Hart put his mask back as well. He strolled down the room after his wife, watching her run her fingers over items she found interesting. She paused in front of a painting, tilting her head to one side as she studied it. Curious to see what had caught her eye, he came up behind her. The painting was of a flurry of butterflies in flight. It hung on a wall with a dozen other paintings.
One just a couple of paintings further down caught his attention, and he moved to get a better look. The painting depicted the seaside. Gentle waves lapped at the shore. Birds in flight dotted the horizon, and woman in a white dress stood staring out at the ocean, her parasol a splash of pink against the blue sky. Or perhaps she watched the two small boys in short pants as they crouched to play in the sand. Hart could almost feel the ocean breeze flutter the lace on her dress. He absently rubbed a hand over his heart. The peaceful scene reminded him so much of his childhood outings to the sea when his mother was still alive.
“I like the butterflies. You may purchase it for me as my birthday present.” Lucy came next to him. She slid her hand in his. “This one is nice, too.”
He squeezed her hand. “We’ll take both of them.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The next fortnightwas an idyllic blur. She and Hart spent all their time together, lounging in the gardens as she read out loud to him, going for rides in the park, and eating intimate dinners in the cozy breakfast room, which was fast becoming her favorite room in the house. Hart spent as much time nibbling on her as he did actual food. He would set her on the table, pushing her skirts up and up. Then he spread her legs, kissing up their length to feast on her sex until she was moaning his name.
Lucy sighed and squeezed her thighs together under the table as she thought about last night’s feasting. She glanced across the table at Hart, who watched her with his stormy eyes. That look, she’d learned meant he was thinking about the same thing. He seemed to always know when she was aroused. Perhaps it was his particular talent, or perhaps she had always underestimated how much he noticed about her. Today, though, they couldn’t get distracted. They had promised to attend the garden party of Lord and Lady Hollins, who were good friends of Trudy’s.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “We have to leave soon. It takes almost an hour to get to the Hollins’s home.”
“Then don’t sigh and bite your bottom lip like that. You know it drives me mad with lust,” he replied. “Why are we going to social functions? I thought we were supposed to be on our honeymoon.”
“Trudy said that since we are still in town, we only get a short reprieve. If we were traveling, we could take longer.” She took a bite of eggs; she was famished.
Hart frowned. “I wish I could disappear with you to Belstoke immediately, but I must still pursue the few leads we have discovered about my family.”
She nodded. “Today may be an opportunity to observe some of your father’s friends. According to Trudy, everyone will be there. It is the Hollins’s twenty-fifth anniversary, and their annual party is well attended.”
Hart nodded and speared a sausage with his fork, taking a bite. His appetite had returned. She was gratified to see him eating so well at every meal. The hollowness around his eyes and cheeks that she had noticed weeks ago when he first arrived in town was gone. She liked to think she had a part in his recovery.
It was clear he had not been taking care of himself for the past year. And not just from his eating habits. His shoulder often pained him, not that he would admit it. Stubborn ass. She planned to convince him to let her massage it again. If she could ever get him unclothed all the way. Even at night, while they slept in his big bed, he always had a nightshirt on to cover him. She’d had glimpses of the terrible burns that started on his right hip and which she knew stretched all the way up to his shoulder and to the back of his neck. She sighed again.Patience is a virtue.
“Perhaps the threatening letter was not from a man at all,” she said. “Based on what we’ve learned about your father’s private life, it could be from a woman. A mistress that he discarded? Perhaps it turned into a crime of passion.”
“But what of the symbol at the bottom?”
“True. And how would it involve your brother? Unless Robert decided to accompany him to meet her and work out some deal. Perhaps they planned to pay her off to leave your father alone.” She picked up a ripe tomato slice. “But that does not explain the symbol stamped on the letter.” Biting into the slice, she chewed thoughtfully. “No, it has to be one of his cronies. Sometimes, my imagination runs away with me.”
“I love your imagination.” Hart winked. Then he took a sip of tea. “I have been thinking that it was all about some business deal, but maybe you’re right. His murder could have been an act of passion. Blackpool all but admitted how much he hated my father for what he had done. But I doubt if he were the murderer, he would have told me his motive.”
Lucy nodded in agreement. “I’ll keep an ear out for gossip. Have you spoken with Trudy?”
“Yes, I asked her about the stamp and told her my suspicions. But she didn’t remember anything about that time period. She seemed to believe the official story.”
“At her age, she has seen many family and friends pass on. She would have had to make peace with their deaths.”
Hart tugged at his hair, shoving his fingers through it viciously. “I cannot make peace with their deaths until I know the truth.”
Lucy rose and came around the table to slide onto his lap. She smoothed his hair where he had tousled it. “I know. We will solve the mystery. I promise.”
His arms came around her waist. He placed a kiss to the hollow where her neck met her shoulder. She felt his long inhale.
“This dress is far too low cut. How will I be able to focus on anything but your pert breasts today.”
Lucy giggled as he made snuffling noises against her neck, placing open-mouth kisses as he went. She leaned her head back to give him better access.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Go away,” Hart called out. It was his habitual response to anything that interrupted them.
But she pushed at his shoulders. “Hart, we cannot get distracted.”
His mouth returned to her neck. “I promise I won’t muss you,” he mumbled as his tongue licked behind her ear.
