Three Nights of Sin (15 page)

“Only the pertinent items as I’m filling you?”

Her mind crossed as he pulled her against him, the place that he had just devoured pressed tightly to a thickening area of his trousers.

“Or is it morbid to talk about these types of things while making love? Most likely. But we are closer now, Marietta. Soon we’ll have your brothers released and there will be no more family worries.”

She thought that was a strange comment. Phrased oddly.

He was back to the seducer. A man in control. Whatever had ailed him had been switched to the background. She could see the shadows lurking behind his eyes, but the bright green was whispering all sorts of promises.

“What did you just do to me?”

Of all the things vying for her to ask, that was the one that emerged.

“I tasted you, Marietta. I’m not displeased to say that you taste exactly as I thought you might. Strong and sweet.”

Flabbergasted and hot, the clutched butterflies that had been trapped in her stomach since she met him,
the ones that had returned fuller and brighter after being scattered to pieces last night, beat more furiously against their binds.

“That was a quick taste, though. Furious. Should we slow it down and try again? I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she said faintly. She was trying to read his eyes, which always told the truth, but they were hazy behind the film in front of her own. She blinked to clear them, and though his words were the practiced ones of an extraordinary rake, his eyes were hot. The cynicism in them tempered by real passion.

She wasn’t ashamed to admit that his practiced words would have done the trick alone. It was hard to believe that even the most stalwart of women wouldn’t want to believe herself special enough to cause that type of attention, false as it would likely prove, from this type of man. But the look in his eyes made his words pale in comparison. Her chest, her throat, her cheeks were on fire. Scorching heat that seemed to jump right from his green eyes into her skin.

“Good.” He unbuttoned her dress, unlatched it and let the top pieces hang as he laid her back on the table, her dress spreading out on the surface with her lying in the center.

He touched the exposed skin as he circled the table. He leaned over the side and licked a stripe over the material covering her right breast.

“I haven’t had dinner yet. This looks like the most marvelous feast I’ve ever seen.”

The rational part of her mind said she was far too
bony and gangly to be particularly attractive. The rest of her took a blacksmith’s hammer and beat that part of her mind into submission as his warm breath coasted over her skin.

“I don’t know where to start. Everything looks so delicious.”

He drew a finger down her breast. She followed his finger’s path, the rise and fall of her chest in continuous motion. “Your dress, your stays, your chemise. The layers of cloth rubbing together. Does the silk rub your skin? Does the linen perk your nipples? Do they become taut and peaked and grasping for touch?”

So sensitive. And on fire. The poor butterflies had been burned to cinders, now kindling in her flames. Her body arched up unconsciously, following his fingers as he stroked from the outside of her breast to the peak through the remaining cloth.

“What do you wish, Marietta? For me to remove your stays? Your chemise?” he whispered in her ear. His fingers moved to her other breast. “To take your nipples, one by one, between my lips and feast?”

Whatever had happened to her before was coming back. She was hot, her body languid and sleek.

“If I—”

Her hands moved of their own volition, touching his cheeks, framing his face, interrupting him. “Yes, Gabriel. Anything.”

Her hands lovingly smoothed the skin of his cheeks, the feel of silk with just a hint of bite.

She arched into him and it took her a moment to realize he was standing stock still against her. His fin
gers frozen in place. His eyes shuttered. The look on his face foreign and strange.

“Gabriel?”

He recalled a rakish smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes, which were glued to hers.

“I—”

His eyes shut. Pinched together.

“I—”

His eyes opened and darkened to jade. Leashed control. As if he had lost it for just a moment and harnessed it back with all his might.

“I will make you beg for the want of it.”

His fingers drew circles on her stomach, then moved down her skirt and underneath. Intent and purposeful. Seeking and demanding. He gave a little hum of pleasure and his eyes darkened further.

His fingers curled into her warmth, into the place where everything coalesced.

“It’s like pure liquid gold.”

Before last night she would have wondered if such a thing were possible. She crushed a paper in her hand. It obviously was. His thumb grazed
that
spot and her hips jolted up. She couldn’t stop a moan.

“That’s right, Marietta. Show me what makes you moan.”

She was a marionette on a set of strings, and he was pulling every one. She didn’t even need to vocalize her begging, as her body’s language was simple to understand, her noises uncontrollable. And though it might make her nervous later, right now she couldn’t dredge up the outrage.

His thumb grazed her again and one of his fingers
dragged along something inside of her. She moaned again and started to pant breaths. The heat was too intense. It was everywhere. And unlike before when she’d been taken by surprise, this was a buildup. To that lovely feeling. But it wasn’t a lovely feeling now. It was frustrating and jaw-clenching. Like a carriage that would not go fast enough, or a dream where she couldn’t run.

She felt his mouth, saw the top locks of his head bowed between her legs, her skirt obscenely bunched around her waist, her knobby knees bare to the air. Felt him do something, and she exploded. Her stomach clenched as the top half of her body half rose from the table and then flopped back down. Tremors wracked her, and he continued touching her as she rode the lovely feeling. The end of the frustration.

She settled one hand on her stomach, breathing deeply. The second time was somewhat different from the first, which had been different from last night, but it was lovely all the same. An even more languid feeling took over her body. She was exhausted.

She saw him watching her from between her bent knees. There was something dark and dangerous in his eyes.

“You are now mine, Marietta Winters.”

“E
xplain to me again about this odd man?” she asked.

He should have reveled in the fact that she was still flushed and slightly breathless, but his heart was beating much too quickly. He had lost control for a moment there. The world tilted oddly on end. He couldn’t let that happen again. He had needed to switch his plan to take her against the table to simply pleasuring her again instead. He was afraid of what might have happened had he done the former. Would she have entangled a piece of his soul?

“He was seen lurking around the last victim more than once. We need to track him down,” he said.

He shoved the fear away. He was in perfect control. He always was. Nothing had changed. Nothing
would
change.

“How did you discover this?” she demanded.

“Luck. There was a notice about a necklace matching the one the woman had on. An inquiry into the necklace gave me a name and an address, along with
the information that a strange man had inquired after it and was always following the victim around.”

Spun tales in his direct power.

“And the middle two victims?”

“Still no word on them.” There hadn’t been. He didn’t count that he already knew their names.

“Shall we tell the Runner?”

Cold sweat broke out on his forehead and he surreptitiously wiped the side of his hand across it. “Not yet. We need to establish something first. He’ll never believe us otherwise.”

She looked disappointed. He wanted to shout. There was no way he was telling Dresden a thing. Just a little bit of investigating on Dresden’s side and…No. He wasn’t even sure why he was telling her this part. Better for him to secrete her with her brother and carry this on himself.

He tried to say that exact thing. His mouth opened but nothing emerged. He tried again. She looked expectant.

“Yes?”

“Nothing.”

It wasn’t healthy, this want, this need, to keep her around. Why? Because she seemed able to read him more than any other female of his quite large acquaintance? Because he liked sparring with her? Because of that damned spark that wasn’t going away?

What the devil was it about her?

She wasn’t that attractive.

His mind was already conjuring up plenty of pictures of her face in wanton lust. How she responded to
him. He had never seen anything more beautiful than her response.

She was too opinionated.

He hated doormats. He liked her spark.

She wanted control.

The voice in his head was silent.

“Gabriel?”

“Yes?”

“You haven’t said a word for an entire minute. And you are looking at me as if I’m a summer roach.”

He quickly wiped his face of expression.

“You really think it’s this man? This renegade footman?”

“I think we should search the address I was given and see what we can find. Perhaps we find nothing on the footman. But if she did think he was stalking her, perhaps we will.”

He had spun a fast tale. He had left Alcroft out of it, and anything to do with either him or his family as well, of course.

He’d protected Jeremy all his life. He would take the fall before Jeremy, if it came down to it. There was no question in his mind. It was purely fact. His brother would be protected over everything.

He gazed into Marietta’s eyes. Was it any wonder, after all, that she had sparked something in him from the first? Concern for her brother outstripping everything, including self-preservation.

“When are we going to search her house?”

“In the morning. We can use the daylight instead of having to rely on lamps and lights. The neighbors might notice.”

“And how are we going to get inside?”

“Leave that to me.”

Marietta looked around a bit frantically as Gabriel did something to the door of number six. No one seemed to be paying them any mind, but she felt as if there was a news caller on the corner shouting, “Illegal tampering,” and pointing right at them.

Relief swept through her as the door clicked open and Gabriel walked inside. She hurried after him and he pushed the door shut.

“Where did you learn to do that?”

“A good ser—” He fiddled with the tool he had used, closing it. “A good sir always knows how to pick a lock.”

“That makes not a whit of sense.”

He smiled wolfishly. “That it doesn’t.”

She had no reply for that and followed him as he poked around the front hall. There was a table stand with unopened mail and a ring of keys on top.

“What do you suppose happened to the servants?”

“Let go, perhaps?” He lifted the ring. “An odd thing for a butler to leave the house keys behind. I can try the servant network and see if anyone knows anything.”

Not one to question the value of servants’ gossip, Marietta pawed through the invitations, recognizing a few of them. “Abigail Winstead was a member of society. Not an outstanding member from the invitations, but she had a few connections.”

She fingered a gold filigreed invitation in disgust. “The Shossers didn’t see fit to extend us an invitation a week ago.”

“It is surprising that society hasn’t wanted the gossip directly.”

“Oh, they did, at first. We had a number of callers the first two days.” She threw the invitation down. “But no one wants us to grace their doors now. At least not yet. I wouldn’t be surprised if when Kenny goes to trial we receive a few—to judge our state, mind you.”

“Cynicism is such a lovely trait to possess.”

“Realism. You should know the difference.”

He hummed in agreement and poked through more of the unopened mail. “Shall we see if we can find her writing desk?”

The victim’s writing desk was in her sitting room. A lovely mahogany box with mother of pearl inlay. Marietta opened it and found a jumble of papers, as if someone had collected the lot and thrown them inside. She touched the edge of a book and unearthed a leather-bound journal from the mess.

“What did you find?” Gabriel was searching the table, where papers were neatly stacked.

“A journal.”

Gabriel’s head shot up. “A personal journal?”

The initials engraved on the cover seemed to indicate it as such. “Seems to be.”

“Let me see it.”

She pulled it out of his range and opened the front cover.

The journal was torn from her hands. She gasped. “How rude. Give it back.”

He held it out of her reach and flipped through. Something flitted past his eyes. He seemed to be looking for something.

“Gabriel!”

Page after page flipped, as she inelegantly reached for it, even going so far as to use the chair to stand higher. He simply moved away from her.

She sat in the chair and crossed her arms. It seemed an eternity later that he stopped flipping pages.

“It’s just a silly personal journal. Nothing is written since 1815. We need to find out if she kept any correspondence about her fears.”

Marietta held out her hand for the journal. He paused a moment, then tossed it to her. She sniffed and tucked the book into her bag. She wasn’t sure why, but she wanted to read it later. She began paging through the loose sheets. Gabriel sat next to her and grabbed a handful as well. His warmth seeped into her side as they rummaged and sorted bills from letters from notes. She leaned into him.

If only Kenny weren’t in prison, and women weren’t being murdered, the whole thing would feel like some grand adventure.

“She owed a lot of creditors.” Marietta looked around the room. “From these notes I would think her in dire straits, but the house is well-appointed.”

“Living beyond her means. Your brother is quite familiar with the state.”

She gave him a haughty stare and returned to the papers.

“She seems quite…scathing.”

“Do you mean comments like this, ‘Maid a twit. Frame her for jewelry theft next week.’”

Marietta stared at him and then pushed the side of the note in his hand down so she could read it. “Does it really say that?”

“No.”

The note said to purchase legumes from the grocer. She whacked him in the leg. “I almost believed you too. I’ve read more than a few in that vein.”

“How do you think I came up with that one?”

“Twit.”

“Gull.” He smiled. Warmth spread through her and she leaned in a little closer as they continued to read.

He made a triumphant noise. “There’s an address listed for the footman, Jacob Worley. She hired an investigator.” He flipped through the pages in his hand. “There are a number of observation pages here.”

Marietta held up the page she had just been skimming that had an account of the footman’s activity on a Wednesday two weeks past. “You are right. Here are a few more. Seemed the footman really was following her around. Right scary that must have been.”

He bumped her shoulder in a companionable fashion. “Gather all the correspondence. We’ll take it with us.”

“What if someone notices?”

“I’ll return it when we get through it all. The ser
vants are gone. Shouldn’t be too difficult. I saw a lease agreement. The house is rented through the month.”

Marietta nodded and grabbed the haphazard stack, shoving it into her bag.

“I want to look around, see if we can find anything else.”

Looking around only seemed to show that Abigail Winstead was fastidious and odd. Her strict sense of order with everything else in the house made it even stranger that her writing case would be so messy.

A peek into an armoire drawer showed a few things that a straitlaced woman would not possess. Various sized implements of different dimensions were nestled into clothing that a lady would never wear. Ladies that weren’t trying to free their brothers, she amended.

“If you want one of those ‘tools,’ I can find you one. But you are assuredly not taking hers,” his low voice whispered in her ear.

“I don’t even know what they are for.”

He turned her around and pulled her against him, her body connecting pleasurably with his. “We can easily change that.” He looked around and there was a dark light in his eyes. “But not here.”

“Well, that answers my question about what they might be used for. Are sexual pursuits always on your mind?” She whispered, though she didn’t know why. They were completely alone.

“Oh, most definitely.” He grinned darkly.

There was little else of consequence in the house. The overorganized feel was somehow more threaten
ing than the spartan feel of their temporary house. Marietta was happy to leave. Gabriel picked up the key ring and the invitations and locked the door behind them. The birds were chirping discordantly as they walked down the path and back up the street.

“What do you think of Abigail Winstead?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” She looked at him. “What do you?”

He stayed silent for a minute as they walked past brownstones and lovely brick facades, colorful flowers trailing from their pots and troughs.

“Single-minded.”

She tipped her shopgirl’s bonnet. “Yes, I think I agree. So she would have likely been single-minded about the man who was following her.”

“Yes.”

“Do you think she might have gone after him?”

“Perhaps. But she was murdered on a corner far from her house. Far from this address as well.” He tapped the bag containing the papers they’d collected. “Why?”

She shook her head. “Perhaps we will find some clue in her papers.”

Marietta settled in with Abigail’s journal after dinner in the small drawing room on the first floor. Unlike the other rooms, it had a cozier feel, with two armchairs and a plush settee. Gabriel had stepped out, but she expected him back any minute. She’d had to retrieve the journal from his room. How it had ended up there, she didn’t know. She knew he thought the journal silly, but she couldn’t help seeking it out.

The journal unfolded like a story. Her eyes were glued to the elegant writing. It was fascinating and horrifying.

A hand touched her shoulder, then drew along her throat, up under her chin to her cheek. She hadn’t even heard him walk up the stairs, she was so absorbed. She leaned into the touch, as she had for the past two days, and turned the page to the next entry, dated a week later.

The hand along her cheek stopped its movement. “What are you reading?” She was left staring at her hands as he plucked the book from her grasp. “Abigail Winstead’s
journal
? Where did you get this?”

“From the stand inside
your
room. Speaking of which, I put that in my bag! How did
you
get it?”