Beatrice clutched at him, her nails digging into his shoulders. “I cannot bear this pressure inside me any longer. Do something.”
He sat up on the side of the bed long enough to get out of his trousers and then he came back to her. He used one hand to guide himself to her entrance. He eased into her until he felt the delicate barrier.
“So much for your worldly experience,” he said.
She caught hold of his face with both hands and looked at him. In that moment he was certain that her eyes burned with the fire of a raging fever. He wondered if his own eyes appeared equally hot. Most certainly a trick of the dawn light, he told himself again. That was the only reasonable explanation.
“Finish this, Mr. Gage,” she ordered, “or I will never forgive you.”
“As you command, Miss Lockwood.”
He gathered himself, withdrew slightly, and then thrust hard and deep into her tight body.
He felt the shockwave that went through her because it slammed through him at the same time. For a few seconds he was dazed and disoriented. It was as if he had tumbled into a surging, seething sea of raw energy.
Impossible.
He became aware that Beatrice had stiffened under him. Her lips parted and her nails sank deep. He covered her mouth swiftly, muffling her cry of astonishment, pain and outrage. It took everything he had to hold himself very still. He was sweating hard.
When the outrage seemed to have subsided into a grumble, he raised his head and smoothed her hair away from her damp forehead.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He rested his damp forehead on hers. “I’m sorry. I did not want to hurt you.”
“Yes, well, it was my own fault.” She took a steadying breath. “I believe I did insist. I thought I knew what to expect but I suppose no one can truly be prepared for something that one has never experienced.”
“No,” he said. “I realize you are not in the mood to hear this but things will be much more comfortable the next time.”
She relaxed a little more and put her arms around his neck. “And just how would you know that, Mr. Gage?”
“Logic tells me that,” he said. “And do you think you might be able to call me by my first name now?”
She giggled, moving a little beneath him. He winced and caught his breath.
She stopped laughing at once. “Are you all right?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. He was speaking through his teeth. “But it would be extremely helpful if you would not move.”
“Then what is the point of all this?”
“That is an excellent question.” He sucked in a breath. “The thing is, if you keep moving, I will be forced to move, too.”
“I see.” She wriggled experimentally. “You may be right. Things are somewhat more comfortable now. You are awfully large down there, aren’t you? Do you think that is normal?”
He groaned. “I did warn you, Beatrice.”
The heat returned to her eyes.
“Yes, you did,” she whispered. “It’s all right, Joshua. I will not shatter in your hands.”
He withdrew slowly and then forged carefully back into her. Tentatively, she raised her hips to meet him. It was too much. He began to move more quickly because he could not do anything else. The need to climax inside her was riding him hard now. Nothing short of the end of the world could stop him. He had to stake his claim on Beatrice, had to make her know that they belonged together.
“Joshua.” She clutched at him. “Joshua.”
Her body shivered. And then she convulsed in his arms. Her head tipped back. Her eyes squeezed shut.
He wanted to savor the thrill of her release but the small pulsations deep inside her were pulling him into a vortex. It was unlike anything he had ever known. He rocked into her one more time and then he poured himself into her, gritting his teeth against the low howl of exultation that welled up inside.
When it was over, he collapsed on top of her. His last semi-coherent thought was that maybe he had been wrong all along. Maybe there really was something to the notion of paranormal energy, after all. Nothing else could explain the startling sense of connection that he experienced in that moment.
All his adult life he had worked to maintain balance in all things, especially when it came to the darker passions.
Another rule broken for the sake of Beatrice. He knew there would be more.
Thirty-Three
He came reluctantly out of the luxurious aftermath and sat up on the side of the bed. A glance out the window told him the fog was lifting. He reached for his trousers and took out his watch. They had two hours until the morning train to London stopped in Upper Dixton.
On the far side of the room, Beatrice was moving about behind the sheet that she had strung around the washstand. He heard water slosh in the bowl and knew that she was washing away the physical evidence of their passion.
For a moment he sat quietly, trying to think of the proper thing to say. He had never before been intimate with a virgin. He pulled on his trousers and fastened them. Then he grasped the cane and pushed himself to his feet.
“Are you . . . all right?” he asked.
“What?” Beatrice put her head around the edge of the sheet. Her hair was pinned up rather carelessly and what he could see of her shoulders indicated she was partially nude. Her brows were scrunched together in bewilderment. Then her expression cleared. “Yes, of course I’m all right. Perfectly fit. I have always enjoyed good health.”
He smiled to himself. “How very fortunate for you.”
She frowned in concern. “What about you? Is your leg bothering you?”
He held up one hand, palm out in a silencing gesture.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I was merely concerned that perhaps all that exercise might have caused your old injury to flare up.”
He gave her a hard look.
She broke off, flushing. She ducked back behind the sheet and resumed her washing. “Right. When do we leave?”
“Soon.”
“Very well,” Beatrice said. “My chief concern at the moment is obtaining fresh clothes. I can’t wait to get home.”
She was rustling around behind the sheet now. He knew that she was getting dressed.
“Beatrice, there is something I have wanted to ask you since the moment I met you.”
There was a slight pause on the other side of the sheet.
“Yes?” she asked. There was a great deal of caution in the single word.
“I understand how you wound up working as an agent for Flint and Marsh. But how did you come to find yourself in Dr. Fleming’s Academy of the Occult?”
There was another short pause. He got the impression that his question was not the one she had anticipated.
“You know how it is when a woman finds herself alone in the world,” she said airily. “After my parents were killed I landed in an orphanage. My career opportunities were quite limited, as you can imagine.”
“Yes,” he said. “I know. The world is a hard place for a woman on her own.”
“I was sent to my first post as a governess when I was sixteen. I’m afraid I was not a very good governess. My employer’s two young sons were little monsters and I lacked the skills to keep them under control. So, I was let go. I managed to obtain another position in the household of a handsome widower. He seemed to take an interest in my well-being. I’m afraid that, in my naïveté, I mistook his kindness for a stronger, more intimate emotion.”
“You fell in love with him.”
She put her head around the sheet again. “I was sixteen, Joshua. All I knew of love was what I had read in novels and books of poetry. But it was not long before I realized the foolishness of my ways. During the two months that I was concocting romantic fantasies he was occupied with finding himself a suitable wife.”
“You were not a
ware he planned to marry?”
“No.” Beatrice emerged from behind the sheet, fully dressed. She gave him a rueful smile. “Imagine my surprise when he announced his engagement to a very wealthy, very lovely lady whose family moved in the best circles.”
“I assume you left your post because of his marriage?”
“Well, I would have done so, because I was utterly devastated. I told myself I could not live in the same house with him and his new wife. But as it happened, there was no need for me to take such a drastic step. My employer’s fiancée made it clear that she wanted me dismissed before she would move in. I was let go immediately. My employer was kind to the end, however. He offered to set me up in a small house in a quiet neighborhood.”
“In other words, he intended to make you his mistress.”
“Yes.”
He glanced at the stains on the coverlet. “Obviously you rejected the offer.”
“It was bad enough that he had broken my heart. The insult was too much. I was furious. I hurled the contents of a vase of flowers at him. I quite ruined his jacket, I’m sure. I have something of a temper.”
“You’re a redhead,” Joshua said. “You’re entitled to a temper. You should have cracked the vase over his head.”
“Yes, well, they tend to arrest people for inflicting that sort of bodily damage. I was angry but I’m not a complete idiot.”
He smiled slightly. “A wise decision under the circumstances. Did you ever see the bastard again?”
Beatrice was amused. “He wasn’t a complete bastard, just a wealthy man who was acting in accordance with the conventions of his station. In fairness, I think he was truly fond of me, but naturally he could not marry a governess. He realized that even if I did not at the time. And yes, I did see him again. We passed each other on the street one afternoon about a year later. He was with his new bride. He never noticed me.”
Joshua was stunned. “How could he have failed to see you?”
Beatrice giggled. “You really are a romantic at heart, Joshua Gage. He didn’t notice me because by that time he had forgotten all about me.”
“I find that impossible to believe.”
She gave him a whimsical smile. “Do you?”
“Even if I never saw you again, I would not forget you. And I will always know if you are near.”
Her eyes darkened into fathomless pools. “As I said, you are a true romantic.”
Annoyed, he tightened his grip on the cane. “You did not tell me how you came to land at Dr. Fleming’s Academy of the Occult.”
She blinked. “Oh, right. There really isn’t much more to the story. I changed careers and became a paid companion. Not at the Flint and Marsh Agency, though, a different one. I was fortunate enough to obtain a post in the household of a woman who was fascinated with the study of the paranormal. I shared her interest.”
He smiled. “Naturally.”
“One afternoon I accompanied her to the Academy to observe Dr. Fleming’s demonstrations. My employer booked a private appointment during which Roland recognized that I had some genuine talent and offered to hire me as a paranormal practitioner. My employer urged me to take the position. She said it would give me a far more comfortable life than a career as a companion. She was right, at least until the night that poor Roland was murdered.”
“After which you reinvented yourself as a professional investigator.”
“Well, not immediately,” Beatrice said. “I had no idea that such a profession even existed. However, when I concluded that I had no choice but to return to my former career as a paid companion, I began making the rounds of various agencies. I heard rumors of an exclusive agency in Lantern Street that paid very well. The proprietors were said to be extremely selective when it came to hiring companions. I decided I had nothing to lose so I applied. Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh offered me a position immediately. They said I had a certain talent for the work.”
He smiled. “I know I have told you this before but I will say it again. You are an amazing woman, Beatrice.”
“One does what one must to survive,” she said.
He reflected briefly on all the times he had stood very close to the edge of the cliffs at his country house and looked down into the roiling sea. Always, he had limped back to the house again, telling himself that he could not take that way out because he had responsibilities.
But now he wondered if the real reason he had turned away from the sea was simply because deep down inside, a tiny flame of hope still burned.
“Yes,” he said. He made his way across the room and stopped in front of her. He caught her chin on the edge of his hand, bent his head and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “And I assure you that I am very glad that I survived long enough to make your acquaintance, Beatrice Lockwood.”
She smiled. Her eyes brightened. “The feeling is mutual, Mr. Gage.”
That was not quite what he wanted to hear but this was not the time to pursue the subject. He released her and went to where his coat hung on a hook in the wall.
“Let’s have some breakfast and then we will catch the train to London. I will send a telegram to Nelson advising him to meet us and take us directly to the offices of Flint and Marsh. I am very eager to chat with Mrs. Marsh,” he said.
He saw that she was still smiling but now there was a sparkle of amusement in her eyes.
“Have I inadvertently managed to entertain you again, Miss Lockwood?” he asked.
“It’s nothing,” she assured him.
He winced. “Like hell.”
“Very well, then, if you must know, I cannot help but notice that you appear to thrive on these clandestine plots and counterplots. You were born for this sort of work, Joshua. Really, you should never have retired.”
Thirty-Four
Nelson met them at the railway station in London. They all watched the rest of the passengers exit the train. None appeared unduly suspicious.
“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t on board,” Joshua said. “But in this fog he’ll find it impossible to follow us.”
Nelson escorted them through heavy mist to a nearby lane where a closed carriage waited. When Beatrice briefly heightened her talent she could see the heat in his footsteps.
“I have news, Uncle Josh,” he said, opening the door for Beatrice.
“Excellent,” Joshua said. “Save it until we are on our way.”
He handed Beatrice up into the cab and followed her into the shadowed confines. He sat down beside her. Nelson vaulted up into the small space and took the opposite seat.
Joshua used his cane to rap the roof of the cab twice. The vehicle rolled forward at a fast clip.
One look at Nelson told Beatrice that—a few minor differences aside—she was looking at a younger mirror image of Joshua. This was how he had appeared in the days before the scars, both physical and emotional, had changed him.
The men of the Gage line were not handsome in the classical sense but they were fascinating in their own way. Perhaps it was the masculine strength in their auras that compelled a woman’s attention, Beatrice thought. Whatever the case, Nelson’s barely suppressed excitement combined with the intensity of Joshua’s more mature aura of controlled power infused the atmosphere of the small cab with so much heat that she wanted to fan herself.
“Don’t worry, Miss Lockwood,” Nelson said. “Our driver, Henry, has had a great deal of experience, thanks to my uncle. He will ensure that no one follows us to the offices of your employers.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Beatrice said.
“And as Uncle Josh pointed out, the fog will make it all the easier to evade detection,” Nelson added.
Beatrice slanted a quick, speculative glance at Joshua. “Was this the cab you used to remove Mr. Euston from the garden the night we met?”
“As a matter of fact, it was,” Joshua said. He looked at Ne
lson. “Tell me what you have learned.”
“I did as you asked,” Nelson said. “I spoke with everyone I could find who had lived and worked in the street where the Academy of the Occult was located at the time of Fleming’s death.”
“What’s this?” Beatrice glared at Joshua. “You never told me that you were making inquiries into Roland’s murder.”
“Did I neglect to mention it?” Joshua frowned. “Sorry. I have had other things on my mind of late.”
“Why did you ask Nelson to conduct such an investigation?” she demanded.
“Because this affair has its roots in what happened that night,” Joshua said, not bothering to conceal his impatience with the distracting questions. He fixed Nelson with a fiercely intent expression. “What did you discover?”
Nelson took out a notebook and flipped through it. He stopped at a page. “There were, as you predicted, a number of inconsistencies in people’s memories of the events at the time but there were a few things everyone agreed on. Several suspected that paranormal forces from beyond the grave were involved in the murder. Naturally I discounted that theory.”
Joshua dismissed that with a short, brusque movement of one hand. “Of course. What else?”
Nelson gave Beatrice an apologetic look. “I’m sorry to say that many of the residents of the street concluded that the woman they knew as Miranda the Clairvoyant was the killer.”
She sighed. “No need to apologize. I read the papers at the time. The knowledge that the police were looking for me was one of the reasons I changed careers. No one ever expects a woman to do that.”
“Right.” Nelson turned another page. “But here’s the interesting material. Two shopkeepers and a baked potato vendor who do business in the neighborhood recalled an unusual man who loitered in the vicinity for a couple of days before the murder. He made them uneasy, they said. The shopkeepers wondered if he might be a thief who was making observations in preparation for a burglary.”