13. Taste #3
Following the men’s path and staying close to the shadows, Emma tracked their muffled voices toward Arthur’s study.
Heart pounding, she crept into the room next door and removed a small painting.
Despite the pitch darkness, she knew the precise location of everything, having spent hours in that room.
Her favourite pastime after Alexi married Arthur had been eavesdropping on Arthur’s business and political discussions.
She winced as she recalled the one time he wasn’t in a discussion of the verbal kind with Alexi.
She peered through the hole to confirm the identities of the men, then pressed her ear against it.
A sudden movement in the darkness made her jump. Before she could cry out, a large hand clamped over her mouth, another arm pulling her back against a solid chest. She knew that touch, that scent, even before Everett’s voice whispered against her ear.
“Quiet.”
Emma’s pulse thundered, every inch of her aware of his body pressed against hers in the darkness.
His hand released her mouth, and his body folded over hers a little as they both strained to hear the conversation beyond the wall.
She told herself her racing heart was from the shock, not from the way his breath stirred her hair or how his chest rose and fell against her back.
They stood frozen together in the shadows, united in their eavesdropping, if nothing else, while Emma tried desperately to focus on the voices instead of the maddening heat of him all around her.
“I assure you, Lord Salisbury, our proposal for modernising Dartford’s water system is most comprehensive.” Dr Moreland’s voice carried the practiced smoothness of a seasoned negotiator.
“Indeed,” Mr Snowden chimed in, his tone oily and ingratiating. “Our pipes are of the highest quality, guaranteed to bring your constituency into the modern age.”
There was a pause, and Emma could almost picture her brother-in-law’s thoughtful frown. When Lord Salisbury spoke, his voice was measured and cautious. “Gentlemen, while I appreciate your enthusiasm, I must consider all options carefully. The welfare of Dartford’s residents is my primary concern.”
“Of course, of course,” Dr Moreland replied. “And that is precisely why our system is ideal. Think of the improvements to the taste of your water. Why, it’s as sweet as honey.”
Emma’s mind reeled with possibilities. Was Dr Moreland gaining financially from the water system? Could he be hiding the source of the outbreak for his own interests?
“I understand your company has undertaken similar projects in London,” Lord Salisbury said.
“Yes, indeed,” Snowden answered, a note of pride in his voice. “We’ve made significant inroads in the East End.”
Emma’s mind raced. The East End, the epicentre of the cholera outbreak she had been investigating. So there could be a connection.
“And the results have been satisfactory?” Lord Salisbury pressed.
There was a moment of hesitation before Dr Moreland responded. “There have been some…unforeseen complications. But I assure you, we’ve learned valuable lessons that will only improve our future projects.”
Emma’s fingers curled into fists, her suspicions growing with each passing moment. If there was indeed a link between the new water pipes and the cholera outbreak, it would explain why Everett had been sent to steal her research. They were covering their tracks, protecting their investment.
“I see,” Lord Salisbury said, his tone noncommittal. “Well, gentlemen, I appreciate your proposal. I’ll need time to review it alongside the others I’ve received.”
“Of course, of course,” Snowden said smoothly. “We’re confident you’ll find our offer most appealing.”
Everett held Emma against his chest, acutely aware of her soft curves pressed to him in the darkness. Even her anger as she twisted free was intoxicating.
“You stole my research,” she hissed, keeping her voice low, “for your father who likely sits on the water company’s board!”
“I know as little as you do about my father’s involvement,” he protested, though his mind raced with implications. “I had no idea he was connected to London Water until now.”
Emma searched his face. The hurt and distrust beneath her anger made his chest ache.
“What if your father knew about the defects, knew they were causing deaths, but ignored the truth?”
“He would never. He taught me to heal, to choose lives over all else. He likely has not drawn the correlation between his pipes and cholera. We have yet to confirm if the construction timeframe overlaps with the epidemic.”
Emma repeatedly poked his chest with a finger. “You must return my data so I can continue the research. Lives depend on it!”
“It’ll be more expeditious for me to legally obtain the necessary information. You do not need to incur more wrath from the Royal College.”
He approached her, transfixed by the passion in her face. God help him, but he wanted her.
“It’ll take you too long to get caught up,” she said, stepping back. “Are you even listening to me?”
“No,” he admitted, stepping closer.
She backed away until she hit the wall. “What are you about?” Her voice emerged timid.
“Lesson five.” He braced his hands against the wall on either side of her head. “Taste.”
“Now? But your father—”
“Can wait.” And then he was kissing her, drowning in the softness of her mouth, the small sound of protest that transformed into a moan as she melted against him. Her hands fisted in his coat, pulling him closer as she kissed him back with equal fervour.
All thoughts of water companies and conspiracies vanished as Emma’s lips parted beneath his, allowing him to deepen the kiss.
She tasted of wine and passion and everything he’d been dreaming of since leaving her house.
His body pressed her more firmly against the wall as her fingers threaded through his hair, keeping him close.
“Everett…” she breathed against his lips.
“Hm?”
“I’m still angry with you.”
With an incoherent sound, Everett slanted his mouth over hers, deepening the kiss while his hands gathered her skirts around the waist.
“I still hate you,” she breathed as his mouth found her throat, his tongue tracing the graceful line down to her collarbone while his hands held the layers of fabric back.
“Good. It’ll make your pussy that much sweeter.” He dropped to his knees.
“What… What are you doing?”
“Tasting your cunt,” he said hoarsely. Then he buried his face in her cunny.