Jayne Krentz - Don’t Look Back

“Why didn’t Nan say anything?” Anthony asked.

The boy shrugged. “We all knew Fitch had been let go with no references nor extra wages to see him through to another position. Reckon Nan figured he was entitled to help himself to a little something by way of a retirement pension.”

“Would Fitch have had access to the keys Mrs. Rushton carries?” Emeline asked. “Could he have made a duplicate?”

The lad thought about that and then shrugged. “Don’t see why not. He had plenty of chances to use a bit of wax to make a copy.”

“What do you mean by saying he had plenty of chances?” Anthony asked.

The lad looked surprised by the question. “During one of their afternoon meetings upstairs.”

Emeline frowned. “What afternoon meetings?”

The boy looked at her. “Soon after Mrs. Rushton arrived, she told Fitch that he was to make regular reports to her concernin’ the health and mental condition of the master. They used to meet two or three times a week in the afternoon in one of the upstairs bedchambers.”

Emeline felt herself turning pink. She dared not meet Anthony’s eyes. “I see.”

The boy’s brow puckered in some confusion. “I once overheard Fitch tell Pa that Mrs. Rushton was in… in… inedible.”

Anthony looked at him. “Inedible?”

The boy frowned. “Don’t think that’s the right word. It was in-something, though, I’m sure of that much.”

“Insatiable?” Anthony offered in a very neutral voice.

“Aye, sir.” The lad cheered. “That was the word. Mr. Fitch said that Mrs. Rushton was insatiable. ‘Wears a man out and that’s a fact,’ he said.”

“Did your pa give you Fitch’s address?” Emeline asked quickly.

“Pa said he had a little house in White Street.” The lad looked anxious for the first time. “Will you be paying me now, sir? My pa said I was to be sure to collect the fee ye promised.”

“No need for alarm.” Emeline gave Anthony a brilliant smile. “Mr. Sinclair will be happy to pay you.”

Anthony gave her a wry look, but obligingly pulled out some money to give to the lad.

The boy seized his fee, grinned happily, and raced off. Anthony watched him disappear around the corner.

“I seem to recall Tobias mentioning on one or two occasions that whenever Mrs. Lake offers a fee for information, he somehow ends up paying it.” He raised his brows. “It appears that particular skill runs in your family.”

“Keep an accurate account, sir. We shall settle the finances at the conclusion of the case when our clients pay us.”

She started to pull on the glove she had removed a few minutes earlier to check for Anthony’s pulse. She paused when she noticed that her fingertips were trembling. Anthony had nearly been run down. She was still shaky with relief. She had to work hard to adjust the glove.

“Emeline, are you all right?”

It was too much. He acted as if nothing untoward had occurred. She rounded on him.

“You could have been killed,” she said loudly.

The words seemed to echo against the looming walls that framed the street.

“I’m all right,” Anthony said.

“Yes, I know. You saved that boy’s life, but you could have been killed.”

“Emeline, I don’t think-”

“What would I have done if you had been crushed beneath that bloody carriage?” Her voice threatened to rise to a shout. “I cannot bear to think about it, do you hear me?”

“I expect they can hear you two streets over,” Anthony said.

“Oh, Anthony, I was so terrified.”

With a small cry, she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

A small shock of surprise went through him, but he recovered instantly, holding her so close that she could scarcely catch her breath.

“Emeline.” His voice was low and hoarse. “Emeline.”

He yanked at the strings of her bonnet with one hand and pushed the obstructing hat back off her head. He raised her face and kissed her with a wild, reckless passion that stunned her senses.

What was left of her outrage evaporated in a rush of thrilling heat. She had dreamed of this moment for weeks, tried to imagine what it would be like when Anthony finally kissed her. But the experience was unlike anything she had envisioned.

Anthony’s mouth was urgent, hot, demanding. When he opened it against hers, she felt the edge of his tongue. She shuddered, utterly astounded by the intense intimacy. His arms tightened around her, molding her to the length of his body in such an intimate manner that she was aware of every contour of his strong frame.

He shifted slightly, one hand sliding down her spine to curve around her hip. She could feel him pressing against her thigh.

Two years ago she had prevailed upon Lavinia to provide some specific information on the nature of physical passion between a man and a woman. She had also given serious attention to the erotic decorations on some of the Greek and Roman vases she had seen in Rome. But nothing she had learned had prepared her for this raging excitement, let alone the size of the unyielding bulge behind Anthony’s trousers.

He dragged his mouth off hers, tipped her head, and kissed her throat. She was trembling now, utterly transported. The very pavement on which she stood threatened to dissolve beneath her feet.

“Anthony.”

“Good God.” Anthony abruptly broke off the kiss and raised his head. He was breathing hard. “Forgive me, Emeline. I don’t know what came over me. I can only apologize-”

“No.” She clapped a hand over his mouth to silence him. “I vow, sir, if you say that you are sorry, I shall never forgive you.”

He studied her over the edge of her fingers. Then a warm light appeared in his eyes. She felt his mouth curve into a smile beneath her palm. Cautiously, she lowered her hand.

For a few seconds they just stood there in the middle of the street, gazing into each other’s eyes.

“Anthony?” She was having difficulty breathing properly, she realized.

“Come.” Anthony grasped her elbow and propelled her forward toward the end of the lane. “We must hurry. Tobias and Mrs. Lake will want to know about Fitch.”

“Yes, of course.” She wondered if all gentlemen were so adept at switching moods in moments of great passion.

Then again, perhaps Anthony had not felt the same intensity of emotion that she had just experienced in his arms. This was, after all, the first time she had ever been embraced in what one could call a serious fashion. Granted, while in Rome she had indulged in a stolen kiss or two in a garden or on a terrace, but she had considered the small incidents more or less as experiments. The results had been interesting, but not particularly inspiring, in her opinion. Certainly they had not set fire to her senses as this kiss had just done.

Anthony, on the other hand, was two years older, a man of the world. He had no doubt kissed any number of women in such a fiery manner.

It was an appalling thought.

She was mulling over the dark vision of another woman in Anthony’s arms when she glimpsed the object that the coachman had hurled toward her.

“I almost forgot.” She came to a halt. “He threw something at me as he went past.”

“Who? The bloody coachman?” Anthony followed her gaze. His expression hardened. “Looks like a rock. Rot the bastard’s eyes. He could have hurt you.”

“There is something tied to it.”

She hurried across the pavement to where the rock lay on the ground. There was a string tied around it. Attached to the string was a piece of paper.

“It’s a note.” She removed the paper and unfolded it.

Anthony came to stand behind her. He read aloud over her shoulder.

Stay out of this affair. Where

there has been one murder,

there may well be another.

“We assumed that the coachman was attempting to run down the gardener’s son, perhaps to prevent him from talking to us.” Anthony looked at the others gathered in Lavinia’s small study. “But now it appears that the man likely never even noticed the boy. He was intent only on delivering his message. Must have been following us, saw his opportunity, and took it.”

“A warning.” Tobias lounged on a corner of the desk and contemplated the note that lay on the polished surface. “It could have been sent by almost anyone involved in this affair.”

“Well, it certainly isn’t going to stop us from pursuing our investigations,” Lavinia said from her post behind her desk.

“Absolutely not,” Emeline declared with equal force.

“I agree.” Joan Dove absently arranged the folds of her elegant gray skirts. “In fact, it only whets one’s appetite to solve the case, if you ask me.”

“Indeed.” Lavinia plucked a leather-bound volume from the shelf beside the desk, flipped it open, and picked up a quill. “I have begun a journal of events that are directly related to this affair so that we may keep track of all the information and observations that come our way. I shall enter this bit about the note while it is fresh. Emeline, tell me everything you noticed regarding the coach and the driver.”

Emeline launched into a detailed description. Lavinia wrote swiftly. Joan rose and went to stand beside the desk, listening intently and offering occasional comments.

Tobias glanced at Anthony, who was watching Emeline with a grim expression. The incident in the street near Banks’s mansion had left its mark, he thought. This was no longer merely an exciting adventure so far as his new assistant was concerned.