To his surprise, she slid from his grasp, pushed him down to sit on the side of the bed, and knelt in front of him, unfastening the buckles around his shins. Then he nearly lost his breath when she pulled his foot up and leaned back, easing his boot free.
The light shone through the lace shirt as she did so, dappling the bare skin beneath, illuminating the pale silk gleam, and the curves of her breasts. Freed from the corset, the luscious curves pushed at the lace. There was nothing he wanted more than to rip the delicate stuff away, and feast on what was revealed.
Both his boots were off—must have happened when he was distracted—and she was rising to her feet, her cheeks flushed now, the pulse in her neck fluttering.
He stayed seated, but pulled her close, unfastening her shirt button by button. Slowly, very slowly, he pushed the fabric aside, and gently cupped her breasts, loving the little sighs and gasps she made as he teased her nipples to taut nubs with his fingers.
“Lucas,” she whispered, her eyes closing. “Oh God, Lucas...”
He leaned forward, replacing his fingers with his tongue. Her indrawn breath, more than a gasp, slightly less than a shriek, pleased him enormously, since he was enjoying every minute and wanted to make sure she did as well.
When her hands grabbed his head and pulled him away and back to her mouth, he pushed off her blouse and then pressed against her, skin to skin.
She stilled. “Oooh...yes. Oh yes. You’re...so...”
He never heard the end of that, since she muttered against his mouth, kissing him now with enthusiasm, energy, and desire, all erupting from her at once.
“It’s been so long since I felt a man’s skin against mine,” she whispered, pulling free of the kiss. “I used to like the warmth. Now...now I like the heat, the feel, the hard strength beneath...God, Lucas, I want...”
“Take off your underclothes for me, Verity. I want you naked.”
“I will if you will,” her chin went up.
And there she was. The fiery, give no quarter, woman of iron and steel. And yet there was an enticing dash of shyness as she unfastened her petticoats and slid free of her underdrawers.
He mimicked her movements, ending up in front of her, both of them naked, aroused, on fire.
“Lucas,” she sighed. “Oh Lucas, you’re beautiful.” Her gaze wandered over his body, making him even harder, as if such a thing were possible.
Speechless, he gazed at her. Then he held out his arms. “Come here, Verity. Come to me.”
She simply nodded, walked into his embrace, and tumbled them both onto the bed, skin slithering over skin, arms entangled, rolling and laughing.
Then...the fire burst into flame.
And Lucas Ashcombe, the aloof and mysterious bachelor of Sectorvale, the man with the practical and mathematical mind, left his wits behind and claimed the woman he now knew was his.
Chapter Fifteen
After his guests had departed Pembroke Hill, Alastair was left with a number of papers, and a hell of a lot more questions than answers.
The morning’s discussion had certainly borne valuable fruit; they now knew thehowof the incidents, which would definitely be helpful as their investigations moved forward. They did not, however, yet understand thewhy. Locating thewho, of course, would most likely reveal thewhy, but any chance of either of those two events happening at the present moment? A hope so thin it would barely cast a shadow.
He tidied up his table, smiling a little at the delight he’d felt when he’d seen the two Ashcombe brothers together again, and equally pleased to see Verity—a woman he considered to be vastly more intelligent than any other woman he’d ever met—hold her own at his table. She’d matched idea for idea with the gentlemen quite effortlessly.
He’d not missed the subtle but consistent looks cast at her by Lucas Ashcombe, either. And while she’d not looked at him as much...when she did? There was something in those lovely grey eyes he hadn’t seen before. As if a smile lurked in their depths. They’d be a good match, and he wished them well, but he’d learned that interfering in such matters most often did no good whatsoever.
So he would let nature take its course and turn his mind back to the problem at hand.
Unbeknownst to the others, Alastair had seen one or two clues. Mere hints not really formed well enough to be called officially “clues”, and certainly nothing that pointed him to anyone in particular, nor anything he’d felt like discussing at thispoint. It would have been lovely, he sighed, if the hint had said something like “You might talk to the retired accountants who live on the Second Level of Arcvale, 1419 Slide Lane. They know things.”
But, being a realist—and also an indefatigable reader of murder mysteries—he knew that seldom was there ever a clue obvious enough to reveal the perpetrators. It would have been too much to hope for, even with all the focussed brain power he’d had around his table this morning.
What really irritated him was the fact that this was thesecondevent. And he’d only realised that as he’d pursued clues to their current situation.
Was there a way to go even deeper into the earlier records? Would any of them be easier to interpret than the ones they were currently working with?
It was, he believed, a valid question, and one he might just look into if he had time.
