A Momentary Marriage(63)

“Caulfield?” His brows lifted. “Yes, the factory we own jointly will revert to him on my death. It was his family’s originally.”

“Then he profits by your death. Surely he calls on you in London.”

“Yes,” he agreed slowly, frowning. “He does. I have even sometimes wondered if he has a tendre for Mother.”

“You said he was a hard man.”

“Yes, he’d have the spine to do it and the intelligence. I wouldn’t have thought he had the animosity—but I’m beginning to question my ability to judge one’s character. He would be handy, wouldn’t he, if not as satisfying as blaming it on Salstone? Still, half of a business doesn’t seem enough for murder.”

“Part of a family business.”

“There are some people to whom that would matter quite a bit.” He sent her a silvery glance, the corner of his mouth quirked up, in that look that did odd things to her insides. “Care to place a wager on it? My money’s on Claude. Who’s your man, Archie or Caulfield?”

“I don’t prefer either one.” Irritation sparked in her. “Really, James, you want to take bets on the identity of your murderer?”

“Would-be murderer, one hopes. Come, it will make it more entertaining.”

“Entertaining!” Laura scrambled off the bed, her annoyance flaring into anger. “How can you—after all this—and you’re joking about it? I have been here night after night, watching you struggle to breathe, listening to you converse with people who aren’t there, worried every second that you—” Her voice caught, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. “Oh, blast.”

She whirled to walk off, but James caught her wrist. “Laura, no. Wait.” He stood up, tugging her back. “Don’t cry. Please.” His hand curved around her cheek, tilting her face up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—I’m a wretch. An idiot.” He smoothed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away the tear that trickled down. “I would not hurt you for the world. And yet somehow I always do.”

“I realize you like to pretend that nothing matters, that you care for nothing, even your own life. But I do care. I’ve been so worried.”

“I know. You are an angel. I promise you, I didn’t mean to make light of what you did for me. I was just . . . being too much myself.” His thumb caressed her cheek again. “Sweet girl. Don’t waste your tears on me.” His eyes moved over her face, his hand sliding down to her neck, cupping it. “Laura . . .” His voice changed, suddenly huskier.

He said her name again, little more than a whisper, and she felt the brush of his breath against her skin. Then he kissed her.





chapter 24


James curved over her, fitting her body to his, and Laura melted into him. His lips were warm and gently insistent, opening her mouth. He slid his hand down her back, following the curve in, then out, his caress as soft and inviting as his mouth. Their kiss deepened, his tongue tangling with hers, and Laura felt the surge of heat in his body.

His fingertips pressed into the soft flesh of her buttocks, and his other arm wrapped around her waist, locking her to him. Laura’s heart pounded madly. She was awash in sensual pleasure, her mind a blank. James changed the angle of their kiss, his lips harder, fiercer. His hand strayed over her, coming up to cup her breast.

Laura’s body responded, her nipple tightening beneath his touch and warmth blossoming between her legs. She wanted to touch him, to slide her hands over his chest and up his neck, to feel the glide of his hair through her fingers. The way he held her had shackled her arms to her sides. Laura shifted to pull one hand up through the circle of his embrace, pushing his arm aside a little, to reach his chest. James froze.

He lifted his head abruptly and stared down at her for a startled moment, his gaze the gray of storms. He jerked back from her with a low curse. Laura couldn’t move, just stared at him with her lips still parted, too surprised, too full of conflicting emotions, to even think, let alone speak.

“I’m sorry.” James swung away. “I shouldn’t—I didn’t mean to—” He shoved his hands back into his hair. After a moment, he cleared his throat and turned around to face her. His posture was stiff, his face remote. “I apologize. I have no excuse other than I am . . . not myself, as you know.”

“Yes, of course.” Laura’s own face was so stiff she thought it might crack. She felt almost literally ill, her stomach fluttering with all the emotions that had torn at her for the past week, mingling with the desire and pleasure that had flooded her with his kiss. She was in a state of confusion, but one thing was perfectly plain—James regretted kissing her.