The Sinner (27 page)

The other man fetched one of the oil lamps and lit it. A yellow glow spread, showing Farthingstone peering gape-mouthed from beneath a sodden hat.

When he saw Fleur his eyes widened in shock, as if he had seen a ghost. He shot his companion a horrified, furious glance.

“You have an explanation for this intrusion, I trust,” Dante said, making the most of Farthingstone’s astonishment at seeing Fleur alive.

The other man lit another lamp. That gave enough light for Dante to examine this stranger. He had dark hair and narrow, unpleasant eyes.

Not entirely a stranger. He had seen him before, following Fleur from St. Martin’s down the Strand. If he was surprised by Fleur’s living body, he at least did not show it.

“I thought
you
were the trespassers,” Farthingstone said, fumbling through the words as he tried to collect himself. “Closing the shutters, bolting the door—why did you do that?”

“I was thinking that the rainstorm and this cottage afforded a splendid opportunity to make love to my wife, and the shutters and bolt would assure her of privacy. I see that I erred.”

Farthingstone’s face reddened. He appeared just as chagrined and confused as Dante had hoped.

“I would invite you gentlemen to stay and keep dry, but I am sure that you want to be on your way.”

“Yes, well, perhaps we will be off—”

“He knows.” The statement came from the other side of the chamber, where the other man stood near the stacked floorboards. “No reason to barricade himself and his lady in here otherwise. Not to dally for pleasure, I don’t think.”

Farthingstone pivoted in alarm. His gaze darted to his companion, then back to Dante. No longer chagrined, he examined the embracing couple suspiciously.

“Who might you be?” Dante asked.

“This is Mr. Smith, an acquaintance of mine,” Farthingstone said.

“He knows,” Smith repeated. “This one is not stupid, and he is playing you for a fool with his talk and manner. He saw these boards here, and the lamps. I think he knows what is happening here, and maybe why.”

Farthingstone almost burst from agitation at these allusions to the cottage. “I would prefer if you did not speak of—”

“I think he knows about matters in London too. If so, I don’t like that I’ve been seen with you.” He had been holding the pick, but now he let it drop. Reaching under his coat, he withdrew a pistol.

Farthingstone almost jumped out of his skin. “Good God, man, what—”

Smith quieted him with a scowl. He paced over and looked out the door. “Getting dark, and no one will be about in this rain anyway. We best be taking them back with us, while we consider how to deal with this complication.”

Dante eyed that pistol, trying to judge whether he could lunge for the man before it fired. As if expecting such a move, Smith had pointed it more at Fleur than him.

“We are no complication, so there is no need to deal with us. We do not even know what you are talking about, nor do we care,” Dante said.

Smith chuckled and gestured to Farthingstone. “He may not know how to judge a man, but you could say my life depends on it. I want to think a bit before I let you out of my sight. You ride with him. The lady comes with me. That way I know you will behave.”

chapter
25

L
et us get you out of those wet clothes so you can wrap yourself in this and get warm.” Dante stripped a blanket off the narrow bed and handed it to her.

The ride to Farthingstone’s house in the pouring rain had drenched everyone to the bone. Fleur’s ensemble hung in sodden folds and water still dripped off the brim of her bonnet.

The fire Dante had started in the tiny attic chamber helped some, but getting the wet garments off would help more.

Fleur looked at the blanket skeptically. “What if one of them comes up here?”

Dante bolted the door. “Now we are locked in, but they are also locked out.”

“They could use an ax again.”

“It was left at the cottage. Get dry, Fleur. I don’t want you catching a chill.”

She removed her bonnet and threw it in a corner. She turned her back so he could help unfasten her dress.

“Not quite like the last time,” she said sadly as his fingers worked at the closure. “That man. He was the one who hurt me, isn’t he? He did it for Gregory. The look on Gregory’s face when he saw me . . .”

“We do not know that for certain.” He tried his best to lie, because he did not want her frightened. He wanted to spare her as much of that as he could.

He should have seen Farthingstone’s tenacity for what it was, the desperate stubbornness of a cornered man. He should have comprehended weeks ago what that spot of land meant to him.

If he was right, he and Fleur were in danger for their lives. Right now, down in a lower chamber, Smith was probably explaining that to Farthingstone. How long would it take to convince him how it had to be? How much longer to devise a plan that might escape detection? Dante calculated that they had the night for certain, and maybe a day at best.

The dress fell. Fleur stripped off the rest of her clothes and wrapped herself in the blanket. While Dante undressed, she laid her garments over furniture, then did the same with his as he discarded them.

Finally the chairs, washstand, chest, and wall hooks were covered with their clothing. Wrapped in their blankets, they sat in front of the hearth.

“This would be very cozy,” Fleur said. “If not for—”

“We will not be disturbed tonight.”

“You sound very confident.”

“I am.”

She seemed to accept that. The fear dimmed from her eyes. “You do not really think that Gregory intended to dig for buried treasure in that cottage, do you?”

“Who knows what he may be seeking.”

“Dante, I said that you do not have to pretend for me. I know that there is only one thing to explain what he has done. His attempt to imprison me or put me away. His legal maneuvers to have my independence revoked. Finally, the attempt on my life. There is something in that cottage he does not want found, because it will endanger him if it is. He fears exposure of a crime.”

“Yes, that is likely.”

“It would have to be a serious one, for him to go this far. I think there is a body in that cottage.”

“It could be something else.”

“I think it is that, or something just as dangerous.”

Dante was not sure that he wanted her knowing this much. He was very sure that he did not want her knowing the rest.

“Why there, Dante? He could have buried a body anywhere on his land.”

“If something happened at or near that cottage, it would be easier to deal with it there than to carry a body somewhere else. The floorboards would hide the grave, and the place was vacant.”

A tiny shiver shook through her. She pulled the blanket closer. “Are you very sure that we have the night?”

“I think we have far more than the night. Hill will wonder what has become of us once the rain stops. He will start a search when we do not return.”

“The rain does not look to ever stop.”

“We will wake up to find the sun, darling.”

She clasped her knees with her arms and pressed her chin to them. She looked very young, huddled in that blanket and gazing at the fire. “I do not think Gregory could hurt us on his own. Even if he once did such a thing, I do not think he could now. It is one thing to pay someone to do it when you are not even in town, and another . . .”

Dante wanted to believe Farthingstone no longer had it in him. The problem was that once a man took that step, he probably found it easy to step again. Especially if he saw himself hanging if he did not.

And if he could not do it himself, Smith could.

“They are probably smart enough to know that their best chance is to run, Fleur. They will realize that too many people know we are here and will be looking for us.”

It appeared to help. The arms circling her knees relaxed and fell away. She resettled herself and allowed the blanket to fall loosely, as if she no longer needed its comfort.

He got up and went to the small window. “We will close out the rain and share this fire and tomorrow I will deal with Gregory and Smith. You are not to worry, Fleur.”

As he opened the window to pull the shutters, he noticed a dark shadow moving below, heading to the stables. From the size, he guessed it was Smith, going for a horse.

Going to dig, Dante guessed. He doubted Smith intended to unearth old bones either. More likely he intended to make two more graves.

He turned and watched Fleur, with her hair a tangle and nothing but a blanket wrapping her nakedness. The fire cast a gentle glow on her. She looked so beautiful. An emotion swelled in him that was so poignant, so exquisite, he could not move.

She was more precious to him than anything he had ever had or known. The very thought of life without her was so blank, so frightening, that his mind shrank from such contemplation. He had been nothing before she stumbled into his life. Taking care of her had become his first welcomed responsibility. She was his purpose for living.

He had not done his duty by her very well. He had not fathomed how dishonorable Farthingstone could be. She had, however. She had known in her heart all along that Farthingstone was constructing a lie for his own ends. They should have been looking for his reason all along, not merely working to thwart the man.

He pushed a heavy chest to the door, not caring that its scrapes on the floor would be heard below. He positioned it to block entry even if an ax cut through the door itself. It would not stop someone, but it would delay them.

He went over to Fleur and sat facing her, so he could see her face and her eyes and all the parts of her that would be beautiful forever.

The fear left her gaze as she looked at him, and the most generous warmth took its place.

He took her face in his hands, painfully alert to the softness of her skin. He kissed her forehead and her lips, and each instant contained a lifetime of perfection.

Not caring where they were, indifferent to time and place, he pulled the blanket away and lifted her. He moved her legs until they circled his hips and she sat on his thighs. His own blanket fell away with their embrace.

She glanced down at her position. “The new game that you promised me?”

“A new closeness, so that I can see you in this lovely light. There have never been games with you. Not since the first time I touched you.”

She looked down and gently caressed his arousal, making his teeth clench. “I do not know whether to be jealous or happy, Dante. The latter, I suppose. I do not like to think of your sharing things with other women that you do not with me, but I like that it is different with me in some way.”

He watched his own fingers gloss over the curve of her breast. “It is very different, in all ways. Even the pleasure is different. Nor do I share anything at all with other women, Fleur. Not even games. Not since those days in the cottage at Laclere Park. Even when we both believed we could never have this, I have wanted no one else. I have loved you too much.”

Her caress stopped. The way she looked at him stunned his soul.

“I do not think I could have been loved by a better man, Dante. Nor could I love one better than I love you.”

He wrapped her in a caressing embrace, tasting her skin, feeling her heartbeat. It was very different this time. He could not control how it affected all of him—his senses, his pleasure, his body, and his heart. He felt her awareness of him just as he was filling himself with her.

He lifted her hips and joined. The most profound contentment slid through him, warm and serene. He wanted to hold her like this forever, connected and expectant, seeing her face as the tremors of pleasure enlivened her.

They touched slowly, watching each other, letting the passion build gradually so it would last. Her kisses, warm and velvety, slowly covered his neck and chest. Her soft fingers stroked his arms and back, his shoulders and torso, while his own circled her nipples.

He felt her arousal rise with his in perfect union. Abandon claimed her at the same moment that need maddened him. Their kisses turned fevered and their caresses grasping as they pulled each other toward a ferocious peak of carnality.

They jumped together, clinging to each other. He did not lose her, even in that physical climax. She was completely there, totally his, shuddering with him as the intensity split the world with its power. Her pulse and her love and her essence filled him, and replaced his own.

The morning did not bring the sun.

When Fleur awoke in the bundle of blankets in which she and Dante slept on the floor, the patter of rain could still be heard on the roof.

His arm circled her, and even in his sleep his strong fingers held her. She closed her mind to the rain and the chamber and drank in his embrace and warmth.

As long as they stayed here, just like this, he was safe. If he never woke, he would never do something noble and brave and dangerous. If they remained in this blissful cocoon, the world would go away.

He stirred. She stayed very still, hoping that he would sleep on. Then she could hold on to the beauty of lying in the arms of a man she totally loved.

Who loved her too. Hearing that had been wonderful. Seeing it in his eyes had been breathtaking. Feeling it in their lovemaking again, knowing it for what it was, giving it a name, had left her completely at its mercy.

It would echo forever, speaking to her heart. Even after they were both gone, she did not doubt that the love would be a part of her.

Dante shifted. He rose up on his arm and gently kissed her shoulder.

“It is still raining,” she said. “Let us keep the shutters closed and pretend it is still night.”

He laid her on her back and kissed her on the lips. It was a long, sweet, regretful kiss. “I must dress, and so should you. When this is over we will find a bed and stay in it for a week.”

He rose and went to the window. He opened the shutters to reveal a sky still heavy with rain. Gray light streamed in.

So did the sound of a horse galloping away.

Dante leaned out the window. He stayed like that, his naked torso half out the small opening. As she dressed, Fleur could see him taking in the surroundings.

“No way down, and too far to jump,” he said. He looked at the blankets thoughtfully. “We are too high up to let you climb down those. It would still be a dangerous drop.”

“Whose horse was that?”

“An express post rider, I think.”

“Gregory has received an express post?”

“Or he has sent one.”

He pulled on his clothes and fished for his pocket watch. “It is ten o’clock. Later than I expected.”

Later than he expected them to be left alone, was what he meant.

“Perhaps no one is here but us.”

“I doubt that, darling. Someone is below.”

“If we yelled, perhaps a servant would come and we could explain we are being held—”

“I saw no servants when we arrived, and have heard none in these attic chambers. Farthingstone must have sent them away when he knew Smith would be coming. He would not want it known he associates with the man.”

She looked out the window. It faced the back of the house and looked toward the stables. If only there was a way for Dante to climb out—

A movement below in some bushes caught her attention. She squinted through the rain.

The bushes moved again. A bit of brown and a glimpse of straw showed, then disappeared.

“There is someone here besides Gregory and Mr. Smith, Dante. In the bushes by the path to the stables.” She waited, and the thatch of straw rose and dipped again. “I think . . . I think it may be Luke.”

Dante stuck his head besides hers. The straw crown rose and eyes appeared, sneaking a peek at the house. “Get me something to throw, so I can get his attention when he looks this way.”

She glanced around the chamber while she tried to contain the excited hope that began shrieking through her. Her gaze lit on an old wooden candlestick wearing years of crusted wax.

“Will this do?” She handed it to him.

Dante angled his shoulder and arm and head out the window and hurled.

He stayed like that, waiting. Fleur saw his finger go to his lips and then a broad gesture.

Angling to peer out and down, she saw Luke slip from the bushes and come to stand beneath their window.