Beatrice looked up at him, a little forlorn. “It’s all over now. The case is solved. We’ve no need to work together.”
He kissed her softly on the mouth. “You’re wrong, love. Our work together has only just begun.”
Chapter 21
The morning light found its way through a crack in the curtains. Dante covered his eyes with his arm, silently moaning so as not to wake Beatrice. But his brain fired into action, the events of last night bouncing back and forth in his mind.
They’d not arrived home until midnight. Daventry and Sir Malcolm had dealt with John Sands’ death, but the laborious task of giving statements had taken longer than expected.
Afterwards, Beatrice had agreed to come to Fitzroy Square to explain what she had learned from her uncle. Together they’d sat before the roaring fire in the drawing room, swigging brandy while discussing the case. They’d made love there. Made love in bed a little later, and she had agreed to spend the night.
Dante feared he’d not let her out of his sight again. But it was unhealthy to concoct stories about future events, unhealthy to live life as if awaiting a tragedy. And so he would do as Beatrice suggested and make the most of every moment.
Thankfully, he’d woken with a throbbing erection, and so he turned on his side, ready to run his hand over the gentle flare of her hip, hoping his betrothed might like to take advantage of his excited disposition.
But he was alone in bed.
He rubbed his eyes, came up on his elbow and scoured the room. A quick scan of the floor and his heart sank. His clothes were scattered about the place, hers nowhere to be seen.
He jumped out of bed, slightly panicked. So much for avoiding unhealthy stories. He imagined she was an early riser, but it was almost midday. He imagined a worried Miss Trimble hammering the door, but they had told their friends of their intention to marry. Surely no one begrudged them a little privacy.
He grabbed his clothes, shook out the creases and dressed quickly.
What if she’d left? What if she couldn’t live with the fact her uncle was responsible for the death of Dante’s parents?
You will come to see me as a physical reminder of your pain.
But they’d discussed it last night.
And then the chamber door creaked open, and the love of his life slipped into the room so as not to wake him.
She almost jumped out of her skin when she turned and saw him looming.
“Good Lord! You gave me a fright. I thought you were asleep.”
“I woke in an affectionate mood, hoped you might give me another chance to express my abiding love.”
She glanced at his breeches and smiled. “I’m sure an opportunity will arise again shortly.”
“No doubt.” He only had to think of her, and blood rushed to his loins.
She set a package down on the chair. “Are we going back to bed, or shall I ring to say we’d like breakfast?”
“I’d not planned on leaving this room today.”
“Good.” She began unbuttoning her pelisse, stripping for him until she stood in nothing but her chemise.
He followed suit, removed every item of clothing until naked.
Beatrice considered him with an appreciative eye. “Don’t you want to know where I’ve been?”
Dante glanced at the brown paper p
ackage. “Home, I presume.”
She nodded. “A note arrived in Howland Street for me this morning. Bateson has one for you, too, from Sir Malcolm.” She paused, stepped closer and touched his chest. “Dante, they found Mr Manning hanging in his cell. Somehow he located a length of rope. Somehow he tied it to the bars and hung himself.”
Hung himself?