Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
Agnes led Harry by the hand into Lord Skelton’s study. Even the comparatively tame physical touch felt incredibly warm, his mind and body eager for more. He wanted to kiss each finger, suck on them until he could change her mood from giddy to wanting.
His wicked thoughts came to a crashing halt when she pulled a secret lever on a bookshelf and pushed open the brick wall.
That was unexpected.
She gestured for Harry to follow and said, “This is where I found the letter.”
He first noticed a bed and sitting area.
His heart ached for the men who could never live publicly together without hatred and danger from others, including Lord Skelton’s cousin.
Here the two men had a whisper of a life together.
But despite it all, Oscar seemed content with the love he had given and the love he had received.
Harry turned to find Agnes already crawling on her hands and knees to investigate every nook and cranny of the room.
“What are you looking for?” Harry lowered himself to the floor to do the same.
“Clues. Anything to help us make sense of this or evidence to use against Charles that doesn’t require us to expose Oscar’s secret. How do three men sign three copies of a will and the only one we are left with is a different document entirely?”
“It is the only document I have ever seen. I read it on the train the day I picked it up. Remember, Lord Skelton had been called to the country and wasn’t available to meet with me by the time I had arrived.”
“I remember that . . .” Agnes stood now. Her behind was no longer raised in the air, which allowed Harry to focus more efforts on the conversation, at least. “He returned home the next day and said that it was a false alarm. None of his tenants’ farms had been flooded, as the missive had said.”
“Strange,” Harry said.
“No, suspicious. What else do you remember about that visit?”
You. But no. He didn’t know how to tell Agnes that without alluding to the obsession he had carried since.
“Charles was leaving as I was attempting to come in. He looked like he was in a hurry, almost walked past without seeing me.”
“I have a vague recollection of Charles being there too. He had documents to drop off. When I explained that Richard was away in the country, he asked for refreshments before leaving. I had no desire to sit with the man, so I sent him a tea tray and went upstairs to work. He was left alone downstairs.”
“Do you think this is just a coincidence, or does it mean something?” Harry was wary to accuse a man without evidence, even if Oscar had exposed him as the rapscallion he was.
“How could it not mean something?” She was right. There was too much evidence pointing at Skelton’s involvement, but unfortunately, nothing damning. At least not yet.
Agnes pointed to the assortment of large equipment.
“This was where Richard printed the journals.” Harry stood and walked over to the massive work tables that dominated the room.
This had been a large enterprise. In another world, the late baron’s venture would have been celebrated.
He would have been praised for his success in the publishing industry, the artistic quality of his journals, and the cultural education of society.
Instead, it was all just a dangerous secret, one he pursued anyway. If Harry had known the true extent of Lord Skelton’s courage, he would have admired the man even more.
“Do you have time to help me search before you must leave?” Agnes asked.
“I’ll spare what time I can. You take that corner, and I’ll take this one. We will meet in the middle.”
He traced his fingers along the walls above the floorboards, debating if they were going about this all wrong.
The late Skelton was a gentleman, a businessman.
Surely, he had better places to store records than under the floorboards like a thief hiding his bounty.
After an hour of searching, they found no hiding spaces, other than a drawer filled with special mementos of Oscar and Richard’s love.
Harry was starting to itch. He was probably starting to smell, but fortunately, Agnes hadn’t mentioned that. “I really need to get back to London before it’s too late, but I promise I will return soon.”
Agnes held his cheek in her hand. “I know you’re a working man, Mr. Evans.
” His surname took on new life spoken in her throaty voice.
Before it had symbolized the distance of propriety, but now it was a method of her seduction.
He was willing to suspend disbelief and pretend his stuffy professionalism made her wanting.
“Does that appeal to you, Lady Skelton?”
She was kissing him again, making it near impossible to leave, trapping him with small moans against his lips.
“Mmm-hmm.” Her lips vibrated in affirmation against his.
He broke free from her lips and kissed down her neck.
“There’s something about a man who works for his living that I just find so .
. .” She gasped as he bit her neck and blew on the reddened skin. “So . . .”
She attempted to continue, but he made her speechless when he pulled down the bodice of her dress and kissed around her pale pink nipples. How would they darken as he teased them?
He pulled her over to the bed and sat her on his lap. He paused. “Is this grotesque? For us to . . . you know . . . on your late husband’s bed?”
Agnes pulled away, looking at the questionable piece of furniture. “I’m willing to overlook it, if you are.” That was all the assurance he needed. He flipped her over on the bed.
He had been on edge all day. Her proximity brought out a beast in him that he didn’t even know existed. Who was this woman, and what witchcraft did she hold over him? He grabbed her ankles and stroked up and down her legs.
“Do you still want me, Agnes?”
“Now, more than ever. And don’t get distracted this time. I want it all.”
She sat up and began releasing the fastening of his trousers while he undid the buttons on his shirt.
“What about your dress?”
“It’s your turn. My clothes came off last night.
” Smiling, she pulled his trousers down and bit her bottom lip while studying what she revealed.
He tented his smalls, hard with arousal and barely contained.
He stood up and pulled the rest of his garments off, throwing them onto the floor.
Climbing back over her, he hovered above her body, kissing her lips, tasting her morning tea as his tongue delved deeper.
“Can I touch you?” she asked, her eyes searching his.
“Yes.” He didn’t wait. He grabbed her hand and brought it to his cock, urging her to grip him hard. He could feel her smile against his lips.
“Are you surprised?”
“Yes,” she said. “You’re more confident in bedsport than I expected you to be.” Harry couldn’t fault her logic, as he had admitted to her his inexperience. What she didn’t know is that he had spent copious hours imagining what he would do, given the chance, with her.
After pulling her hand away and pinning it to the bed, he slid his hardened length along her folds and glided against her eager wetness. Her moans were immediate and loud. He rocked harder against her womanhood, not entering her, just massaging her pearl while the friction built between them.
“How does that feel? Tell me, Agnes.”
“I feel powerful. Like a woman.”
“Just wait, my love.” Her nearly black eyes darkened more with desire, and her thighs shook against his legs. She was almost there.
Her pants quickened. Guttural noises escaped her with each glide until her mouth clamped shut and she threw her head back against the mattress. A moan echoed across the room. Even without being inside her, he could feel her body pulse against him as she rode the waves of passion.
He placed his mouth on hers, wanting a taste of the audible pleasure she so freely gave. The servants would have undoubtedly heard her, but her noises were too delectable to silence. Every part of her was an experience, a luxury he had never thought he could afford.
“Now,” he said against her lips. “Now you’re going to do that again, and it will feel even better with me inside you.” He reached down and notched his cock against her opening.
Her legs wrapped around his waist and pulled him closer. “Witch,” he said, and she returned a sultry smile. He pushed inside her. She let out a sound like a wild animal.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked, searching her face for any sign of pain. Frustration flashed in her eyes.
“Get on with it.” The last thread of his control broke with her eagerness. Her cunny squeezed his cock as he found his rhythm. She brought her hips off the bed, her legs still wrapped around him, pressing against him with each push.
She was magnificent, this woman. He couldn’t believe he had ever mistaken her appreciation of simplicity for meekness. His ballocks tightened, and he felt the familiar tingle at the base of his spine.
Oh, how much he wanted to release his seed in her, claim her as his own, but he couldn’t risk getting her with a child while she was still in mourning, could he?
He quickly performed the mental calculations and realized the babe would be born before she even shed her black.
“Dammit,” he shouted as he withdrew and spilled onto her stomach, pulling her skirts as high as they could go.
He lay down beside her, breathing heavily. She rolled her head to him. “You don’t really need to return to London, do you?”