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“No, of course not. Yet I can see how the idea might be helpful to you. Gain you entrance into certain circles for investigative purposes and all that.” Her small gloved hand executed a wave of dismissal. “Judging by his pictures, you look nothing like Prince Albert did, by the way. And he probably died before you were ever born!”
“Just after,” Sean supplied. “I am twenty-eight.”
“Well, much as she adored the prince, Her Majesty would hardly dote on you if it were true. Ridiculous notion. I cannot imagine how the gossip started unless you initiated it yourself for the very reason I mentioned.” She ran her pink tongue over her bottom lip. He followed the motion of it with salacious interest. “Well, did you?” she asked.
Sean laughed sincerely this time, in spite of himself. The little minx was as charmingly direct as she was beautiful. All of a sudden, this interview was highly entertaining. “As a matter of fact, I did. You’ve caught me out,” he admitted. “Although the command for a private audience with the queen to ascertain the truth of the rumor certainly did nothing to quell it. Quite the opposite. And she quite liked me afterward, by the way. I confess, it was my saintly grandmother who finally rescued us for my mother’s sake, not Her Majesty for the prince’s.”
Miss Middlebrook nodded, a smile tugging at her beautifully shaped lips.
“Surely you shan’t stop here? Please, do go on!” Sean invited.
“Very well. You have a manor in Cornwall,” she stated.
“Compliments of my unsaintly grandfather,” he supplied, amused by her aplomb and surprised by his own willingness to abet her rather thorough background enquiry.
“Once you finished at Oxford, you enlisted in the army, spent two years in Africa, then resigned and took a position with Scotland Yard.”
He smirked, narrowed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “And soon took my leave of that. Tedious livelihood.”
“Since you have entered into your private enquiry business, you accept dangerous assignments for exorbitant fees. Therefore, I conclude that you have constant need of large sums. I can make those risks unnecessary, sir. All you have to do is marry me.”
“So you want me to squire you about and take you to bed?” he added with blunt sarcasm. “In exchange for your money.”
“Exactly.” Her nod was succinct.
He held on to his fury with both hands. It was that or wring her presumptuous little neck. “As I divine it, you aren’t looking for a permanent attachment. So what, may I ask, do you intend to do after you have experienced these ‘months—perhaps only weeks’ of nomadic, marital bliss and unloaded your considerable fortune?”
She lowered those gorgeous eyes again for a mere second and then refastened that determined gaze on his. “I am going to die.”
Sean felt his lungs collapse and his stomach lurch. For a long moment he couldn’t speak. Then, as dispassionately as he could manage, he looked directly into her eyes. “There are far worse things than death, Miss Middlebrook.”
She didn’t even blink at his insensitivity. “Yes, I expect so,” she said in a small voice, “however, I haven’t needed to face any of those as yet.”
Intently Sean searched her face, took in the slight movements of her hands, her body, for signs of a lie. “Illness?”
“Yes,” she affirmed, and hurried on, saying things that barely registered through his hidden shock, “but my malady will be nothing dangerous to you. It is noncommunicable and hardly even noticeable. Just a jot of dizziness here and there, leading to a quick and painless end, so I understand.” She smiled. She actually smiled. “I’ve already seen to the…final arrangements. So you needn’t have that bother.”
Appalled by her words, Sean struggled to utter some denial, anything to refute them. But the certainty in the depth of her eyes, augmented by her courage, convinced him she spoke the truth as she knew it. He reached out and grasped her hands in his before he thought what he was doing. Her steady grip affected him more than a copious flood of tears would have done.
“You should see another doctor. Get another opinion,” he suggested evenly, burying his pity. She would not want that. “I will find a good one for you. Go with you, if you won’t go alone.”
She squeezed his hands again as though to comfort him. “Dr. Cadwallader has served as the county’s only medical resource for man and beast since long before I was born, Mr. Wilder. I have implicit faith in the man. However, I will confess this last diagnosis of his did shake it a bit. I saw one of his younger colleagues the day before yesterday. I explained Dr. Cadwallader’s findings and my symptoms. He concurred immediately.”
“Perhaps there is some treatment—”
She rolled her eyes and smirked. “Oh, Dr. Smithers had some idea of confining me to bed, dosing me daily with a concoction he admittedly brewed up on his own. But he flatly refused to state just what that medication would alleviate. Certainly not my demise. And thus far, anticipation of that is all that really troubles me. His vague answers and nervous disposition told me all I needed to know. Other than making himself rich at my expense, there is nothing he could do. And I don’t plan to waste my last days lolling about in a sickbed, ingesting heaven knows what, when I feel just fine as I am. For now, anyway.”
Sean sighed, feeling a regret such as he had never known. His own problems seemed trifling in view of Laura Middlebrook’s dilemma. Then it occurred to him. “You had only just found out about this that day I came to your home, hadn’t you?”
“Yes, and you were very kind to me then. As I said before, that is one reason I chose you to help me.”
“I cannot do this, Miss Middlebrook, even if I wanted to. There are obligations, you see. I’m preparing to travel to Paris before the end of the week. Tomorrow, in fact. I am already committed to a case.”
“How marvelous!” she said, grinning. “I’ve always wanted to go there!”
Sean quickly shook his head. “This jaunt will be no pleasure trip,” he lied. “It could very well prove dangerous. So you see—”
“I promise not to distract you from your work. And, as for the danger, I have very little to fear, now have I? Perhaps I could even assist you.”
“Don’t be absurd! That’s impossible.”
“Come now, you won’t be discommoded by this. I promise. All you need do is tolerate my presence for a bit. You needn’t nurse me if I sicken, or feel you have to mourn when…well, when everything’s over and done. Please marry me, won’t you? Just for a little while?”
Her desperate look of entreaty made him blink against a burning in his eyes. He never wept. Never let himself care enough to weep. Tears never solved a damned thing, he knew that. But his inability to reassure her, this damned helplessness to alter what she faced, wreaked havoc with his senses. He swallowed hard and shook his head, struggling one last time to deny her. But the wall Sean had hastily constructed eighteen years before to encase his innermost self simply collapsed. He felt it crumble to dust.
“I intend to go with no regrets, Mr. Wilder. And I promise to leave you with none,” she declared softly. “Please, sir, do we have a deal?”
“Yes,” he whispered hoarsely. He heard the word come out of his mouth and scrambled to form another that would retract it. Hell, he hadn’t meant to agree. “Look, I don’t…oh hell, I wish…”
She released his hands and stood abruptly. “Wishing is for fools and dreamers, Mr. Wilder. Now, step lively! We can make the magistrate’s office before closing if we hurry.”
What was he doing? Sean wondered frantically as he pulled his office door shut and rushed to catch up to her. What in the holy name of God was he doing?
“’Under the power vested in me by the Commonwealth of Great Britain, I pronounce that you are husband and wife,” ’ Sir Buford Mallory intoned as though he did it every day. Sean couldn’t imagine weddings all that commonplace around here, Mallory being a senior justice and all. She had said the old curmudgeon was a friend of her grandmother’s solicitor. Sean had met him officially while employed by the Yard. The blighter had more than a few screws loose. That condition must be highly contagious. At the moment, everyone in the room seemed afflicted, himself most especially. The Book of Offices snapped shut.
Sean blinked sharply at the sound and looked down at the girl whose fingernails were cutting into his palm. She immediately rose on tiptoe and planted a quick, noisy kiss on his open lips. Good God, he was married. Again. An involuntary shudder of foreboding racked his spine.
“There now!” she said brightly, turning to the magistrate. “Where do we sign, sir?”
She had handled everything, Sean thought with disbelief—the special license, the official to do the deed, the rings, even the kiss. He was amazed there was no choir and banks of flowers crowding the chamber.
The old judge shoved two papers across his desk and pointed to a blank spot on the first. Sean watched her write her name on both in bold, flowing script. She did it without a tremble, without a speck of hesitation. Laura Malinda Ames Middlebrook. His own fingers felt numb as he took the pen she offered and scratched his own signature.
“Cavendish?” she asked with a grin. Her shoulders shook with what he supposed to be a quiver of mirth. “How terribly awesome!”
“My mother’s maiden name,” he justified his middle one defensively. He was damned if he would explain the other two, both products of a whore’s whimsy. His glare fastened on her wide gold ring as it disappeared beneath the lavender glove. The band she had slipped on his finger felt abominably tight at the moment.
She pulled a face as he looked up again. The corners of her mouth turned down even as her eyes sparkled with merriment. “I’m only teasing. Cavendish a wonderful name. Sounds as if it needs a Lord in front of it, at the very least.”
He quirked a brow at her impertinence. “Don’t you wish.”
She ought to have looked properly chastened, but Sean heard the barely squelched giggle.
Her persistent good humor made him want to shake her till her teeth clicked. Was she bordering on hysteria? How could she smile? How could she jest?
All the way over to the law courts here in the Strand she had chattered incessantly, interrupting herself to clasp his arm excitedly as they walked. Sean had no idea what she’d talked about. He had been too preoccupied thinking of the horrendous step he was taking. Correction: they were taking. And never, not once during that whole time, had he uttered a single word to halt this travesty. Where the devil was his mind? What had happened to all that control he’d thought he had?
Why hadn’t he sent her and her nonsense packing, he asked himself with a sharp shake of his head. He was afraid he knew. He was terrified that he couldn’t deny this woman anything she asked of him. Because she was going to die, he told himself, forcing the dreaded thought to the forefront of his mind. Compassion was the only reason he had agreed to this. He thought surely he had killed that feeling along with the others, but what else could it be?
He could not bear for her to face what was left of her short life alone. Yes, that must be it. Compassion. Well, surely he could afford to exercise that full measure in this instance. Where was the harm? It was not as though he must devote the rest of his life to it. Only the remainder of hers.
The brother, that young scamp who was about as deep as a dish of tea, would be no consolation whatsoever in her final days. He would likely spend most of them mucking around the damned stables with his bloody stupid horses. Those parents of hers were still racketing around the globe just as they had been doing most of her life, from what he knew of them. Sean hated the thought of Laura left in the care of a hired servant or some such.
“Tell me truly,” she said, as they made their way out of the building and into the approaching twilight, “doesn’t it feel wonderful to be wealthy, Mr. Wilder? Aren’t you glad I had this idea? Think of the freedom this will offer you!”
Freedom? Sean glanced down at her, hoping the horror in his eyes was concealed, for he knew it was there right enough. He had totally forgotten the original transaction, the money. Had not really thought of it once she had told him she would soon die. Bought.
He changed the subject abruptly, unwilling to dwell on that one, lest he resort to cruelty. No point to it now. He might not relish the idea of being purchased again, but Laura certainly had no evil intent. The other had happened so long ago he seldom thought of it anymore. He wouldn’t now.
“Shouldn’t we dispense with formality?” he asked, striving for civility. “Shall I call you Laura?”
She beamed. “Of course you may! And I shall call you Sean. Unless you prefer Cavendish, of course. How should you like that?”
“I should hate that,” he remarked as he turned her in the direction of his rooming house.
“Are you hungry?” He didn’t think he could force down a bite if his life depended on it. His stomach felt like a melt pot full of lead. Perhaps some kind of illness had struck him, as well. Would that explain a total change in character?
She shook her head, setting the jaunty ostrich feather waving. “Not hungry really, but coffee would be nice. Yes, we shall have that and a sweet in lieu of a wedding feast. Perhaps then we should go home.” She clutched his arm with both hands. “You are taking me home with you, aren’t you? We can discuss our trip to Paris. Have you wine? We could buy some champagne along the way if we pass a wineshop. Oh, I do love walking this time of day, don’t you? The sunset would probably be glorious if we could just see past the fog.”
Before he could tell her it wasn’t fog at all, just the usual dirty air of London, she had skipped to the topic of their crossing the channel.
When she pulled him into a tea shop, where she ordered coffee and lemon cakes to celebrate, Sean allowed her to chatter on, changing subjects by the sentence. He supposed that might be how she coped, never dwelling on any one thing long enough to form a profound thought. Thinking, living, only for the instant.
If only he could make her forget completely, make her smiles real and heartfelt. Did he even remember how to do that for a woman? Had he ever done it at all?
Chapter Three
Laura swept into his apartment and did a quick pirouette around his drawing room. She sailed her wide-brimmed hat at the window and began tugging off her gloves. “Oh, Sean, this is wonderful! All browns, greens and brass. So masculine, just perfect for you.
“Oh look!” She scooped up the open sketch pad he had left on the divan. “You draw, too! I love to draw. I knew we had things in common. You’re very good,” she said, examining the picture he had done of an old man who ran a paper stall down the street.
He took the book from her and snapped it shut. “Sometimes I use it for work. Sketches help to locate people on occasion. Things such as that. Just picked it up, no formal training or anything. It’s nothing much.”
She laid a hand on his arm. “False modesty doesn’t become you at all. Tell the truth, you enjoy it. It shows in the work, Sean.”
He nodded and smiled shyly at her praise. “I suppose I do. Do you always say exactly what you feel, Laura?”
She considered that for a moment. “Yes, why shouldn’t I? Honesty’s very important to me.”
“The most important thing,” he agreed. “Though I encouraged those ridiculous rumors about my parentage, doing so was more of a private joke than any deliberate falsehood. Tweaking London’s nose, so to speak.” He framed her face with his hands. “I vow never to lie to you, Laura. About anything. I value truth above everything. It is so very hard to come by.”
His seriousness was not lost on her. “Then you shall always have it from me, Sean. Always.”
He suddenly looked so sad she couldn’t bear it. Laura wondered whose dishonesty had affected him so profoundly. And how quickly could she erase the memory? With one hand, she brushed a windblown lock off his brow and smiled up at him.
“Have you a kitchen? I can cook!”
“No.” He took her by the shoulders and stared deeply into her eyes as though looking for something hidden. “No kitchen.”
Laura sighed, totally entranced by the power of his gaze. “You have eyes like spring leaves, Sean. I do love the spring.”
He laughed softly, his head moving back and forth. “Laura, Laura, I don’t quite know what to make of you.”
“Make me a wife, then. No point in delaying. Show me what to do.” The thought of lying in his arms sent heat streaking through her body. She felt slightly dizzy from it and prayed she wouldn’t swoon. That would frighten him off for certain.
With a soft curse, he firmly set her away from him and covered his face with one hand. “Damn! Give me a moment here, will you?”
She gave him a moment. The silence grew so loud she couldn’t bear it. “Does it put you off, then? My illness, I mean. You really don’t have to do anything if you don’t want. Just being married is quite—”
He whirled abruptly and kissed her. Laura felt her thoughts dissolve and sizzle like butter in a saucepan. She opened her mouth when he urged it, and took him in with a greediness that shocked her. He tasted faintly of sweet coffee and something uniquely male. Overwhelmingly male. God, how delicious! His tongue demanded a response and she gave it, meeting his determined forays with eager inexperience and delight. Her breasts swelled against their binding silks, begging more pressure from the stiff brocade of his waistcoat.
When he finally released her mouth, Laura realized her knees had given way completely. She hung in his embrace like a puppet cut loose of its strings.
His harsh breath rushed out against her ear. One large hand gripped the base of her neck and the other cupped her just below her ruched-up bustle.
She could feel a taut ridge of muscle pressed firmly to her front. Well, at least he wasn’t too put off, she thought with purely female satisfaction.
“What comes next?” she gasped.
With a groan of exasperation, he swept her up in his arms and sat down on the divan. “We have to talk,” he said, settling her on his lap.
Those wonderful hands of his stroked up and down her arms. She supposed that was meant to calm her. Ha! “No, we don’t need talking,” she argued, seeking his mouth again. She felt starved for him, and so very much alive it hurt.
He turned his head to avoid the kiss. “Yes, we do! Wait a moment!” His breathing slowed to nearly normal as she waited. “Now then,” he said, and cleared his throat. “About your luggage—”
“Bother the luggage. It’s not going anywhere.” She tugged on his tie, watching the bow unravel.
“Laura, I’m warning you. Behave yourself!” Sean admonished sharply, and pushed her far enough away to see her face. “Look, everything’s happening too damned fast. I need time to think. There are things we need to consider…to plan.”
Laura reached up, cradling his face with both hands. “No,” she said gruffly. “Plans require a future, Sean. Do you understand that? There is only here and now. This moment. If you can’t bring yourself to do this, just say so and I shall get up. If you can, then for heaven’s sake, please do it!”
Sean leaned his forehead to hers and sighed. “This seems wrong, Laura. We’ve only known each other less than a day.”
“A lifetime,” she whispered as she turned her head to meet his lips. He surrendered with a tortured groan.
She tried to record his every touch, every nuance of his heated kisses, every word fragment that passed his busy lips. No use, she decided, and abandoned herself to the sweeping fire he ignited.
How had they gotten from the divan to his bed? She gasped at the feel of silk sliding off her hips. The rustle of his clothing sounded like the sweetest music in the world.
Suddenly the muscled, hair-roughened texture of his bare chest brushed over her own soft curves. Lips blazed a path down her neck, across her chest, and settled on a tightened peak of need. Her breath hissed in through her teeth. His palm glided over her knee and trailed up her inner thigh. Anticipation immediately lost its appeal. She wanted him now.
“Open, sweetheart,” he whispered, tasting her ear. “There now,” he crooned as his fingers worked magic. “Hot, you are so incredibly hot! Feel that. Do you like?”
“Mmm. I like,” she agreed, arching into his hand. “Yes!” When she thought she could stand no more, he stopped. Laura would have pleaded if she’d had a voice left.
“I know, I know,” he soothed as he rose above her. “You might not like this part,” he warned softly. “Try to relax. Let go.”
She felt his male part nudge her gently and automatically lifted herself toward it.
“Steady now,” he said, thrusting gently, seating himself more firmly against her tight resistance. Then he plunged.
Laura struggled to get even closer, but he held her immobile with the weight of his body and his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t rush me. You’ll regret it,” he murmured, and claimed her mouth again.
Tenderly at first, then growing insistent, his tongue invaded, moving in and out rhythmically, until her entire being focused solely on that act. Before she knew it, his lower body echoed the motion. How wonderfully pleasant, she thought, feeling herself join the intimate dance he created.
Pleasant quickly escalated to sublime with the marvelous friction inside her. Laura groaned into his mouth, wishing he would hurry. She didn’t understand her urgency, didn’t care at this point, but he seemed to sense her need and increased the pace to a fever pitch.
“Ah, now!” he rasped as the first shudder of ecstasy shook her. The rippling force of pure pleasure sent her flying into a void of star-studded nothingness. Everythingness, she corrected with a shaky last thought.
When feeling returned, she opened one eye. Sean lay plastered to her side, muscles glistening with sweat, his chest heaving with exertion. Spent. Laura smiled. “Better than talking, hmm?”
He grunted a soft laugh and nuzzled his face into the curve of her neck. “Better than anything.”
She couldn’t say when she drifted off to sleep, but when she woke it was to the smell of food. He had anticipated her hunger. Known what she needed before she even realized it, just as he had last evening. And he didn’t waste a moment. The idea that Sean would go to such lengths to please her warmed her heart. What a husband! No one could ever say Laura Middlebrook Wilder hadn’t made at least one truly excellent decision in her lifetime.
“Thank you, God.” She closed her eyes and whispered with a grin. “I don’t think I’m quite so angry with You anymore.”
Sean hefted the tray onto his left palm and entered the bedroom. The newly arrived letter in his pocket rustled as he turned to close the door. This one, delivered right to his rooming house, bothered him more than the one sent to his office. Prepare to die, it said. Someone—very probably Luckhurst—was toying with him. But he couldn’t concern himself with that right now. The writer of the dratted things would surely give up the game by the time Sean had finished his business in Paris.
If the fool meant to frighten him, Sean could almost laugh at the pitiful effort. For the past ten years, he had lived daily with danger that bore no forewarning at all. His first ten years of life had been much the same. Worse, really, due to lack of training to deal with the perils he encountered. Watching his back became second nature, a way of life. These little scare tactics didn’t unnerve him in the least. But they did present a bothersome puzzle, and puzzles distracted him from more important matters.
He would have to dismiss the letters. Just forget them. Today he had a greater puzzle, a distraction and an important matter all rolled into one. A wife.