14
The telegram arrived at breakfast.
Simon had barely helped himself to eggs and bacon from the warming dishes on the sideboard and sat down with the Times before Thomas presented the missive to him on a salver. When he opened it and read the typewritten lines, any appetite he had vanished at once.
More evidence uncovered stop Even worse than thought stop Richard has called meeting of board Monday morning at nine to vote immediate termination stop Suggest you return at once stop Helen stop stop
Simon frowned, surprised and puzzled. Helen had assured him that the detectives would not be finished until they had delved into Delia’s activities, and that any such investigation would not be commencing for another week, at least.
Unless, he realized, a sick knot twisting his gut, some of the new evidence to which Helen referred was against Delia. If so, it would make any further investigations unnecessary.
But what was that evidence?
“Well, that’s settled at last,” Cassie said, her voice interrupting his thoughts as she entered the room. “Mrs. Melrose is such a tartar! The way she was protesting, you’d think changing the first course for tonight was akin to tumbling the walls of Jericho. I know nothing about cooking, of course,” Cassie went on as she opened chafing dishes one by one to survey the contents, “but I can’t imagine how raw oysters on ice could be harder to prepare than cheese soufflés.”
Simon scarcely heard. Today was Friday, and there was, he knew, a midmorning train. If he managed to catch it—
“Lady Stratham’s advice was absolutely right,” his sister’s voice intruded on his thoughts. “I stuck to my guns, so oysters it is, but it took some doing, let me tell you.”
Simon did not reply. “Filbert,” he said, glancing to where the butler stood at attention beside the sideboard, “doesn’t the morning train to London depart at half past ten?”
“It does, my lord,” the butler replied. “Every day but Sunday.”
“London?” Cassie turned from the sideboard in surprise, diverted from domestic concerns.
Simon kept his gaze on the butler. “And is there one in the afternoon?”
“No, my lord. The next train would be tomorrow at the same time. The Sunday train is half an hour later, after early services.”
“Why all these questions about trains?” Cassie asked as she set her filled plate on the table opposite him and sat down.
Simon pulled out his pocket watch, noting he had less than forty minutes to pack and get to the station if he wanted to make that train. He could telephone Helen, he supposed, find out what new information the detectives had uncovered, but that meant a trip into the village, and he might not reach her. Did he really want to spend the next twenty-four hours in suspense? And besides—
“Simon?” his sister prompted, breaking into his thoughts. “Why do you need to know about trains to London?”
He stood up, shoving his watch back in his waistcoat. “Something has arisen that requires me to return to London today,” he told his sister, tucking the telegram into the breast pocket of his jacket. “Urgent business. It can’t be helped.”
“What?” She stared up at him in obvious dismay. “But what about the party?”
“Lady Stratham will be here to help you. She’s far better at this sort of thing than I am. Don’t worry,” he added gently, noting the panic in her face. “It will be a raging success, I have no doubt.”
“But this business can wait until Monday, surely?”
If there was anything against Delia, he might have time to mitigate the damage before Monday’s meeting. He had to at least try. “I’m afraid not, love.”
He turned to the butler. “Filbert, I’ll be in my room, packing. Fetch Morgan, tell him we have to catch the train at half past ten, and send him up to assist me. Then have Hever harness the horses and bring the carriage round.”
“Very good, my lord.”
The butler glided out of the room to follow these instructions, and he once again turned to his sister. “Tell Lady Stratham I’ve gone and give her my apologies for not waiting to say goodbye,” he said as he came around the table. “I’m sorry I’ll miss the party. You do know that if it weren’t absolutely critical, I’d stay?”
“I know,” she said with a sigh. “I just hope I don’t make a mess of the whole thing.”
“Stuff,” he scoffed and bent down to kiss her forehead. “You’ll be splendid.”
Twenty minutes later, he was in the main foyer waiting for the carriage as his valet brought down the last suitcase. “Morgan, where’s my dispatch case?”
“I believe it is in the library, my lord.”
He nodded. “I’ll fetch it. You and Thomas take the luggage out to the drive. That way,” he added as he turned and started for the corridor that led to the library, “we won’t waste any time once Hever’s brought the carriage.”
He went to the library. It took him several minutes of searching to locate the dispatch case, but at last he found it, tucked underneath the malachite table beside the settee. Grabbing it by the handle, he straightened and turned to exit the room, but at the sight of Delia in the doorway, he came to a dead halt.
She was wearing some sort of loose-fitting tea gown, but though the garment of corn-colored silk made her appear fully dressed, her hair was scandalously loose, falling around her shoulders and down to her waist in blue-black waves, making her look as if she’d barely risen from bed. Her next words confirmed the fact.
“Your maid Susan told me you were leaving when she brought my breakfast tray up. Is it true?”
“I’m afraid so. I must go back to London at once.”
He made the mistake of glancing down as he spoke, and when he saw her bare toes, pretty pink-and-white toes, peeking out from beneath the ruched hem of her gown, his body responded at once, desire flickering to life within him.
“But you’ll miss Cassie’s party.”
Somewhere past this rising desire, he regained a measure of his wits. “Yes,” he replied, jerking his gaze back up to her face, but sadly, that wasn’t much help, for her loose hair made him think of what it would be like to wake up in her bed and see her this way, all rumpled and mussed and enticing as hell.
“It must be terribly important.”
“Yes.” He looked into her eyes, struggling to remember priorities. “My apologies for deserting you both. But I’m very grateful you’re here to help my sister.”
“Of course. I’m happy to help, though I fear I shall have to walk by myself tonight, since I doubt anyone but you will be willing to endure the chilly weather with me.” Those magnificent dark blue eyes softened. “I’ll miss you, Simon.”
In the wake of those softly uttered words, overwhelming gladness pinched his chest, squeezing his heart. Almost at once, however, misgiving took its place as he remembered what lay ahead, what might happen, and what it might cost her.
“Delia,” he began and took a step toward her. Then, abruptly, he stopped, and apprehension tightened in his throat, making him forget whatever he’d been about to say. “You’ll be all right,” he said instead. “Quite all right.”
A puzzled little frown creased her forehead. “Well, of course I’ll be all right,” she said in some surprise, making it clear how nonsensical his words must have sounded from her point of view. “Is there some reason I wouldn’t be?”
Suddenly, the frown vanished, her brow cleared, and a teasing glimmer came into her eyes, crinkling them at the corners. “I won’t be prostrated with sadness just because you’ve gone back to London a day or two ahead of me, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She smiled, her nose wrinkling up impudently. “I won’t miss you that much.”
He didn’t smile back. He didn’t reply. Instead, he stared at her in silence, because he didn’t have the freedom to say all that he wanted to say.
He wanted to say that he would fight for her, that he would do whatever he could to defend and protect her. That if things went badly, he’d be there to pick up the pieces—if she’d let him. But then, she probably wouldn’t. Her loyalty, after all, was to Ritz, not to him. When this mess was over, she might very well never speak to him again. He’d never touch her, he’d never kiss her again.
That thought was like a dam breaking. His dispatch case hit the floor with a thud, and then he was striding toward her, reaching for her, hauling her into his arms.
She was already lifting her face and twining her arms around his neck before his mouth captured hers, and the moment it did, her lips opened beneath his in willing accord.
She tasted like tea and marmalade. She smelled intoxicating, like oranges and flowers and warm, sweet woman, and her kiss was making his head spin. He wanted more.
He moved, stepping backward and pulling her with him as he kissed her, maneuvering their bodies behind one of the marble columns of the library and into a small reading alcove at the other end of the room. Pressing her back against the wall of books, he lifted his hands to cup her face as he tasted her in long, lush kisses that flared his desire even higher and banished any thought as silly as leaving. But he still wanted more.
Easing his hold, he slid his hands to her breasts, making a sound of appreciation as he realized there was no confining corset to impede him. He cupped her breasts in his hands, shaping them through thin layers of silk and muslin, finding them every bit as round and full and luscious as they’d been in his imagination.
He tore his lips from hers to press kisses along the column of her throat as he shaped her breasts in his palms, and her soft moan against his mouth was far more erotic than anything his imagination could ever have conjured. But it still wasn’t enough.
His hands moved lower, his palms gliding over the generous swell of her hips as he trailed kisses up to her ear.
She shivered in response. “We’d better stop,” she gasped, even as her arms tightened around his neck. “Simon, you’ll miss—”
He captured her lips again, silencing her before she could remind him of the damned train and what would come after. He shoved his hands between her body and the bookshelves, cupping her bum and lifting her off the ground, pressing her hips to his as he tasted deeply of her mouth and his hands shaped her buttocks.
This time, she was the one who broke the kiss, her breath coming in shuddering gasps as she moved her hips against his.
The pleasure of it was so exquisite, he groaned, and he knew he’d explode if he didn’t ease back. Lowering her to the ground, he grasped at the folds of her gown, pulling them up to get his hands beneath, and as his palms glided up her thighs, her body felt scorching hot through the thin fabric of her drawers.
His head was swimming, his wits eroding more with every inch his hands went higher. His one, his only coherent thought now was to touch her bare skin, but before he could act on that delicious impulse, he heard Cassie call his name.
“Simon, the carriage is here.”
A sane man would come out of an erotic haze at once upon hearing the sound of his sister’s voice, but Simon proved he’d gone quite off the rails by ignoring it completely. Instead, he eased his hand between Delia’s thighs.
She was damp, ready, and when he slid his fingers into the slit of her drawers, she made a faint keening sound, her hips stirring against his seeking fingers. “Simon,” she wailed softly against his ear, her arms tightening convulsively around his neck.
She was close to orgasm, he knew. So, so close.
“Simon, we have to stop,” Delia gasped, even as her hips worked frantically against his caressing fingertips. “We have to stop. We have to stop.”
Suddenly, her legs tightened around his hand, and her protests ended in a startled gasp of surprise and pleasure as she came in a rush, her arms tightening around his neck. He relished the moment, savoring her orgasm as much as he would have his own. He continued to caress her with his thumb as he slid his index finger deeply inside her. She came again at once, and then again, and then again.
At last, she sagged against him with a sigh of pure feminine satisfaction, and he eased his hand out from between her thighs. His cock was aching, his entire body demanding release, and he moved to unbutton his trousers.
“Simon?” Cassie’s voice came again, more insistent this time.
Not yet, he thought, wanting, hungry with need. Not yet, for the love of God.
“Simon, where the devil are you?”
Her voice was drawing closer, and he gave a groan, knowing he had to stop. He could not let Cassandra catch them in here like this.
Drawing on willpower he didn’t even know he possessed, he jerked Delia’s skirts down and stepped back, withdrawing until she was safely out of his reach, but even then, even when they were no longer touching, he could not bring himself to leave her. He didn’t have enough strength for that.
“I have to go,” he heard himself say.
“Yes,” she agreed.
Neither of them moved.
“Simon?” Cassie’s voice, sounding quite alarmed by now, caused him to take a frantic glance around the column toward the doorway.
“I’m in the library,” he called back, his voice absurdly normal—a miracle, all things considered. “I’ll be along in a minute.”
“The luggage is stowed and Morgan’s already in the carriage, waiting for you.”
“Coming,” he called back. “Tell Morgan I’m coming.”
He returned his attention to Delia. She was staring at him, wide-eyed, disheveled, and delectable, her breasts heaving with her rapid breathing, her lips puffy from his kisses. He might never have the chance to see her this way again, and he drank in the image of her now like the parched desert soil soaked up rain, knowing he would remember it as long as he lived, no matter what happened.
“You said your business was urgent, but—” She broke off, her tongue flicking out to moisten those kiss-tinged lips, driving him mad. “But can’t you postpone it?”
“I can’t.” The words were an agonized whisper. “But—”
He broke off and took a deep breath. “But when it’s over, when it’s all behind us, perhaps—”
“Simon!” Cassie called, her voice frantic, almost strident in its insistence. “The train is in the station. I can see the smoke.”
With an oath, he bent and grabbed his dispatch case, then he straightened, turned away, and started for the door. Behind him, he heard Delia’s voice, breathless and bewildered.
“When what is behind us?”
He didn’t pause until he had stepped safely through the doorway. Then he turned to find her staring after him in bafflement, waiting for an answer he could not give.
“Don’t hate me,” he said. “That’s all I ask, Delia. For God’s sake, don’t hate me.”
He left her then, striding away across the foyer and out the front doors without a backward glance.