“Melanie,” he said in a raspy voice.
Was he feeling the same feelings that she was?
When their lips finally met, it was soft and gentle, sending another tingle of heat through her. And then the kiss changed. His tongue began coaxing her lips open. And she did open for him like a flower opened its petals toward the sun, allowing him to explore the depths of her mouth, his tongue dancing with hers. Nothing else mattered. Nothing but this moment. Jonathan’s sensual lips were on hers. His tongue teasing hers, making her want so much more… When he finally pulled back and broke the kiss, she felt dizzy with wonder. Melanie knew she would remember this kiss for the rest of her life.
Chapter Eight
The Next Morning
Jonathan greeted the morning with a smile, his first thought about his encounter with Melanie in the kitchen at midnight. He tugged on the velvet cord next to his bed to summon the valet. Leaning back on his pillow, he thought about that kiss. She was enchanting. Touching his bottom lip, he recalled the feel of her lips touching his. And how she had wanted his kiss. Every time he spoke to Melanie, he found out something new about her. And there was so much more he wanted to know, including her favorite flower, her favorite color—he wanted to know all of her favorite things. She had always enjoyed life and just being around her made him happy.
The door to his room opened, and a short, red-haired young man stepped inside. “You’re up early, my lord.”
Jonathan smiled. “Good morning to you, too, Harold.”
“Yes, milord.” His valet pulled open the dark green drapes, instantly brightening the room. “Your bath is ready, and I’ve laid out your clothing. The last couple expected for the house party arrived last evening, and everyone is supposed to meet this morning for breakfast. However, Lord Rochester has asked that you stop by his study on your way. I had the impression it was urgent.”
“Thank you, Harold. I will make haste,” Jonathan said, swinging his legs to the side of the bed, slipped into the banyan his valet had selected for him, and hurried with his bath.
“This arrived for you, my lord,” the valet said, handing him a sealed missive before he dressed. “It came last evening after you’d turned in for the night.”
Too bad he didn’t know I couldn’t sleep, Jonathan thought, opening the sealed letter.
LDL ~
X is in Bath. Talbot has a high fever.
If I find out more, I’ll send it.
C
Jonathan’s brow furrowed in frustration as his valet helped him into his waistcoat and he pondered the situation. I wonder if Rochester has any informants in Bath that we could tap into. Perhaps they have contacts we can use. He realized his patience was wearing thin as he fastened the last button on his waistcoat. The days had grown increasingly perplexing; each message received felt like a riddle, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he might face an unwelcome surprise if he stumbled upon this mysterious figure in Bath. But at least he’s here and can watch over Melanie. And he was thankful his friends were with him.
Harold, his ever-dutiful valet, approached with a cravat. “I learned a new knot, my lord—at least, new for me. Lord Rochester’s valet showed it to me. It is understated yet refined. Not fussy. The way you prefer your cravats knotted,” Harold said, his fingers deftly working the cravat in practiced precision.
Jonathan turned slightly to regard the knotted tie in the mirror, taking in the careful work of his valet. “Crisp and neat, I like it,” Jonathan said with a firm nod. “I’ve seen this before but haven’t worn it.”
“Yes, my lord. It’s the Sentimentale,” Harold said with a touch of pride.
“Harold, I appreciate your attention to detail,” Jonathan said. Harold was the son of an informant who died in the line of duty while in Paris, killed by one of Talbot’s men. Jonathan had taken him under his wing, determined the young man would have a job and a place to live. Since Harold aspired to be a valet, Jonathan made arrangements to have him trained properly and subsequently hired him.
The young man beamed at the praise. Sometimes Jonathan forgot how very young Harold was.
He gave a final check in the mirror and opened the door to his room. “I’m off. If I get any other missives, please find me immediately. It’s important,” Jonathan said, planting firm emphasis on that last word as he left the room to find Rochester.
In the dimly lit study of the opulent manor house, Rochester leaned forward and spoke in a low voice to Jonathan and Worsley. “A footman informed me there’s a carriage idling outside the gate. It’s been there for a half-hour,” he remarked, with a frown.
“How curious,” Worsley replied, arching his brow as he exchanged a glance with Jonathan. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I think we’ve all arrived at the same conclusion,” Jonathan said, irritation creeping into his voice as his temper began to simmer. “Why are we sitting here like three old ladies waiting for our tea?” Jonathan growled. “She tried to kill Melanie!”
Rochester shook his head and blew out a breath. “You are letting your emotions cloud your judgment. Let’s bide our time and wait for her to reveal herself. We suspect she did it, but we have nothing to tie her to it. Melanie’s my sister. I want to get her as bad as you do. If what I suspect is true, she’s a murderer. Except for the tip from the stable hand about the carriage markings, we have nothing. She’s a peer and if that’s all we have, that’s not enough.”
“What do you suppose she’s after? This is a very bold move. She’s after something so important, she’s willing to face scandal and embarrassment,” Worsley said, his tone one of concern. “Surely she’s not after a simple chat. I think she’s after another chance with you, Jonathan. Think about it.”
“Ridiculous,” Jonathan interjected, an edge of frustration in his voice. “I have no interest in the woman. And if the rumors regarding her late husband hold any truth, I’d want to keep her at arm’s length. I wouldn’t want her in my presence.” Despite his irritation, a wave of relief washed over Jonathan as he recalled his narrow escape from her grasp. The memory of receiving her note of an impending marriage to the duke had initially filled him with dread, compelling him to track her down for a face-to-face conversation. Only to discover, through her father, that she had married two days earlier in a quiet ceremony on the duke’s estate. “Our personal business was concluded four years ago. If the widow thinks there’s unfinished business between us, the only thing left unresolved is that I received her ‘farewell’ in a letter. If she insists on showing up in person, perhaps she should be gifted a proper send-off.”
“If she knocks on the door, my grandmother will relish the opportunity to greet her,” Rochester said, his tone light. “What a fine birthday present that would be for Grandmama.”
