Chapter 7 #2
But his mouth moved against hers. One gentle glide. One taste to prove she was meant for another man. Never him.
He’d not accounted for the fact that she would follow his lead. That her mouth was as potent as her perfume. That the taste of her would work through him like opium.
He should have known she’d be bold enough to kiss him back. This dangerous attraction was born of recklessness. He was taking liberties now. Tilting his head. Letting his tongue touch hers. Just this once. A lesson, he told himself. A way to show her the nature of desire.
Except the lesson turned on him.
Her fingers tightened in his lapels, not pushing him away but anchoring him there, and the last thread of reason snapped.
He felt the yielding warmth of her mouth, the tremor that passed through her and settled somewhere deep in his blood.
The urge to roll over her hit with such force he went still.
God help him.
Were it not for the pew digging into his shoulder, and the cursed pin in his hand, he might have forgotten the church, the intruder, her reputation, and every rule that stood between them. He might have taken more than a stolen kiss in the dark.
The wood above him groaned softly as he drew breath through his nose and held himself in place. For the first time in his life, he was grateful for an obstacle.
He gentled the kiss, not enough to break it, only enough to remind himself there were lines even devils did not cross.
With agonising slowness, she drew back, though her eyes remained fixed on his. She didn’t pale, didn’t smile, just looked at him with wistful curiosity.
The urge to claim her again took hold, but he forced himself still. Listened for footsteps. Focused on the intruder. Not the way her lips glistened in the dark.
The silence stretched. Ten seconds. Twenty. Enough time to remember where they were. Not enough to forget the taste of her. He suspected he never would.
“I didn’t mean to prick you,” he whispered.
“I don’t suppose you meant to kiss me either.”
“We couldn’t risk you gasping.”
Her mouth curved. “My parents would have approved. My first kiss on a church floor. Thoroughly unconventional.”
“And precisely the thing you mean to avoid.”
“Still, it was an education.”
Was that all she thought it had been? He wished he’d rolled on top of her and let her feel the hard press of him. Let her know exactly what she’d done to him.
“You mistake the introduction for the lesson. Even so, don’t expect Lord Howden to kiss you like that.”
He shouldn’t have said it. She jumped on it like a bull to a red rag. “Like what? Like you meant to leave your mark?”
Like he’d gone thirsty for years and found water.
“No, with a modicum of enthusiasm.”
She eased out of his hold. “It’s not enthusiasm I want.”
“Tell that to your tongue.”
She froze, then eased back as far as the cramped space allowed. “Perhaps we should concern ourselves with what Mr Bellingham wanted me to find. The intruder was likely the verger, not some cold-blooded killer.”
“The verger doesn’t move like a man with something to hide.”
Someone could still be watching from the shadows. He took the hatpin and eased the paper free. It was small, thin, folded into a neat square.
“We’ll read this in the carriage.” The sooner they were out of here, the better. “You’ll wait with Rowton while I return the key.”
“You do enjoy issuing orders, Mr Stanton.”
“With you, they’re necessary, Miss Vane.”
He tucked the paper into his pocket and they slid out from beneath the pew. They didn’t linger to brush the dust from their clothes, but left through the south door and returned to Cheapside.
Hugh helped Miss Vane into the carriage, then turned to Rowton. “Did you see anyone enter the church while we were gone? Anyone lingering outside?”
“No, sir. But that doesn’t mean much in a place with more than one door.” Rowton glanced towards the hulking mass of St Mary’s and the steps leading below ground. “Someone might have crept down to the crypt.”
With the door accessible from the street and hidden from view, anyone could have picked the lock and entered unnoticed.
“Stay with Miss Vane while I return the key. If anything feels wrong or raises suspicion, take her back to The Sentinel. Don’t wait for me.”
The lane back to the rectory was quiet, the earlier fog thinning to a faint mist. Hugh kept to the shadows, listening for anyone behind him.
The vicar looked a little flushed when he answered the door, though his fingers were cold when he accepted the key.
“Did you discover anything useful?”
Yes. That Miss Vane’s lips should be avoided at all costs.
“Sadly not. If Bellingham had anything important to say, I’m sure he would have entrusted a letter to you. Perhaps I read too much into an anxious man’s remarks.”
“In light of the recent tragedy, it’s easy to make the wrong assumptions.” The vicar’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“Did anyone else show an interest in my cousin’s visits to church?” Hugh kept his tone light, though something about that mild smile seemed odd.
“Not that I noticed.” He paused, his hand resting on the door. “Though perhaps the sooner she is married, the better. Inquisitive young ladies often find trouble.”
From anyone else, it might have sounded like a veiled threat. From a vicar, it passed for concern.
He inclined his head and turned away, though the cold of the man’s fingers stayed with him.
He found Miss Vane perched on the edge of the carriage seat, hands in her lap, eyes fixed on the window. Her expression brightened when she saw him, and his damn body responded again.
“I had a vision of you wrestling with a footpad. Of finding you face down in the lane.”
“Trust me. I’d have welcomed the challenge.” Punching a man might ease this strange fever in his blood.
“You were gone a while.”
“A few minutes.”
“It felt like an hour.” Her gaze dropped to his coat. “Did you read Mr Bellingham’s note without me?”
He rapped on the roof, then took the note from his pocket and handed it to her. “I’m not in the habit of reading other people’s correspondence. Bellingham left it for you.”
“A devil with a sense of honour. How interesting.”
She smiled as she reached for the note.
Perhaps he imagined the spark where their fingers met.
He sat forward as she peeled back the folds, his pulse a hard beat in his throat. With luck, Bellingham had given them something to focus on other than a kiss beneath a pew.
Miss Vane’s hand fluttered to her throat. “Good heavens. Mr Bellingham says that if I’m reading this, he is likely dead.” She looked up, tears gathering. “He must have been terrified.”
“Then why the hell didn’t he run? Why attend a public event at Fortune’s Den? Unless he hoped to speak to the Earl of Berridge.”
“He might have arranged to meet someone else there. Someone he trusted to help him. Either way, he knew of the danger.”
But what danger? Who had buried the truth? What did Bellingham know that forced him to confess to Miss Vane?
Hugh glanced at the note. “What else did he say?”
She read on. “There’s an address in Long Ditton, Surrey, but no name or mention of why I should go there.”
“Why we should go there,” he corrected. “I’ll not have you travelling alone. Two men have been murdered over this.”
“Two men?”
He grimaced. He hated admitting he might be wrong. “Howden’s father may or may not be living in a villa in Italy. I need confirmation either way.”
“You mean to take me to Surrey?” She spoke as though he meant to spirit her across the Channel.
“It’s sixteen miles. We could make the journey there and back in one night, provided we encounter no problems on the road.”
She shifted in the seat. “The more risks I take, the more likely I am to get caught. I’m one mistake away from being banished to the wilds of North Yorkshire.”
It sounded better than a life with Howden.
“Then we’ll visit Lady Bellingham first. I’ll go to Surrey alone if I must.” And he could stop in Kingston and ask advice from one of his closest friends. Advice on the story he’d printed, not on Miss Vane.
She should have been grateful for his help, but she failed to hide her disappointment. “I should read the rest of the note before we make any firm plans.”
She gripped the overhead strap as the carriage bounced through ruts in the road. He wasn’t sure if that was the cause of the sudden tremble in her hand.
She looked up, her throat working. “Mr Bellingham left me a list of instructions. The first was to beg for your help.”
To say it came as a surprise was an understatement.
“Me?” He had expected blame, suspicion, another accusation. Not a dead man’s trust.
“He clearly thought you would fight for the truth.”
Bellingham had judged him correctly, at least.
“Another is to trust no one.”
There was no problem on that score. He had learnt long ago how easily stories could be manipulated. How lives could be ruined by deceit.
“No one but you,” she added.
For a second he was back on the cold church floor, her warm mouth on his. “I hope you know that you can.”
She nodded, though she looked ill at ease, her eyes moving from the note to him. “There’s more.”
He waited.
“Mr Bellingham asks that we find his sister.”
Hugh went still. “Find her?”
“She’s been missing for at least a week.”