Àìàíäà Êâèê - Quicksilver

At the base of the steps the hair suddenly stirred on the nape of her neck. Her intuition sent a sharp jolt of warning through all of her senses.

"Owen?" she began.

But he was already reacting, pulling her aside so quickly that she stumbled and would have fallen if he had not steadied her.

A figure in a hooded cloak swept past so close that the edge of the cloak whipped against Virginia. A gloved hand lashed out, missing Virginia's shoulder by inches. She knew that if Owen had not yanked her out of the way, the cloaked figure would have shoved her down the long flight of granite steps.

It was all over in an instant. The cloaked figure slipped away into the throng. The crowd closed up, oblivious to what had occurred.

"Wait here," Owen ordered. "Don't move."

He started past her. She knew that he was going after the cloaked figure. She put out a hand to stop him.

"Owen, no," she said urgently.

To her surprise he stopped. His eyes burned. "She tried to push you down the steps."

"It was an impulsive act. She is not our killer."

"Impulse or not, if you had gone down those steps you could have broken your neck."

"There are a lot of people in the way. I'm sure they would have broken the fall. It is more likely that I would have twisted an ankle."

"Owen,Miss Dean, wait."

The sound of Nick's sharp, urgent voice came from the street. Virginia turned and saw him plowing a path through the crowd. He had a firm grip on Charlotte's hand, hauling her with him.

Owen watched the pair come quickly toward them.

"What did you see?" he asked Nick.

"I glanced back in this direction just as I was assisting Miss Tate into a cab. Saw a figure in a cloak push through the crowd. Her movements were very deliberate. It appeared that she was determined to get to Miss Dean. Thought maybe she wanted to have a word with her, but there was something about the way she was moving that did not seem right. Then I saw Miss Dean stumble."

"Someone brushed up against me," Virginia said. "It was an accident." But even as she spoke, she remembered the frisson of intuition that had seared her senses.

"The woman in the cloak tried to push Virginia down the steps," Owen said.

"Who was it?" Charlotte demanded. "Did you see her face?"

"No, but I saw her glove and her shoes," Virginia said. "It was Adriana Walters."

Iam very certain that Adriana acted on impulse," Virginia said. "Nothing more."

Owen looked at her from the opposite seat of the carriage. In the shadows of the darkened cab it was impossible to read her face. "She hates you."

"She is seething because she fears Leybrook is going to let her go, and she blames me. I understand. But she is not the one who murdered Ratford and Hackett. You said yourself, the killer is a man."

"It does not follow that she is not linked to the killer," Owen said. A fever was simmering in him, but it was generated by frustration. It had not been easy to let Adriana escape.

Virginia hesitated. "Well, I suppose anything is possible, but my intuition tells me that Adriana is not involved in murder."

"Intuition is not always reliable."

"Think about it, Owen. If Adriana was in league with the killer, she would have had no reason to try to push me down the steps. Hurting me or even killing me in that manner would not have achieved the murderer's ends. He is using his victims to lay down energy in mirrors. That requires planning and preparation."

"She is dangerous, Virginia."

"She is a woman scorned. I will be careful around her."

"You should have let me go after her."

"For pity's sake, Owen, what on earth would you have done with her if I had let you catch her? She would have declared the whole thing an accident and pointed out that nothing bad happened. What proof would you have had to offer that the shove was deliberate? And all of this would have taken place in front of an audience of people who do not trust you. It would have been a fiasco."

He said nothing.

"Well?" Virginia said. "What could you have done?"

"Frightened her out of her wits."

There was a short, startled silence.

"Yes, well, you can be quite intimidating. I have no doubt but that you could have thrown a good scare into her."

"I meant literally," he said very softly. "It is part of my talent. I could have gone further. I could have frightened her to death."

"Oh." Virginia cleared her throat. "I see. Have you ever actually-"

"Yes."

"But only monsters."

"Yes."

"Adriana Walters may be a problem, but she is not one of the monsters."

"They hide in plain sight, Virginia. That is what makes them so bloody dangerous."

"Which is why you need proof before you take such permanent action. You have no proof to use against Adriana."

Owen tapped his fingers against the seat and switched his attention to the street scene outside the window. "You're right, of course."

There was a long silence.

"I do appreciate that you have committed yourself to protecting me while you hunt for the killer," Virginia said after a while.

He turned his head to look at her. "I would walk into hell to keep you safe."

There was a short, shocked silence.

"Owen," she whispered.

Tension, desire and a lot of hot but unfocused energy shimmered invisibly in the atmosphere. He dragged the carriage curtains shut and reached for Virginia. He drew her toward him, opening his legs to make room for the waterfall of skirts and petticoats between his thighs.

"You cannot begin to guess how much I want you," he said.

He pushed back the hood of her cloak, caught her face between his hands and kissed her, hard and deeply.

She returned the kiss with sweet, feminine excitement. His blood was already running hot in his veins, a volatile brew of sexual desire seasoned with the fierce, elemental need to protect Virginia. The knowledge that she wanted him brought the temperature to the scalding point.

He released her face and slipped his hands beneath the folds of her cloak. He found the hooks of the bodice and began to undo them one by one. She clutched his shoulder and made a soft, urgent little sound.

"Damned bustle," he muttered a short time later. "How the devil do women manage with the things?"

Her laugh was soft, husky and sensual. "Carefully, Mr. Sweetwater. Very, very carefully."

He would have taken her there in the dark, intimate confines of the cab, the bustle be damned, but for the unfortunate fact that the drive to her town house was far too short for what he had in mind. Nevertheless he could not restrain his passions entirely. By the time the carriage halted in front of Number Seven, the interior of the cab was as humid and scented as an overheated stillroom filled with exotic herbs and mysterious spices.

Virginia's hair had come free of her tightly pinned chignon, and he had one hand inside the partially undone gown. His own clothing was also in disarray. His tie hung loose around his neck, the front of his waistcoat was open, and so was the collar of his shirt. He was as hard, if not harder, than he had ever been in his life, with the possible exception of the last time that he had made love to Virginia.

"It seems we have arrived," he said against her mouth. He moved his thumb over one delicate nipple.

"Already?" Virginia sounded breathless and a bit dazed. She slipped her hands out from under his shirt with obvious reluctance.

"Perhaps we might continue this very enlightening conversation concerning the progress of our investigation over a glass of brandy?" he suggested.

"Excellent notion."

He smiled and raised the hood of her cloak back up over her head to conceal her tousled hair. She pulled the folds of the garment around her to hide the unhooked bodice. An edgy anticipation aroused his senses like a potent drug.

Somehow he managed a reasonably dignified exit from the carriage. Virginia's hand trembled when he assisted her down to the pavement, but she appeared outwardly composed, as always.

He paid the driver and waved the vehicle on its way. The need to get Virginia into the house and out of her clothes was almost overpowering, but he took a moment to survey the darkened street, looking for shadows within shadows.

One particular shadow shifted in the front area below the steps of Number Seven. A hand appeared out of the darkness, waving enthusiastically.

Virginia stifled a small yelp and peered into the inky depths. "What in the world? There's a man down there."

"Good evening, Uncle Owen," Matt said.

"Where's Tony?" Owen asked.

"He's in the garden, watching the kitchen entrance," Matt said.

"You're both supposed to be in the attic of the empty house across the street, damn it," Owen said.

"This is closer to the muffins and the coffee, sir," Matt said.

"What muffins and coffee?"

Virginia looked at him. "Owen, who is this?"

"My apologies, Virginia. Allow me to introduce my nephew, Matthew Sweetwater. He and his brother have been keeping an eye on this house for several days. Matt is the one who told me that you had not returned from the Hollister mansion the other night. Matt, this is Miss Dean."

"A pleasure to meet you, ma'am," Matt said respectfully.

"Mr. Sweetwater," Virginia responded automatically. She looked at Owen. "You said you had put watchers on my house, but I didn't realize they were your nephews."