Chapter Twenty-Five
TWENTY-FIVE
When we’re far enough from Beatrice’s shop, I say, “That went well.”
“It did. I worried, considering what you told me, that she might not have spoken to you.”
I glance at him and smile. “Given that she left London in a hurry after murdering Edith Winterbourne for her grimoire and stealing money from my aunt?” I shake my head.
“Beatrice always thinks herself much more clever than she actually is. Lenora said she aspired to the title of master criminal without having the intellect for it. She only got away with the murder and theft because Lenora and I were not at home, and Lenora decided she’d let Beatrice think she’d escaped and then show up on her doorstep one day to take revenge. ”
I glance back in the direction of the shop. “I believe Lenora would have preferred it taken with a little more blood and screams of agony, though.”
Bishop reaches to squeeze my hand on his arm. “Sometimes revenge is blood and screams. Sometimes it is getting what you need from a person, especially when they don’t realize they’ve given it.”
“The money was unexpected. I did consider mentioning a loan, but I’d already stolen more than the full amount in expensive ingredients from her stockroom. I did note that she repaid more than she stole from Lenora.”
“Interest. Or guilt.”
I laugh. “The only things that motivate Beatrice are avarice and fear. She’s decided that Lenora never realized what she did or, at least, she never told me.
I’m Beryl Levine’s granddaughter, wed to the Albion Alpha.
That makes me valuable, and the extra money is to forge a bond between us.
Also to keep me from questioning whether Beatrice is truly on my side.
Which she is not. Beatrice is only ever on her own side. I do appreciate the money, though.”
“It was a very profitable side trip.”
“Lenora always said she couldn’t trust Beatrice, but she kept her around because her greed is useful. We also gave her two very valuable pieces of information. False pieces, which make them valuable to us.”
“Indeed. If she decides to ingratiate herself with Beryl, she’ll send the cabal in the wrong direction, as we apparently went into Ireland chasing a wolf for Hamish.”
“And if she chooses to ingratiate herself with Hamish instead, she’ll tell him that I confessed we definitely plan to do as he says, which should set him at ease.
” I look up at him as we cross the street.
“I’ll wager on Hamish as her first stop.
A chance to get in the good books of the Caledonian Pack, with all its virile werewolves. ” I waggle my brows, and he laughs.
I add, “Perhaps we should introduce her to Rufus.”
That makes his laugh turn to a sputter.
I continue, “All he has to do is watch everything he says and does, or she’ll strip-mine it for resale. But he could plant some useful information in return.” I tap a finger to my lips. “Or maybe Julius is better suited to that.”
That makes him laugh loud enough to startle someone passing. “You do realize I’m going to tell them both that you offered their ‘services’ to a middle-aged witch.”
I rap his arm. “None of that. She’s not much older than Rufus. It isn’t her fault she doesn’t have a werewolf’s slow aging.” I purse my lips. “I probably don’t either. I’ll age much faster than you.”
“I hadn’t considered that.” He sighs. “Well, you are five years younger, so we probably have a good decade or so before I need to ask for a divorce.”
I rap his arm harder, and he smiles down at me.
“That is truly the least of my concerns,” he says.
“And what is the greatest of your concerns?”
He gives me a sidelong glance. “That I heard your stomach growling and realized, in my attempt to give you a pretty ladies’ luncheon, you didn’t get enough to eat.”
“That is indeed a grave concern. Grounds for divorce, I believe.” I tighten my grip on his arm. “I presume the hotel can deliver tea?”
“It can, though I was going to offer you a choice again. Do you want to go out for tea and then have dinner in? It will be our last chance for me to take you someplace nice for dinner, but once we do get in bed, we seem reluctant to leave it.”
“I have noticed that. While I would not mind a fancy dinner out, I know I will regret the decision when it is dinner hour and I need to rise and dress. So tea out and dinner in.”
I look over at him. “Can I tell you what a delight it is to be with someone who keeps track of my meals and whether I have had enough to eat? That is such a hardship when others seem quite content to skip entire meals or simply ‘grab a bite.’”
“Savages.”
“I thought so.”
“You don’t need to worry about that around werewolves. We keep very good track of meals, because if we were ever forced to ‘grab a bite,’ it would not go well for anyone nearby.”
I laugh, and we continue on to tea.
We have a hearty tea. While Bishop appeared inclined to take me to another pretty place, full of proper ladies, he seemed to realize that he would be repeating the same mistake.
Not that lunch was a mistake. I very much enjoyed it.
After that light repast, though, I need something more substantial, and so we find a spot frequented by the middle class, with enough men that the menu contains sturdier fare.
After tea, we head to the hotel. It’s small and not as sumptuous as the one in Leeds, though it’s in a very good neighborhood. What matters to me is that we will have a night alone in a bed with no werewolves nearby to overhear any cries of passion.
The lobby is well appointed, if tiny, and the staff is attentive, and they promise a fine dinner brought to our room at eight. In other words, I have just decided this will do very well when we reach our top floor, and I discover our room is the top floor.
“We have no neighbors,” I say.
“We do not. It is a very small hotel. There are two rooms on the floor below. I have reserved both.” He leans toward me. “As a buffer.”
I grin.
“I thought you might like that,” he says. “It’s quite tedious needing to worry about being overheard. With wolves, I don’t mind so much—they can’t help but hear. Humans are a different matter.”
He scoops me up to carry me over the threshold again, and we find ourselves in a lovely living room with a fire already lit in the hearth and a bottle of brandy on the table, alongside glasses and a hamper of food.
“Julius did not do this,” Bishop says.
“Ah, so that’s where you two went at lunch. Getting a hotel room and setting it up yourself.”
“I wasn’t letting him take credit twice.”
He carries me into a separate oversized water closet, complete with a bathing tub and …
“Candles?” I say as I scramble down. “And are those rose petals? And bathing salts?”
“They are.”
I pick up a handful of rose petals and let them fall, velvet soft, from my fingers. “Also not Julius?”
“All mine.”
At my sidelong glance, he mutters under his breath and says, “Fine. While I made the final selections, he guided my choices. However, that meant asking for his help, which was very, very difficult.”
I walk over to kiss his cheek. “I imagine it was. Poor baby. I do appreciate the sacrifice.”
“Good. He mocked me mercilessly for admitting I have no experience wooing women.”
“You should have offered an exchange. His advice on getting women into bed in return for your advice on keeping them there. That’s your area of expertise, and given the choice…” I put my lips to his ear and whisper, “I like yours better.”
He kisses my neck and then begins pulling pins from my hair.
“All your work this morning undone so soon,” I tease.
“That is the whole point of doing it,” he says. “With each pin I put in, I imagine tugging it out again.”
“Am I preparing for a bath?”
“Not unless you want it. At Beatrice’s shop, you mentioned being behind in your spell practice. I thought you might like a chance to do that and give that potion more time to work.”
“That would be wise. An hour more should be ideal. I wouldn’t mind looking over Edith’s grimoire and trying a few spells, if you have something to occupy your time.”
“Am I allowed to watch? Or is that distracting?”
“Boring for you, perhaps, but not distracting for me.”
He tugs out a hair ribbon. “Then I will pour us some brandy and settle in by the fire.”
“I’m going to get out of this gown,” I say as he finishes untying my hair. “Put on something more comfortable, if we are in for the evening.”
“We are.”
I change in the bedroom with the door closed, much to Bishop’s amusement. That amusement falls away when I step out attired in one of the undergarments the Leeds seamstress tucked into my purchases. It’s a diaphanous silk camisole and equally see-through drawers trimmed in lace.
Bishop stares and then blinks, as if the lighting is poor because he must not be seeing what he is seeing.
“It is my spell-casting gown,” I say. “All witches wear them.”
“Then I have not known nearly enough witches,” he says. “Though, to be fair, I’m not sure it would look quite the same on most.”
He walks over, but when he reaches to tug down the shoulder strap, I step back.
“None of that,” I say. “Yes, I’m joking about it being for spell-casting, but it is designed for viewing pleasure, rather than immediate removal, and since you’re going to be watching me doing my spell practice, I thought you might appreciate the scenery.”
“I always appreciate the scenery. Which isn’t to say I’m not grateful for the extra effort.” His gaze slides down me with frank appreciation. “Wherever did you get that?”
“From the dressmaker in Leeds. She suggested some honeymoon nightwear. This is the most comfortable of the pieces, which means it’s also the most modest. The others are … Well, you might call me wanton, but I’m not sure they should be worn outside a brothel.”
His gaze moves to the bedroom door, and he takes a step that way.
I catch his arm. “You will see them when I model them. I’m simply warning you, in case you are scandalized.”
“I cannot wait to be scandalized.”
“But you will wait. For now, this one must do.”
“It does exceptionally well. You call them brothel wear, but you must have been providing medicines in very different brothels, because I never saw the likes of that.” He pauses.
“No, that’s a lie. I have seen it, in postcards and pamphlets purchased by some of the wolves for their private entertainment. ”
My brows shoot up. “Do tell.”
He smiles. “Perhaps I shouldn’t scandalize you.”
“I don’t believe I can be scandalized.”
He gives a low chuckle that sends a delicious shiver through me. “That’s a challenge, isn’t it?”
I rest my fingers over his chest. “If you hear a challenge, feel free to rise to it.”
“I believe I already am.”
That gets me sputtering a laugh and I poke him in the chest. “Back to the postcards. Tell me about the postcards.”
“There is a trade in printed materials of scantily clad women. Drawn sketches and, more recently, photographs. Some wearing drawers. Some in nightwear such as that, though from the few glimpses I’ve had of such things, the material—and the fit—was not nearly as good as yours.”
“Trust you to notice the materials and the fit on portraits of half-naked ladies. I presume you noticed more?” I lower my hand to the front of his trousers and the growing bulge there.
“Are these postcards like a catalog? Allowing men to peruse before purchasing the lady’s attention for the evening? ”
It takes him a moment to answer, as he enjoys my stroking. “No, they are simply for viewing. Which I have never quite understood.”
“You would prefer a catalog?”
A low rumble in his throat.
“A selection of lovely ladies, their goods on display, there for the choosing? I can see the appeal.”
“As would I … before I met you.” He looks at me. “They would no longer suffice.”
“I would make a pretty postcard girl, then?”
“You would make a postcard girl to end all postcard girls.”
I tilt my head. “Then, perhaps if we are ever short of funds…”
He growls. “We shall never be that short of funds.”
I unbutton his trousers and slide a hand in, and he growls again, eyes slitting. “Are you sure? Me on postcards, dressed like this, for men to—”
“Stop.”
I obey, pausing both talking and touching. He opens one eye fully.
“You said to stop. You didn’t specify which.” I lean toward his ear. “I suspect the answer is ‘neither.’ You hate the thought of me on those cards. It sparks the most fearful jealousy.” I put my lips to his ear. “The most arousing jealousy.”
He meets and holds my gaze. “I take it you are skipping your spell practice, then. If so, you are welcome to continue, as long as you don’t mind being thrown to the floor by a very jealous husband.”
I tap his chest. “Perhaps later. I really do need to practice.”
He reaches for me, but I dance out of his reach. When he stalks toward me, I put out my hand. “Patience is a virtue.”
“Not one of mine.”
“Then you must learn it. Sit and watch, and let this potion take hold, and then you may do as you like.”
His lips slowly curve in a wolf’s smile. “Anything I like?”
“I believe that’s what I said. Are you accusing me of speaking false, Mr. Daniels?”
“Never.”
“Then sit down and observe.”