the morning and making love. He'd told her they were a pair, partners, and let her into his deepest secrets. He'd taken her maidenhood, and brought her to heights she'd never dreamed of. Listening to the sound of his voice, gravelly with emotion, made her want him close to her again, inside her.

“If I'm a natural leader, what happens if I do this?” She ran her hand over his manhood and he stiffened.

“I've just finished telling you I should never have taken you like that.” He groaned.

“Then you'll have to make it up to me.”

“It's the least I can do.”

He slipped the dressing gown off her and drew her on top of him, so she was straddling his hips.

The position seemed awkward and exposed at first, but she leaned into him, letting her breasts fall into his hands. He pinched her nipples, and she arched her back and rubbed against his hardness. In no time, her muscles released and began pulsating, wanting more. She was wet again by the time he reached down with one hand and positioned his cock at the base of her opening.

“Gently,” he said. “Take your time.”

Slowly, exquisitely, she inched herself down onto him, feeling her body expand to accommodate his member. They joined as one and he drew deeper into her, as the most sensitive spot of her body rubbed against him. The sense of being possessed by all of him was no longer painful. She moved up and down, urging him on with her hips. The pressure built up and within minutes wave after wave of heat washed over her body and she moaned with pleasure. He joined her, groaning, his face flushed with sweat.

She sat back, pleased. “There seem to be a number of variations, each one better than the last.”

He laughed.

A knock at the door sent them scrambling for clothing.

“One moment,” cried Harriet. Once they were reasonably decent, she opened the door.

“Miss Farley, come quick.” Mrs. Kembler was pale and shaking.

“What is it, what's happened?” asked Harriet.

“It's Mrs. Ivey, they've found her.”

“Well, that's a good thing. Is she all right?”

“No. Miss Farley. She's not all right.” Mrs. Kembler began to cry. This time they weren't the fake stage tears she so often affected, but real ones, of sadness and shock.

“What is it, what's happened?” demanded William.

“Oh, my lord. She's dead.”

Her cries echoed down the hall.

“Mrs. Ivey is dead.”

Chapter 12

From the subdued hum of the guests milling about the ornate hotel lobby, the news a celebrated guest had recently expired on the premises was still undisclosed. The concierge gave William an attentive smile as he drew close.

“My lord, I hope you're enjoying your stay with us. How may I help you?”

“I understand there's been a death.”

His grin disappeared. “I don't know what you're speaking of. Nothing is amiss here.”

“I don't have time for any nonsense. We know it was Mrs. Ivey and she was a friend. It's important I see her. I'm a physician.”

“I'll have to check with the manager.”

“Please do.”

The man scurried off and William turned his attention to Harriet. “Go to your room and stay there.” She winced at his tone, although he hadn't meant to make it sound like a command.

“Why?”

“I don't want you involved.”

“It's too late. She was our leading actress.”

“Even more reason for you not to be seen. The newspapers will be quite interested once they get wind of this.”

He must keep Harriet out of the limelight. Her success on stage, coupled with the death of the actress she'd gone on for, would likely make the pages of
British Fair
within days.

But from the determined lift of her chin, she was not to be persuaded.

“I want to help in any way I can, this is a horrible situation.”

“To say the least.”

She winced again. Although his first inclination was to include her, to confide in her, a nagging sense of foreboding kept him from doing so. Every nerve in his body was on fire, not only from their lovemaking, but from the terrible news that had interrupted them.

Harriet, to his chagrin, was not so easily dismissed. “Mrs. Ivey was respected and talented. The company should do everything we can for her right now.”

“It's a little late for that, it appears.”

His skin prickled with apprehension. Too many calamities had occurred in such a short time period, and he didn't think the curse was the culprit. Something else, something strange, was going on.

He tried reason. “We don't know if she died from something contagious, and if so, perhaps I'll be able to help keep it from spreading.”

“Like scarlatina?”

“I don't know yet, do I? You saw from the dispensary that illness is everywhere.” He could tell he'd won the argument by the resigned set of her mouth. The mouth he'd tasted. He shook off the memory. “Go to your room. I'll come to you as soon as I'm finished.”

Harriet frowned slightly, then headed across the lobby and up the grand staircase. He watched her until she disappeared.

“Can I help you, my lord?” The manager, a meticulously dressed man with a large mustache, addressed him.

“I'm a friend of Mrs. Ivey, and a physician. I've been told there's been a tragedy and I'd like to be brought to her room at once.”

The man shook his head. “Very unfortunate. A terrible, terrible thing. The surgeon is upstairs with her now. We have to be careful, you understand. The hotel's reputation is at stake.”

“I appreciate the need for discretion.”

“Of course, my lord. And I assure you, the staff has it well in hand.”

“She was a friend. I must see her.”

The manager's eyes widened, and then he nodded his head. William knew exactly what he was thinking, that he'd had some kind of dalliance with Mrs. Ivey, and he didn't bother to correct him. If that's what worked, so be it.

The manager lowered his voice. “We called for the surgeon when she first fell ill. He did everything he could to save her, but the illness was too far gone. The news is going to spread quickly and we must do everything we can to protect the good name and reputation of the hotel. You must understand, we are not at fault.”

The manager was protesting far too much.

William wondered what he was trying to cover up. “I'm not trying to place any kind of blame. You see, the owner of the hotel is a good friend, and I know Sir Rodney would prefer I be involved.” He pulled out his trump card. “He'll be quite perturbed to discover my offer of help was turned away.”

The manager looked as if he'd eaten something sour. “Sir Rodney, I see. Thank you, my lord, for the clarification.” He gave a nod to the concierge. “Very well, see him to Mrs. Ivey's room.”

Upstairs, the concierge knocked lightly on a door at the end of the hallway. A young girl with swollen eyes and a runny nose gulped back a sob as she let them inside. As William stepped over the threshold, a terrible stench swirled into his nostrils and he fought the urge to gag.

“This is Mrs. Ivey's lady's maid,” said the concierge.

“Thank you. That will be all.”

Not surprisingly, the man was eager to leave.

Several vases of red roses adorned the small sitting area, but they did little to offset the foul odor. The room looked as though Mrs. Ivey had sauntered through moments earlier. A light-blue cape was tossed onto a chair next to a matching bonnet. On a low table in front of a sofa, a china teapot and a pair of cups and saucers were laid out. One of the cups was drained, the other full of milky tea.

The girl pointed to the door to the bedchamber. “Mrs. Ivey's in there with the surgeon.”

As if on cue, a man in a black frock coat exited the bedchamber, stopping short when he noticed William. “May I help you?”

William introduced himself as a physician and friend of the deceased, and the surgeon responded warmly.

“Please, do come in my lord, it looks like acute food poisoning to me.”

“I knew the oysters were bad, I knew it,” cried the lady's maid before bursting into tears once again.

The bedroom was dark, with all but one of the curtains drawn closed. A single shaft of bright sunlight lit the face of the woman on the bed, her body from the neck down covered by a silk sheet.

It was as if Mrs. Ivey had aged decades since William had last seen her at the theater, when she'd been the epitome of good health. Her pale blue eyes stared out at him blankly and her lips were parted in a grimace, as if she'd been in terrible pain up to her final moments. The skin on her face hung slack.

The smell was wretched. William had read about the horrors of food poisoning in his studies, but he'd never been exposed to the actual, distasteful elements. He tried not to let the other man know it affected him. It occurred to William he'd seen more, medically speaking, these past two days than he'd observed his entire three years at Oxford.

“The lady's maid said she had eaten oysters?” he asked.

“She did. When I got here she was quite ill. I've told the kitchen to toss the entire batch, to be safe.”

“A few hours ago she was perfectly fine. How could a bad oyster have dispatched her with such speed?”

The surgeon hesitated before replying, and William didn't blame him. Not only was William a member of the peerage, but as a physician, he also outranked him.

“There is no need to worry about protocol. I require candor at this moment. You may speak honestly, please.”

“Thank you, my lord.” He looked down at the still figure. “I've seen this happen sometimes. Particularly with those who are predisposed to weakness. The elderly, the very young.”

“She fit into neither category.”

He cocked his thumb toward the sitting room then put a finger across his lips. “These theater types,” he murmured. “They have a weakened constitution from the late nights and other ill effects of the life. Drinking, carousing, you know.”

“Mrs. Ivey was a respected London actress.” William couldn't believe he was defending the woman. It was as if Harriet's voice had come through him unbidden.

“Maybe so. But you rarely hear those two words in the same sentence.”

“What two words?”

“Respected and actress.” He chuckled at his own joke. “You say you were close?”

William didn't need to add to the rumor mill, considering he'd stirred it enough already.

He thanked the surgeon, who nodded and took his leave. Other than the fact that Mrs. Ivey had fallen ill and died so suddenly, the man was right, nothing was out of the ordinary.

When he re-entered the sitting room the maid leapt up. “Sir, I've been with her for seven years, I've never seen her so sick, do you think I'll catch it?”

“I doubt it, but do be careful and keep a lookout for symptoms like stomach pains or headaches.”

She looked like she was about to begin howling, so William offered her his handkerchief. “I know it's been a shock. Did you see her when she returned from the theater?”

“Yes.” She blew her nose. “A couple of hours ago she said she felt funny. She wanted to lie down for a moment before the performance tonight, which was strange because she never sleeps during the day. Never.”

“She took a rest?”

“Yes. I was doing some mending when I heard her moan so I went in. She was awful sick, her color was terrible, and I called for the surgeon right away.”

“Tell me, is there anything else that occurred this afternoon besides her dining on oysters for lunch?”

The girl scrunched up her face. “Nothing I can think of. She had her lunch. An elderly aunt of hers came to visit, she does so every time Mrs. Ivey plays Birmingham, and also a gentleman called, but neither stayed long.”

“Did you know the gentleman?”

“No, I'd never seen him before. But they spoke of the people they knew in common, so I assumed they were acquainted.”

The hair on the back of William's neck stood on end. “Did you catch his name?”

She stared at him blankly. “No, I don't remember.”

“What did the man look like?”

“Good looking, obviously an actor.”

“Anything else?”

“Oh yes, he had excellent manners.”

“I mean physically, anything to distinguish him physically.”

“Oh yes. He'd hurt his arm. Wore a bandage.”

Freddie.

William's head spun as he tried to take in her words. Freddie had been here. Mrs. Ivey had fallen sick and died, even though she'd been the picture of health hours before.

He searched for answers, a pattern.

Freddie had miraculously shown up at Adam's barn the evening it burned down. On the other hand, Freddie had been injured while saving several men, himself included, from the fire.

They'd been attacked in the forest. But Freddie had seemed truly terrified. Then again, he was a professional actor.

He seesawed back and forth. Three calamities. One death.

But how?

If the culprit wasn't oysters, and he was fairly certain it wasn't, what else could have caused Mrs. Ivey's death?

The tea.

William walked over to the cups. He sniffed one, then the other. Nothing. He instructed the maid to stay put and returned to the darkened bedchamber. After first bracing himself, he leaned over Mrs. Ivey's twisted mouth, sniffed, and detected the foul odor of garlic.

He advanced into the sitting room and pointed at the table. “Toss out this tea and clean the cups and pot well,” he ordered. “Do you understand?”

She nodded.

Back in the lobby, William asked for his room key at the reception desk.

“Has anyone else requested my key today?”

“Not that I know of, my lord.”

“Has anyone else worked the front desk today?”

“One moment.” He spoke briefly with a young man manning the other end of the desk. “My colleague says your brother came by to retrieve your key earlier this afternoon.”

“My brother?”

“Yes. He pointed out you were paying for his room, and mentioned something about having left his walking stick in your suite. We checked the accounts and confirmed you were footing his bill.”

“Thank you.”

His rooms showed no obvious signs of intrusion. William headed to the bedchamber and opened the doors to the armoire. He took out his medicine bag and carefully laid the contents out on the small escritoire. The tools and other equipment were there, as were the bandages and salves he carried with him. The bottles of medicine and herbs were all accounted for, except for one. The one he'd known would be missing the moment he sniffed Mrs. Ivey's breath.

The consequences were enormous. William's reputation, and that of his family, had once again been compromised. He'd trusted a horde of actors and now a woman was dead due to his naiveté. He might as well have killed her himself.

Freddie was dangerous and a murderer.

William had let down his guard once, and it couldn't happen again. Ever.

No one was to be trusted.

* * * *

Harriet opened the door to her room for William seconds after he'd knocked, as if she'd been waiting at the threshold the entire time. He avoided her questioning look and charged inside.

He'd been so gullible. To think, the notion of marrying Harriet had crossed his mind in the dressing room, when she'd given her body up to him.

He'd imagined her living with him at his estate, having tea together in his cottage laboratory and laughing about the latest letter from Miss Entwhistle. She'd mesmerized him. Her eagerness had pleased him to no end. And now the most sensual experience of his life had turned sordid and ugly.

“What's going on? What did you learn?” Harriet sat in a straight-backed chair and didn't take her eyes off him as he paced back and forth.

He didn't answer her question. “When did you last see Freddie?”

She thought for a moment. “The same as you, backstage before the show.”

“And you haven't heard from him or seen him since?”

“No.”

“Harriet, you need to be honest with me. Did your brother tell you anything about what he was going to do?”

Her hands tightened in her lap. Was it because he was being so harsh with her, or did she have something to hide?