Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Talk of a romantic dinner and a fantasy evening at the Adelphi reduced Reid’s burning need for justice to a simmer.
Had his grandfather aired his concerns respectfully, Reid wouldn’t be so damned angry. Yet the words the viscount used betrayed his disgust. Words like waif and stray and that woman . Words, like his disgraceful actions, that roused a deep distrust in the man who longed to mould Reid in his own image.
“There is another way to solve our problems,” Miss Moorland said brightly. “We could pretend we’re married. It would save me from the Merricks and prevent you from making a dreadful mistake.”
“Pretend?” Did she not see the flaw in her logic?
“What harm will it do? When the truth comes to light, we could say it was part of a plan to catch a killer.”
He should be overcome with relief, not feel a rising rebellion in his chest. The practicality of Miss Moorland’s suggestion would not silence the gnawing need to kiss her again. Nor would it banish the primal urge to strip her out of that unflattering dress.
“We’re good at letting our imaginations run wild.” A slow smile curled her lips. “My heart flutters whenever you mention the Adelphi.”
The angel on his shoulder prodded him, quick to point out the problem. “If we live here under the guise of being married, we’ll have to share the same bed. What if the lines between illusion and reality become blurred?”
Her gaze slid over his body like she had already lost the battle, but she shook her head and raised her chin. “Why would they? When we consider what’s at stake, I’m sure we can exercise restraint.”
“I’m not sure we can.” It may have been possible before they ravished each other’s mouths at the Hare and Hounds, but he was more than eager to repeat the experience.
Furrows appeared between her brows. “Of course we can. We’re intelligent people unswayed by moments of fancy.”
“You underestimate the power of a passionate kiss. Permit the rogue in me to reveal your error.” He captured her chin, lowering his head until their mouths were mere inches apart.
She gasped softly.
“Your heart is racing, Miss Moorland.” Excitement shone in her eyes like the moon’s rays on a verdant forest. “Your lips part like they have a will of their own.”
“You know how to unnerve me, sir.”
“Yet you’re not afraid.” He touched his mouth to hers, relishing the hitch in her breath as he pulled away. “I seek the sensual woman you suppress. The one you hide because you believe she has no place in a man’s world.”
“Society will always restrict my options,” she said, their hot breath mating in the ether. “A lady must choose between marriage and ambition.”
“What if I said you could have it all, Miss Moorland?” He brushed his lips over hers again, a delicate whisper of a kiss that barely lingered before parting. “What if I unlock the shackles and let you take what you desperately desire? It would be our secret.”
Her throat worked tirelessly as she fought to regain control.
“Use me … use me for your experiment,” he whispered, the ache in his abdomen tightening as blood pooled in his loins. “Take what you want without abandon. Explore the desire I know pulses in your veins. I know how badly you want to taste?—”
Miss Moorland seized him, clasping his coat lapels in her dainty hands and yanking his mouth to hers.
She kissed him, a wild, passionate assault that hardened his cock in seconds. There was no time to breathe, no time to think, no time for anything but this savage need for each other.
His heart galloped.
His pulse soared.
They were kissing open-mouthed, their tongues slipping through the seam of their lips, stroking, teasing. Erotic thoughts swamped him: the need to inhale the musky scent of her arousal, to drive into her wetness and feel the tight hug of her around his swollen cock.
His fingers chased down her back, sinking into her soft buttocks. He gripped her fiercely, the need to lose himself in her evident in his grinding hips and guttural groans.
They stumbled backwards, falling against the workbench as their hands raced over each other in a frenzy, tugging at clothes in a desperate bid to ensure neither broke contact.
He reached behind her, swiping away documents and baskets of herbs, ready to lift her onto the table and wedge himself between her parted thighs.
That’s when the damn pestle rolled onto the floor and landed with a clunk, the sound bringing them hurtling back to reality.
Mother of all saints!
Miss Moorland dragged her mouth from his, heaving a breath while her eyes glimmered with a fervent hunger. “Good heavens! That was … that was …”
“Incredible?”
“Dangerous.”
“Indeed. It’s hot enough to send the mercury soaring.” He battled for control, though lust called for him to lead the charge. “You see how easy it is to succumb to our passions.” Hell, Reid trembled like a schoolboy tossing off while spying on a maid. “There’s no hope of us sharing the same bed.”
Miss Moorland touched her swollen lips. “No, not when you can count seduction amongst the skills you’ve mastered. As with most things, I’m out of my depth with you, sir.”
“It’s not me, madam. I may have teased a reaction, but you’re responsible for the throbbing bulge in my trousers.”
A flash of pride darted over her features. “I am?”
“I’d beg you to touch me, but I suspect it won’t end well.” If they were married, he’d hike up her skirts and have her on the workbench. “Passion can be dangerous.”
“Or enlightening. I’ve just thought of an alternative to marriage.”
“Yes?”
“The degenerates cannot bid on my virginity if I’m no longer chaste. Indeed, there’d be no reason for them to offer marriage at all.” She smiled sweetly, which made her next comment more shocking. “The solution is simple. If you’re willing, you can take my virtue.”
Reid had received many scandalous proposals in his time, many too vulgar to mention. Never had a woman offered herself on a silver platter with no care for her own pleasure.
He’d dismissed the suggestion, explaining that drastic measures were unnecessary. Hickman’s sudden knock on the dispensary door had brought a halt to the conversation, and Miss Moorland focused on preparing a mustard poultice and filling a basket with the required tinctures.
Even now, as Reid sat opposite her in his carriage en route to visit his patient, Mrs Ludgrove, thoughts of making love to her rebounded in his mind.
Perhaps she had used a potion to bewitch him. The curious blend of wisdom and wildness certainly held him captive. Miss Moorland was like a complex tapestry; every thread was rich and varied, and every study offered an enchanting surprise.
How would that translate in the dark realms of his bedchamber? Would her hands be as bold as her opinion? With her passion raw and unguarded, would her touch be his undoing?
“Mr Hickman was none too pleased at me leaving the dispensary.” She drew her gaze from the window. “I’d agreed to sit with him and explain the use of clay to reduce swelling.”
“We have more important matters to contend with.” Reid felt a stab of jealousy. His secretary spent more time in the dispensary than at his desk. “Besides, he believed the story about introducing you to female patients.”
“Yes, the idea sounded plausible.” She eyed him over the rim of her spectacles. “Unlike my suggestion about you taking my virtue, which doubtless sounded like the ramblings of a madwoman.”
Reid found himself smiling. “There was method in your madness. You came to a logical conclusion based on your dire circumstances.”
“Well … and our kiss this morning had me thinking about the cure for hysteria.”
“It did?” Lust pulled at him like an anchor in a storm. He imagined stealing her journal, scrambling madly to her notes on the condition because he’d wager she’d documented how it felt to come by her own hand.
“Wasn’t that the point of the exercise?”
“Yes, it was.”
“And you were right.” A crimson glow touched her cheeks. “Something happens when we kiss. Excitement surges like a drug through my veins, hot and intoxicating. I forget everything but the craving for more.”
His mouth went dry. The desire to have her was an ache he struggled to suppress. It was a perfect time to make a confession. “Can I trust you with a secret, Miss Moorland?”
She sat ramrod straight. “Of course.”
“It’s important you know the truth in case we find ourselves at the altar. It may explain my grandfather’s vehemence.” He held her gaze. “Give your word you’ll not repeat it to another soul.”
Miss Moorland crossed her heart. “You can trust me.”
Reid tried not to think about his mother when he said, “I was born a week before my parents married. It’s a complicated story we can discuss another time. But my grandfather manipulated the facts to hide my illegitimacy.”
Her brow quirked in surprise. “How? Did he pay people to lie?” she said without judgement.
“No, but my baptism records do not reflect the actual date of my birth. To my knowledge, it is a well-kept secret. But if I marry, I cannot deceive my bride.”
“I see.” She looked calm, her gaze steady, unblinking. “I appreciate your honesty and would expect nothing less from a gentleman of your good standing. It’s not important, as there’s no need for us to marry if you’re happy to pretend.”
“Would it be important if we were marrying?”
She thought for a moment. “No.”
“I’m baseborn, Miss Moorland.”
“You’re a gentleman to me, sir.”
He snorted. “The way we kiss says I’m no gentleman.”
“Are you suggesting I’m not a lady?” she said, amused.
“You’re a remarkable lady.”
She smiled. “Then there is no argument.”
As they fell into a companionable silence, he recalled what the countess had said about her a mere month ago.
Miss Moorland’s father was a gentleman who fell on hard times after marrying his second wife. There was no come-out, which is just as well as she’s not one for crowds.
Reid imagined her at a society ball, quiet and restrained, pressing herself to the wall so she might blend into the background. Few men would notice her subtle beauty or the fiery spark in her eyes or the passion filling her heart. Miss Moorland was a diamond hidden in plain sight.
“I believe I have a solution to our problem,” he said. Surely a lady who wished to break free from the rigid confines of society craved adventure. He’d be the one to give it to her.
“Which problem exactly?”
“The scandal of us sharing a bed when we’re unwed.”
“Will the solution spare us both from the chains of matrimony?”
“Indeed. It will enable us to create a convincing illusion.”
She arched a brow. “I must say I’m intrigued, Mr Gentry.”
He grinned, ignoring the fact his friend Rothley would need persuading. “We’ll stay at the Marquess of Rothley’s estate, Studland Park. It’s a half-hour ride from town. The Merricks can’t reach you there, and there’ll be no one to question the authenticity of our fake marriage.”
She pursed her lips, her fingers twisting the hem of her coat sleeve. “Stay with the marquess? I have nothing suitable to wear.”
“Rothley won’t give a damn if you wear a coal sack. I’ll speak to him this evening.” He was to meet his friends at White’s, an appointment he planned to cancel, but the Countess of Berridge was right. It was time he was honest with those closest to him. “Rothley’s support will add credence to the deception.”
Miss Moorland wasn’t convinced. “I doubt he’ll want house guests. He’s a private man. On the rare occasions when he visits the countess at The Jade, he shows little tolerance for strangers.”
There were many reasons for Rothley’s insular attitude. None that Reid had the right to mention. “If you can withstand Aaron Chance’s abrupt manner, you can withstand Rothley’s indifference.”
“I suppose.”
The carriage drew to a stop outside Mrs Ludgrove’s townhouse in Chandos Street, Marylebone. Reid alighted and assisted Miss Moorland to the pavement.
“How will we question Mrs Ludgrove without causing alarm?” she said, her gaze flitting to their joined hands. “She’ll wonder how we know about her visit to the Hare and Hounds.”
Reid considered the problem. “We’ll suggest there may be an issue with the laudanum I prescribed for her sleeping disorder. I’ll pretend I saw her at the coaching inn.”
“Very well.”
Mrs Ludgrove’s butler looked relieved to see them and beckoned them into the house. “The mistress is in the drawing room, sir, nursing one of her megrims. She’ll be grateful you arrived so promptly.”
Puzzled by the fact they were expecting him, Reid introduced Miss Moorland as his colleague and herbalist. “Follow me, sir. I shall announce you both at once.”
Stretched out on the gold damask sofa, her white cat curled beside her, Mrs Ludgrove acknowledged them by raising a limp hand from her brow.
“Thank heavens. You must have sensed the distress in my note,” said the attractive woman in her early fifties. “I cannot bear the pain a moment longer.”
As Reid hadn’t read the note, he was careful with his reply. “Can you explain the symptoms to me again, Mrs Ludgrove? I’ve brought my herbalist, Miss Moorland, in the hope she might suggest a suitable remedy.”
Mrs Ludgrove lifted her head as if it were filled with lead, each inch a struggle with gravity, and scanned Miss Moorland through narrowed eyes. “Is she not a bit young to offer advice?”
Miss Moorland spoke up. “I’ve been studying herbalism since the age of ten, Mrs Ludgrove. Nature often provides the answer to every ailment.”
“Not mine,” the woman protested. “Ask Mr Gentry. I’ve been suffering sleepless nights for months. And these terrible headaches have begun to appear at odd hours of the day.”
Reid approached the sofa. “Headaches are often a symptom of sleep deprivation. We never established a reason for your restless spirit. The cure lies there.”
“That’s the point, Mr Gentry.” With a groan, Mrs Ludgrove sat up, gathering the cat onto her lap. “I have slept soundly every night for the past week. I’ve taken six drops of laudanum as requested, but it’s only recently started taking effect. It’s most peculiar.”
“May I see the tincture?” He suspected she’d been doubling the dose.
“Pinkerton!” she called before ringing the tiny hand bell on the side table. The sudden din made the cat leap to the floor and dart behind the sofa.
She sent her butler to fetch the tincture from her nightstand.
Miss Moorland mentioned the headaches while awaiting the servant’s return. “Too much laudanum can cause dizziness and a throbbing head. Might these new pains coincide with your improved sleep?”
“Well, yes.” Mrs Ludgrove huffed as if affronted. “I’m not an imbecile. That’s what I’m saying. Might there be a problem with the tincture?”
A shiver of suspicion ran down Reid’s spine. “Have there been other symptoms? Nausea? Forgetfulness?”
“I misplaced my mother’s pearl earrings. I woke in a stupor and couldn’t remember where I put them.” She looked at the butler as he entered the drawing room. “And I’ve had Pinkerton hunting high and low for my ruby brooch.”
“As I said, madam, you wore the brooch on your outing with your cousin in Upminster and returned home without it. There’s still no reply from the missive you sent to her.”
“Upminster?” Reid said, stealing an opportunity to mention the Hare and Hounds inn. “Yes, I thought I saw you at the fair and later at a coaching inn on the Barking Road. I called out, but the inn was crowded and you failed to hear me over the high-spirited revellers.”
Mrs Ludgrove’s face turned ghostly pale. “The Barking Road?” The question burst from her lips in a shrill squeak. “I did visit an inn on the journey home, though the name eludes me.”
Pinkerton handed Reid the tincture. “It’s the bottle you sent with the new delivery boy two weeks ago, sir.”
Reid’s heart raced. “I didn’t send a tincture with a delivery boy.” He examined the label on the brown bottle. “This looks like mine. It’s from the same apothecary on Long Acre.”
He removed the cork and sniffed the infusion. The bitter smell of opium laced with sharp spirits had him jerking his head at the unexpected potency. “And you’ve been taking six drops of this before bed?”
Mrs Ludgrove winced. “Perhaps a little more. The glass dropper is fiddly and quite temperamental.”
Reid gave Miss Moorland the bottle, seeking her opinion.
She sniffed and came to the same conclusion. “The ratio of opium to alcohol is higher than you usually prescribe. Far higher than you would recommend for a sleeping draught.”
“Indeed.” He needed to question Hickman and the apothecary as a matter of urgency. “It explains the dizziness and headaches and Mrs Ludgrove’s memory loss.”
Miss Moorland drew him aside and lowered her voice. “We need to be honest with her. We cannot leave without warning her of the potential danger.”
He agreed—touching her upper arm to reassure himself more than her—and addressed Mrs Ludgrove. “I must ask a delicate question.”
The lady clutched her lace-trimmed chemisette to her throat. “Does it relate to the tincture?”
“I didn’t send the tincture. It’s far too strong. I suspect whoever did, wants to ensure your memory is hazy.” Noting the confusion in her eyes, he added, “I must inform the magistrate at Bow Street. He will send a constable to take a statement.”
Reid inwardly cursed his nemesis.
Once word got out, he would lose half of his patients.
“A constable?” Mrs Ludgrove said, a frisson of fear in her voice. “But … but … I don’t understand. Why would anyone want to hurt me?”
Reid wished he knew the answer and vowed the cunning devil would pay with his life. He looked at Mrs Ludgrove, wondering how to ask if she had a lover.
Miss Moorland came to the rescue. “There is talk of a man from Barking preying on widows.” She crouched before Mrs Ludgrove, the action matching the caring tone of her voice. “He may be a thief, targeting attractive, mature women. It’s said he uses laudanum to subdue them because the ladies are often intelligent and astute. He’s known to frequent the Hare and Hounds.”
Although Mrs Ludgrove shook her head dismissively, she slapped her hand to her mouth like she might vomit.
“Have you encountered such a fellow?” Miss Moorland continued. “If you would rather not speak to us, you must mention it to the constable. And you mustn’t take any more medicine until we find out who sent the bottle.”
A grave silence ensued.
Mrs Ludgrove’s eyes grew watery, the whites streaked with red veins.
“We’ll leave you to rest.” Miss Moorland stood and brushed her skirts, her compassion evident in her measured movements. “You may send for me or Mr Gentry if you have any concerns.”
Reid reiterated the sentiment.
They were about to leave when Mrs Ludgrove uttered, “Wait! His name is Mr Fellows. He works at Coutts. I met him at a bookshop in the Burlington Arcade. We take supper together at Antoine’s every Wednesday and have done for the past month. He invited me to the fair in Upminster, to dine at an inn and stay?—”
She stopped abruptly, omitting the part where she had shared a room with him at the Hare and Hounds and he took more than her ruby brooch.
“Was he present when you misplaced your earrings and brooch?” Reid asked.
“Yes,” she said, averting her gaze.
“If you could describe him, it would be a great help.” Miss Moorland spoke in the soft, polite voice that put people at ease. “I wouldn’t want to cast aspersions on an innocent man, but it’s important to check the facts.”
Mrs Ludgrove’s cheeks flushed a mortified pink, her posture stiffening. “Mr Fellows claims he’s thirty. He has brown hair and an athletic physique. I believe he studied mathematics at Cambridge, though it could be a lie.”
I know what you’re thinking.
I’m a lonely, old fool.
The unspoken words lingered in the air.
Miss Moorland gave an unaffected smile. “Thank you, Mrs Ludgrove. The information will prove invaluable. We’ll leave you to rest now. A pleasant stroll around the garden and a cup of valerian tea may help you sleep tonight.”
They bid the lady good day and withdrew.
“We’ll visit again next week,” Reid said, retrieving his hat from Pinkerton. “Send word to the practice if her condition worsens or you receive any unwanted gentleman callers.”
Pinkerton frowned. “Unwanted gentleman callers, sir?”
“Mrs Ludgrove should avoid visitors for ten days.” Reid prayed the devious Mr Fellows was their man and they would have him in custody soon. “I’m confident the tincture is making her ill.” The excessive dose of laudanum had caused her symptoms. “But we cannot rule out an infection.”
Pinkerton nodded. “We’ll take every precaution.”
“Forgo your half-day off this week. Someone should be here at all times, just until Mrs Ludgrove makes a full recovery.”
Mrs Beckman had died when her only servant was absent.
They left Pinkerton issuing orders to the maid and returned to the carriage. Reid checked his watch and instructed his coachman, Nokes, to drive to Fulham Palace.
“Fulham Palace?” Miss Moorland settled into the seat. “We don’t need a licence for a fake marriage. Why trouble the bishop?”
“The licence lasts three months. As we cannot anticipate the depth of the Merricks’ depravity, we might need to marry in a hurry.”
“I suppose staying vigilant is wise.”
Reid had other reasons for wanting the document.
Something surprising happened when they kissed. Lust banished every decorous thought and intention. This forced proximity didn’t help matters.
And perhaps he would use the licence as bait.
A way to test his grandfather’s loyalty.
To determine if he could trust his own kin.