Chapter 19
Helena insisted on finding her own way home after Cynthia’s carriage dropped them in front of the Mayfair mansion that would soon belong to another Marquess of Kentmore.
They agreed Cynthia would come to Blair House at eight that evening, which left Cynthia with several hours on her own.
It was a gift of time she greatly needed to process all she had learned and try to prepare for a dinner where she was likely to learn a great deal more.
‘Magic and murder have a way of draining one’s energy,’ she mumbled to herself, as she pushed open the door to her parlour and nearly screamed in shock.
‘You didn’t respond to my note.’ The Duchess of Devon sat on Cynthia’s rose settee, her silver hair piled high in a glamorous style that must have taken her lady’s maid hours to create.
Her summer day dress was cut so low in the front, Cynthia was quite sure she caught a glimpse of rouged nipple.
The bright floral embroidery covering the gossamer fabric reminded her of a hot house bouquet.
Diamonds and sapphires dripped from the duchess’s ears and glittered around her neck, drawing even more attention to her ample décolletage.
‘Your Grace! I only just received your letter this morning and haven’t had a chance to read it. Is everything all right?’
The duchess stood, her corset cinched tight to contrast a round bottom made even more voluptuous by what had to be an impressive bustle beneath her skirts.
‘My darling girl, things are more than just all right. I thought it best I come check on you, as I was convinced you would be drowning in a sea of grief, but imagine my delight when your rather delicious footman informed me you were out. Hardly the behaviour of a widow in mourning.’
Despite her best efforts to flout the expectations of the beau monde, Cynthia couldn’t stop the wave of shame covering her. She certainly wasn’t acting appropriately for a newly widowed marchioness. ‘It was only, I had some pressing errands—’
‘I certainly hope those errands included something delightfully wicked to put such a blush on your cheeks.’ The duchess winked.
She was a notorious flirt and made no efforts to hide her many affairs.
The duke had all but given up on taming her and spent most of his time in the country shooting animals and drinking port.
Whatever the duchess thought Cynthia was up to, it was clear she hoped it was scintillating and outrageous.
If only she knew. Imagine if I told her I was investigating Hubert’s murder while finding myself increasingly more attracted to an untitled, magical woman who thinks I might also be a witch. Scandalous indeed!
The duchess thankfully didn’t wait for Cynthia’s response. ‘I’m only here to ensure that you accept my invitation.’
Cynthia’s brows drew down in confusion. ‘What invitation?’
‘To my summer soirée, silly! It’s all in the note I sent.’
Shaking her head, Cynthia stepped back. ‘I couldn’t possibly—’
‘Bah! Don’t be silly. Of course you shall come. It will be the event of the season. You can’t possibly miss it. And don’t worry about a gown. I have just the thing already ordered for you.’ The duchess batted her charcoal-stained eyelashes.
‘You misunderstand. It isn’t my lack of dress, but rather the lack of decorum should I be seen at such an event so soon after my husband’s… err… passing.’ Surely Governess Smithers would approve of such a gentle euphemism for murder.
‘Decorum is for dunderheads. And you are a marchioness whose closest friend is a duchess.’ She swished over to Cynthia, taking her chin in her hand and moving her head one way, then the other.
‘You’ve changed, dear. I can see it. It’s time for you to start acting with the same defiance I see flashing in your eyes.
’ She let her hand fall, the characteristic smile slipping from her painted lips.
‘You’ve been unhappy for so long, Cynthia.
I still remember when we first met at your wedding breakfast. You were barely a child and so full of hope.
’ She shook her head, stepping back. ‘Marriage destroyed that in a few short weeks, as I recall.’ Tapping a finger on her powdered chin, mischief sparkled as bright as diamonds in her eyes.
‘But something, or someone has brought joy back to your face.’
‘Your Grace, I couldn’t possibly—’
‘You absolutely can.’ Her stained lips parted on an inhalation, an idea lighting her face.
‘Bring your paramour with you to my party. I dare you. Do something inappropriate, for once. You might find you quite like rebellion. I discovered it years ago and haven’t had a single moment of regret since.
’ She winked at Cynthia, pausing at the door.
‘When you’ve reached my age, you realise, life is too short to waste time on silly things like social rules or other people’s opinions.
Except mine, of course. The ball is in a fortnight.
I shall see you there. Don’t even think about refusing.
You have spent far too long hiding from pleasure, Cynthia.
It’s time to indulge in a little fun.’ The duchess swept out of the door in a peony-scented cloud leaving Cynthia desperately trying to collect her thoughts.
It had been an overwhelming day, and she still had dinner to prepare for with a coven of witches.
‘A bath. And brandy.’ She nodded her head. A most certain requirement. She called for Mrs Higgins.
Fifteen minutes later, Cynthia sank lower in the bathtub full of vanilla-scented water. As she let the droplets trickle down her arm, she couldn’t stop the duchess’s words from replaying in her mind. Had she been hiding from pleasure? Hiding from her true self?
Her thoughts wandered to Helena as she imagined the witch’s fingers trailing over her skin as soft as the water.
She ran her own fingers over her breasts.
What would they feel like to Helena? They were fuller than Helena’s and soft, her nipples hardened peaks that sang with pleasure as she brushed her fingers over the sensitive tips.
Her hand delved lower, tangling in her curls.
She had never engaged in self-play. As a child, she was taught that touching between her legs was forbidden.
Only the filthiest and foulest girls performed such wicked deeds.
They were sent away and never heard from again.
When she grew into an adult and learned those lessons were just as false as Father Christmas and the promise that obedience brought happiness, she had no desire to touch herself because nothing inspired the tingling sensations that now erupted every time she saw Helena.
Every time Helena touched her, even if it was just the innocent press of her fingers against Cynthia’s back.
She imagined Helena’s fingers pressing against her now. Delving into the soft folds of her sex. Finding the hard nub where pleasure cascaded into something fierce and feral. Electric and elemental.
She had heard of a cataclysmic event women experienced in the throes of passion.
Indeed, her dear friend, the Duchess of Devon, waxed poetical about paroxysms of pleasure to be found in the bed of young, virile men.
Cynthia thought it was one more exaggeration from a woman who created drama at every turn.
But now, she was beginning to think the duchess was onto something.
She toyed with her slit, chasing the sweet sensations.
Every time she brushed over the nub at the apex of her opening, electric jolts cascaded through her.
She adjusted her rhythm experimentally. Slow.
Soft. Harder. Faster. Tighter circles as she squeezed and flicked her nipples and thought of Helena.
Would her grey eyes turn silver with desire?
Would her magic seep into Cynthia’s soul like hot water as their bodies joined?
She thought of kissing her in the rain, Helena’s hands trailing higher up her thighs, the husky melody of her voice as she cried out Cynthia’s name.
The orgasm ripped through her with shocking speed. Every muscle in her body tightened. Water spilled over the side of her copper tub. Heat washed through as her breath came in ragged gasps.
Blood pounded at her wrists, behind her knees, and between her thighs, where her clitoris still pulsed with echoes of delicious friction.
‘Oh my.’
For several moments strung together, Cynthia had forgotten everything in the mad rush to chase the culmination of brilliance.
No wonder people made such a fuss.
Her experiences with Hubert had been nothing like that. Just a thrusting invasion that ended with him wiping himself clean and wishing her a pleasant evening. If he had ever reached such a peak, he did so alone.
Thoughts of Hubert destroyed the echoes of pleasure still singing in her blood. She couldn’t hold Helena in her mind while that man still lingered there. She shivered in water now cold.
‘You monstrous bastard.’
Her skin pebbled with gooseflesh. The heavy weight of her husband’s sins reasserted itself in the centre of her chest.
He had abused Lily, but Cynthia was a simpleton if she believed Lily was the only girl Hubert defiled.
Something needed to be done. She couldn’t banish him from her memories until she first made some kind of amends for his horrific crimes.
She rose from her bath, towelled herself dry, and as she hadn’t replaced her lady’s maid, she dressed herself.
When she was presentable, Cynthia rang for Mrs Higgins. She couldn’t escape the shame of her own blindness. But she wasn’t ignorant any longer. She wouldn’t hide from her husband’s sins.
She couldn’t erase the harm he’d done. No magic was that powerful. But she was a wealthy widow. Money didn’t solve all the world’s problems, but it certainly made life more comfortable. And these women deserved to experience some luxury at the expense of Hubert Burrows.
Glancing at her reflection, she nodded, feeling the rightness of her decision.