Then the door opened and James stepped into the room, and in an instant, Laura was in his arms, all questions and doubts vanishing.
chapter 34
James had found it difficult to keep his mind off Laura all day. Truth was, he had completely failed at it. He wanted to talk to her, touch her, take her in his arms. He wanted to be naked and in bed with her again.
But strangely, when he entered her room and Laura rushed into his arms, he wanted just as much—well, almost as much—to simply hold her against him. An uncoiling started deep inside him.
James kissed his way down her face and nibbled at her neck, relishing the leap of her pulse beneath his lips. Then, sweeping her up in his arms, he settled into the chair by the fireplace. Laura snuggled up against him, and he indulged in the pleasure of simply holding her, anticipation of what would come later simmering beneath the surface.
“Have I told you how lovely you are?” James murmured.
“Yes, but you are welcome to do so again.”
“You are lovely,” he said obligingly, then went on, punctuating his words with haphazard kisses all over her face. “Beautiful. Radiant. Comely. Exquisite.” Laughter bubbled from her throat, and James smiled at the sound, kissing the tender flesh of her throat. “Utterly transcendent.”
“Oh, my.” She sighed, idly tracing the pattern of his silk waistcoat. “That’s very nice. I think I’ll keep you.”
“Will you? I’m a fortunate man, indeed.” He slid his fingertips down the sleeve of her dressing gown. “How did the invitations go?”
“Slowly. I finished them. There was a slight contretemps, however.”
“Indeed?” He enjoyed hearing her talk, but more than that, he liked . . . knowing her, learning what she did, what she thought. James spread out his fingers over her stomach, watching his hand glide slowly over her body.
“Yes.” She stretched like a cat, arching back as if offering more of herself to his touch. He obliged, smoothing his way up and over her breast as she went on to describe Patricia’s stormy entrance into the drawing room.
His blood heated, clouding his brain, but he retained enough wit to keep the conversation going. “Patricia has always enjoyed making an entrance.”
“Yes, but here’s the thing.” Laura sat up, dislodging his hand, and turned to face him. “After she left, Adelaide told us Patricia was upset because Archie had run up so much debt in London they’d had to leave. Lord Salstone’s washed his hands of him.”
“So that’s why they’re here.” He sighed. “Now I’ll never be free of them. Certainly that gives Archie an urgent need for money. Perhaps that was enough to spur him to get rid of me, even though they wouldn’t get a large amount.”
“I thought so. Except . . . it seems too complex and planned for him.”
“Yes, Archie’s intelligence, or rather lack thereof, brings one up short. Sad to say, I doubt Patricia has any more brains than he. What about our other suspects? What else has your sleuthing uncovered?”
Laura sighed, reluctant to tell him. “Walter told me that one of the men Claude plays cards with is the apothecary.”
“Ah.” A bleakness flickered in his eyes and was gone. “So Claude is friends with a man who could provide him with mercury.”
“Acquaintances,” Laura amended. “That doesn’t mean the man was willing to conspire in a murder plot.”
“No, but enough to purchase mercury for him, I imagine. It’s not illegal.”
Hoping to turn the conversation to a lighter mood, Laura went on. “Sadly, I was able to find out little else of value. Aside from your Cousin Maurice’s headaches, digestive problems, and aching joints”—she smiled at James’s groan—“I also managed to determine that he hasn’t visited London in almost a year.”
“That’s one reason I spent much of the last year in London.”
“I doubt he’s a realistic suspect anyway, since I can’t see that he stands to gain anything from your death.”
“Maurice needn’t resort to poison. He intends to plague me to death with his presence. I suppose he’s completely run out of funds. But I offered him the use of the cottage in Scotland, and he wouldn’t take it.”
“Goodness, no. He wouldn’t want to be stuck up there all by himself. James . . . he’s lonely.”
“Of course he’s lonely. Hard to attract friends when all one talks about are bunion s and ague and lumbago,” James retorted.
“Not if one was staying at a health resort. Bath, say, where he could partake of the waters and discuss illnesses with the other guests.”