“It doesn’t hurt?” he asked gently.
“No… oh!” She gasped because he’d shifted and pressed, and somehow the combination was simply divine. “Do that again,” she demanded.
He grinned, his teeth white against his brown skin. “As my lady commands.”
And he kissed her as he pressed with his thigh. She opened her mouth wide, wanting to taste all of him, wanting to experience everything he might show her. When next he pressed down, she shoved up, rubbing herself against him, twisting and thrusting. She wanted… more. Much more.
She tore her mouth from his and looked him in the face. “Put it in me.”
e time the carriage pulled up in front of Jeremy’s town house, the sky had darkened, threatening rain. Beatrice climbed out of the carriage and ran up the steps of the town house to knock at the door. She glanced at the black clouds overhead while she waited, wishing Putley would hurry.
When at last he opened the door, she made to walk past him, saying, “Good afternoon, Putley. I won’t be staying long.”
“A moment, miss,” the butler gasped.
“Oh, really, Putley, after all this time, can’t you at least pretend you know me?” She smiled up at him, but then her smile fell from her face as completely as if it’d never been there.
The butler’s face was gray.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and for once he did sound sorry.
Which only made panic rise in her chest. “No. Let me in. Let me see him.”
“I can’t, miss,” the old butler said. “Mr. Oates is dead. Dead and buried.”
Chapter Ten
Princess Serenity’s horse had been killed, and Longsword had none, so they were forced to set off for the witch’s lair on foot. All that day they walked, and though the princess was small and slight, never did she falter. At nightfall, they came to the foot of the mountain where the witch lived. In the dark, guided only by the light of the pale moon, they climbed the great black mountain. Strange beasts stirred in the shadows, and mournful birds cried in the dark, but Longsword and the princess pressed on. And as the first light of dawn crested the peak of the mountain, they stood before the witch’s castle….
—from Longsword
“What do you mean, she’s gone out?” Reynaud grated at the butler. He stood in the front hall, having just returned from his business meeting.
The man cringed but stood his ground bravely enough. “Miss Corning said she was going to visit Mr. Oates, my lord.”
“Dammit!” Reynaud turned and ran to the front door, throwing it open. The stable boy was just leading his horse to the corner. “Oy! Bring him back here!”
The boy looked up, startled, but led the big bay around. Reynaud leaped down the steps and mounted the horse, nudging the gelding into a trot. He’d seen the note just this afternoon while sitting with her in her bedroom. Jeremy Oates had died two days before. Why it had taken Oates’s parents that long to write the terse note, he had no idea. He knew he should feel shame for reading Beatrice’s letters, but he’d wanted to protect her while she was recovering from that terrible stab wound. He’d intended to break the news of her friend’s death gently. Hold her while she wept. Dammit! Now his plan to cushion the blow was in shambles. He urged the horse into a canter, riding dangerously fast past carts and pedestrians.
Five minutes later, when he rounded the corner onto Oates’s street, the first thing he saw was Beatrice, standing at the top of the town-house steps, looking like a forlorn waif. He jumped down from the horse and threw the reins to one of the footmen attending her carriage. Then he slowly mounted the stairs. One fat raindrop fell, then two, then a deluge let down.
They were instantly drenched.
He took her arm gently. “Come home, Beatrice.”
She looked up at him, the water running down her face like tears. “He’s dead.”
“I know,” he murmured.
“How?” she asked. “How could he be dead? I just saw him the other day, and he was fine.”
“Come home.” He started leading her down the steps. “You’re still ill.”
“No!” She yanked her arm suddenly and surprised him enough to pull it from his grasp. “No! I want to see him. Maybe they’re wrong. They hardly look in on him at all. Maybe he’s just… just . . .” She trailed away, looking around wildly. “I want to see him.”
She started back up the stairs.