Her cheeks flamed. “But I can’t. You know…it’s that time…”
“It doesn’t matter what time it is.” His hot eyes seared through her inhibitions. “We decide what’s right for us. Now kiss me.”
With a shameless moan, she did. His kiss fanned the fire inside her and soon she was rubbing herself wantonly against him, riding his leg toward her own finish line. She cried out, her hands clutching his bulging biceps as ecstasy crashed over her.
Floating and boneless, she slumped against the wall, would have fallen if he hadn’t held her.
He nuzzled her ear. “I like waking up with you, sweetheart.”
“I like waking up with you, too,” she whispered.
17
“Let me do the talking,”Bea said.
Wick handed her down from the carriage in front of the parish church. “As you wish.”
She squinted at him through her dark veil, which she’d worn for the trip into the village. His expression was as suspiciously bland as his reply had been.
“You’re just going to agree to let me take charge?” she asked.
“I’m learning how to negotiate with you, angel. When I let you take the initiative, the results are outstanding. Take this morning, for instance.”
The lazy smolder in his eyes caused an answering flare in her belly. She glanced around, worried that someone might have overheard. Luckily, the only one within earshot was her chaperone, who she’d brought along for appearance’s sake. Curled up in a corner of the carriage, Tottie couldn’t be seen through the open door, her light snores the only reminder of her presence.
“You oughtn’t speak of such things in public,” Bea whispered.
“No one knows what we’re talking about. Unless your whispering is making them suspicious.”
Rolling her eyes, she said, “Let’s stick to the plan at hand. We’ll question Reverend Wright about his whereabouts the night of the fire. I’ll show him the pocket watch, see if there’s any reaction. ‘H. C.’ doesn’t match his initials, although his given nameisHenry. Maybe he has another name that begins with C.”
“Where you lead, I will follow,” Wick said gallantly.
She placed her gloved hand on his offered arm. They entered the front gate, heading toward the stone church with mullioned windows and a square tower at the far end. She pinned up her veil before passing through the arched entrance into the nave, which was small and plain, with white walls and rows of dark pews.
She saw Frank Varnum, the curate, arranging something on the altar.
Mr. Varnum had been assigned to the church a few months before Reverend Wright. With sandy brown hair and spectacles, the curate was in his twenties and had a slightly bumbling but kind manner. In the times they’d met, before Bea had stopped attending the reverend’s services, Mr. Varnum had always been nice to her. And to her tenants as well, who spoke well of him.
He didn’t seem to register their presence as they approached the chancel.
Bea made a clearing sound in her throat. “Good morning, Mr. Varnum…”
Despite her effort not to startle him, the curate spun around, knocking a candelabrum off the altar and sending candles rolling in all directions.
“Oh, pardon! It’s you, Miss Brown.” He flushed to the roots of his sandy hair. “Please excuse me for a moment…”
He scrambled to get the candles that had disappeared beneath a table. Seeing his panic, Bea was about to help him but Wick said, “Allow me” and went to collect the other dispersed sticks. He returned, handing them over to the grateful young man.
Bea made the introductions.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Murray.” Mr. Varnum bent at the waist before turning his bespectacled gaze to Bea. “I was sorry to hear about the fire, Miss Brown. And thankful that the heavenly Father watched over you and your tenants, ensuring no one was harmed.”
“Thank you. I was wondering if Mr. Murray and I might speak to the reverend?”
“Oh, do you have an appointment?” The curate blinked owlishly. “I’m in charge of Reverend Wright’s scheduling, and I’m ever so sorry if I forgot…”
“We don’t have an appointment, Mr. Varnum.” Bea gave the flustered fellow a reassuring smile. “Would the reverend be available to see us?”
