The Perfect Poison (18 page)

She surfaced momentarily from the delightful trance. Her reputation could scarcely sink any lower in the eyes of the world but it would be beyond mortifying to be discovered nude in a man’s arms. Some things a woman simply could not live down.

“Never fear,” Caleb said. “I will know if anyone comes near this shed. I am not a true hunter but excellent hearing is a family trait.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Will you not trust me to protect you?”

He was as solid as a block of granite. If he made a vow, he would keep it, she thought.

“I trust you,” she whispered, amazed to hear herself say the words. The truth shook her to the core. “I do trust you, Caleb Jones.”

He leaned over her and kissed her slowly, reverently. She knew that it was his way of sealing the promise he had made.

She softened against him, thrilling to his hard, heavy weight. He touched her as though she were a rare and exotic orchid. Energy flashed and pulsed between them, mixing with the potent essence of the dried herbs and flowers.

Shock snapped through her when she felt Caleb’s hand slide between her legs. She froze.

“I need to feel your heat,” he whispered.

She parted her thighs for him, hesitantly at first and then with a sense of pooling excitement. His warm palm moved along her stocking to the bare skin above her garter. The intimacy of the experience was almost unbearable. Heat pulsed deep within her.

“You hold everything a true alchemist could ever hope to find,” Caleb said. The words were thick with wonder. “All the secrets of midnight and fire.”

He stroked her gently, deeply, finding the sensitive places within and without, enchanting her. She drew in a sharp breath, every muscle tightening. The compelling tension twisting inside her somehow blended with the exotic energy of the drying shed until she could no longer distinguish between the normal and the paranormal.

Instinctively, wanting to know Caleb as intimately as he knew her, she slid her hand down his hard body. When she reached his trousers she discovered that he had already opened them. Her exploring fingers found the heavy, rigid length of his erection. Startled, she pulled back a little.

Caleb went very still.

“Do you find me... unacceptable?” he whispered. There was a terrible flat quality in the question. She sensed pain beneath the grim self-control.

“You are more than... acceptable.” She pressed her face against his chest, grateful for the darkness that concealed her head-to-toe blush. “It is just that I was not expecting quite so much that was so... acceptable.”

She felt his chest shake.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me, Caleb Jones.”

“Never,” he said.

“I can feel you laughing.”

“I’m smiling, not laughing. There is a significant difference.”

She started to argue the point but he was stroking her again, sending ripples of delicious tension through her, and she could no longer think coherently. She sensed that she was about to fly into the very heart of the storm. Impulsively she circled him with her fingers, no longer worried by his size. She heard him suck in a harsh breath.

“I hurt you,” she said, releasing him instantly.

“No,” he grated.

Tentatively she touched him again. He groaned into her throat.

“Come for me,” he said.

He moved his hand on her again but it was hardly necessary. The heat in the words generated more than enough power to fling her into the swirling currents. The tension inside her was released in a white-hot flash of energy that was unlike anything she had ever known.

Caleb moved on top of her and thrust heavily into her.

Pain and exquisite pleasure mingled for an unbearable moment, unleashing still more fire across the spectrum. Dark waves thundered through her. Caleb’s energy, she thought, flowing at full strength. She understood then that he had freed it from the talons of self-control that he employed to restrain it.

It was as though floodgates had been opened. A torrent of power engulfed her, drowning the pain, threatening to swamp her senses. The irresistible currents pulsed stronger as Caleb thrust again and again into her. Somehow she knew that she had to respond in some fashion.

She dug her nails into his shoulders and summoned every bit of her own power. Opposing currents clashed violently in the night. The embrace became a battle of wills. Caleb had raw strength on his side but she soon discovered that she had her own feminine power.

For a harrowing moment, she feared that they would somehow destroy each other as the rivers of psychical energy clashed and crashed together.

But even as disaster loomed, she sensed the currents start to resonate between them, each enhancing and sustaining the other until the power she and Caleb generated together was stronger than what either could create alone.

“Lucinda.” His voice was ragged, as though he was in great need or terrible pain.

She opened her eyes. He was watching her with such searing intensity she was amazed he did not set fire to the room.

“Lucinda.”

This time he spoke her name in wonder.

The muscles of his back turned to granite. His mouth opened on a muffled shout of exultation. And then his climax was upon him, eliciting a second, gentler wave of pleasure deep within her. She felt their auras fuse for a bright, shining moment of shattering intimacy.

Together they rode the flashing, rippling, pulsing currents into the heart of the night.

The sound of low voices—a man’s murmur and a woman’s soft, sultry laugh—brought Caleb out of the harmoniously ordered realm where he had been drifting. He listened intently for a few seconds, fixing the location of the couple. The pair was some distance off but headed toward the drying shed.

He sat up, carefully untangling himself from Lucinda. The bed of dried herbs and flowers crunched and crackled beneath his coat. The fragrance mingled with the lingering scents of the lovemaking.

Lucinda stirred and opened her eyes. In the moonlight he could see her bemused, unfocused expression. She smiled, looking remarkably pleased with herself, and raised her fingertips to his mouth.

He caught her hand, kissed it quickly and then yanked his handkerchief out of his pocket. He cleaned her gently and hauled her to her feet and handed her the eyeglasses.

“We must get you dressed,” he said into her ear.

“Mmm.”

She did not seem to be in any great hurry, he noticed. Bending down, he scooped up the gown and set about trying to get her back into it. He had undressed a few women in his time, but he had never tried to reverse the process. Now he discovered that it was more complicated than it appeared. His lack of experience showed immediately.

“Why in blazes do women wear such damnably heavy clothes?” he grumbled, fastening the hooks.

“Rest assured that this gown is considerably lighter than those many of the fashionable ladies are wearing back in that ballroom. And I’ll have you know that, in addition to the fact that I am not wearing a corset, my underclothing and petticoats meet the requirements of the Rational Dress Society. They weigh less than seven pounds.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said.

He sensed that she was fighting not to laugh. She was still oblivious to the risk of discovery. It occurred to him that she was not yet aware of the other couple.

“There are two people nearby,” he said, putting his mouth very close to her ear. “They are coming in our direction, no doubt intending to use this shed for the same purpose we just did. The door is secure but they will be able to hear voices quite clearly through it.”

That got her attention.

“Good heavens.” Hurriedly she leaned down, hiked up her skirts and adjusted her stockings.

He concentrated on closing his trousers. Then he refastened his shirt and waistcoat and knotted his tie with the ease of long habit. No man in the Jones family had ever had the patience to employ a valet. He grabbed his coat off the heap of crushed flora and tugged it on quickly. He smiled a little to himself when he caught the rich, spicy scents of Lucinda’s body.

“My hair,” she whispered, aghast. Frantically she struggled to pin up the long strands that had come loose from the complicated chignon. “There is no way I can repair it.”

He could hear the voices outside very clearly now. He clamped a hand across Lucinda’s mouth. She stilled instantly.

The doorknob rattled.

“Bloody hell,” a man growled. “The damned shed appears to be locked. We’ll have to find our privacy elsewhere, my dear.”

“Do not even think of suggesting that we repair to some distant corner of the gardens.” The lady’s voice sharpened. “I am not about to ruin this gown with grass stains.”

“I’m sure we’ll find some suitable location,” the man said quickly.

“Bah. We may as well return to the ballroom. I am out of the mood, in any event. I would much prefer another glass of champagne.”

“But, my darling...”

The voices faded quickly as the couple retreated in the direction of the big house.

“I do not think that man’s evening is going to end as pleasantly as my own,” Caleb said.

Lucinda ignored him. “I cannot go back into the ballroom looking like this. You must get me to my carriage. Lady Milden will have to see Patricia home.”

“There is no need to panic, Lucinda.” Feeling supremely in command of the situation, he removed the chair from under the doorknob. “I will take care of everything.”

Solving problems was what he did well, he thought, not without a degree of pride. He took her arm and guided her out of the drying shed.

He had the advantage of knowing the grounds of the Ware mansion as well as he knew those of his own house. It was no trick at all to steer Lucinda around the side, past the kitchen and the tradesmen’s entrance and out into the drive.

There were a number of carriages and several hansoms arrayed in front of the big house. Shute broke off a conversation with two other coachmen when he saw Caleb with Lucinda. He tipped his hat in greeting.

“Ready to leave, ma’am?” he asked. After one quick glance he studiously looked away from Lucinda’s hair.

“Yes,” she said briskly. “Quickly, if you please.”

He opened the door and lowered the steps. “What of Miss Patricia?”

“Mr. Jones will request Lady Milden to convey her home. Won’t you, Mr. Jones?”

“Certainly,” Caleb said, amused by her flustered air.

“Oh, and please ask her to collect my cloak from the footman, too.”

“I’ll do that,” Caleb promised

Lucinda scooped up handfuls of her tiered skirts and flew up the steps into the shadows of the cab. Caleb gripped the edge of the door and leaned inside, enjoying one last dose of her scent and energy.

“I will call on you tomorrow at the usual time,” he said.

“What?” She sounded somewhat breathless. “Oh, right. Your daily report.”

“And my breakfast. A very important meal, I’ve been told. Good night, Miss Bromley. Sleep well.”

He closed the door and stepped back. Shute nodded at him, climbed up onto the box and picked up the reins.

Caleb watched the vehicle until it disappeared into the light fog. When he could no longer make it out, he turned and went back into the house through a side entrance.

He was en route to the flight of servants’ stairs that led to the balcony when a familiar voice in the hallway behind him brought him to a halt.

“Can we interest you in a glass of port?” Gabe asked. “I’d suggest you join us for some billiards but I know how you feel about games of chance these days.”

He turned and saw his cousin lounging in the doorway of the billiards room. Behind Gabe stood Thaddeus, a billiard cue in one hand. Both men had removed their evening coats, loosened their ties and rolled up their shirtsleeves.

“What the devil are you two doing here?” Caleb asked. “I would have thought your presence was required in the ballroom.”

“Leona and Venetia took pity on us and gave us leave to take a break while they entertain a flock of elderly matrons,” Thaddeus said.

“A glass of port sounds like an excellent idea.” Caleb walked back toward them. “And so does a game of billiards. I assume the wager is an interesting one?”

Thaddeus and Gabe exchanged unreadable looks.

“You haven’t played billiards with us in months,” Gabe said.

“I’ve been busy. There hasn’t been any time for billiards.” Caleb peeled off his coat and slung it over the back of a chair. “What is the amount of the wager?”

Again, Gabe and Thaddeus looked at each other.

“You never place wagers,” Gabe said. “Something about the inherent unpredictability of random chance, I believe.”

“Billiards is not a game of random chance.” Caleb went to the rack on the wall and selected a cue. “I have no objection to the occasional wager when I can estimate the probabilities involved.”

“Very well.” Thaddeus looked at Caleb across the width of the table. “Say a hundred pounds? It’s just a friendly game among us cousins, after all.”

“Make it a thousand,” Caleb said. “It will be an even friendlier game that way.”

Thaddeus grinned. “You’re that sure of winning?”

“Tonight I cannot lose,” Caleb said.

******

Some time later Caleb replaced the cue in the rack. “Thank you, cousins. That was an invigorating interlude. Now, if you don’t mind, I must go find Lady Milden and then I’m going home. I have to rise early these days.”

“Because of your investigation?” Thaddeus asked.

“No,” Caleb said. “Because of breakfast.”

Gabe propped himself against the table. “You haven’t played billiards in months yet you managed to take a thousand pounds off each of us tonight. What made you so sure you would win?”

Caleb collected his coat from the back of the chair and shrugged into it. “I was feeling lucky.” He started toward the door.

“One thing before you leave, cousin,” Gabe said.

Caleb paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder. “What?”

“You may want to brush the dried leaves off the back of your coat before you return to the ballroom,” Thaddeus said, straight-faced.

“Are those crushed flowers in your hair?” Gabe added. “I’m almost certain they are not in fashion for gentlemen this season.”