Page 28 of Miss Moriarty, I Presume?
Without meaning to, she licked her lips. “I’ve only fleshly sublimation here. It’s good for you.”
He traced a finger just above the lace top of her corset, much the same way he had traced the ruffles on that blue-and-orange cushion earlier in the evening. “Fleshly sublimation? I like the sound of it.”
Even though her chemise separated his skin from hers, the pressure of his caress still sent a jolt of heat to her abdomen. His attention had been on the bountiful curvature he was touching but now he lifted his gaze. Their eyes met and Charlotte felt another jolt of heat, this one singeing her all the way to the soles of her feet.
“But do you know, Holmes?” He spread open his fingers, his eyes never leaving hers. “Between the two of us, I have far superior self-control. And unless I agree to it, there will be no fleshly sublimation tonight. Or fleshly corruption.”
She exhaled and gripped him by the collar. “What can I do to make you agree to something fleshly?”
He spoke directly into her ear, his breath warm against her skin. “You can take me to the Garden of Hermopolis with you.”
Her fingers on his collar loosened. “Why must you always put so many obstacles in my way?” she whispered.
“A walled compound near Porthangan in Cornwall, how difficult do you think it will be, Holmes, for me to find it?”
She cupped his face with her hands. “Think of your children.”
“Iamthinking of them. Moriarty is a danger to them as well.” He kissed her, a kiss of only their lips. “Now think of yourself. Think of how long you have schemed to have me. If you refuse my request, not only will you be unsatisfied tonight, but I will still turn up at the Garden of Hermopolis tomorrow.”
If she were a better woman she wouldn’t accede to his demands. “You want too much.”
“I’ve always wanted a great deal. Now do you want me to sin or not?”
His words were accompanied by little drop kisses to her neck, light, gentle, very slightly moist, followed by a bite that didn’t hurt at all, but made her toes curl and her eyelashes flutter.
Of course she wanted him to come with her to Cornwall. She had never been that better woman and the thought of the Garden of Hermopolis and Moriarty’s murky aims chilled her to the spleen.
But to have him tie his fate to hers, even knowing that he would have never chosen any other course... She sighed, pulled him closer, and kissed him hard.
“Let us sin then. Let us show Sodom and Gomorrah how it’s done.”
8
Livia didn’t sleep much at night. In the morning she joined Mrs. Newell in the older woman’s bedroom for breakfast.
“I was thinking of inviting you to come with me today—I’ve a long visit with an old friend planned. But I know how much you dislike having to smile at strangers and pretend to take an interest, my dear,” said Mrs. Newell with a wink. “So what say you to spending the day away from us old fuddy-duddies and doing only what you wish?”
Livia remembered what Charlotte had said. Mrs. Newell was setting her free again, exactly as Charlotte had predicted.
Her heart thrummed with gratitude. “That would be wonderful. I mean, I’m sure your friend is wonderful, too, but I do yearn to take a nice long walk in the park and then spend some time at the British Museum, especially the Reading Room.”
“Then it shall be so,” declared Mrs. Newell as she adjusted the lapels of her rose brocade dressing gown. “I am fully settled in for a luxurious breakfast with two newspapers and a magazine and will not leave this table until half past nine. Do things at your own pace, my impatient girl, and don’t wait for me to move these old bones.”
Her lively kindness made Livia’s spirits rise. She, whose appetite was usually anemic, consumed a decent amount of bacon and eggs—and even made all the appropriate responses as Mrs. Newell read aloud passages from a breathless article about the upcoming Jubilee.
When Livia, ready to leave, poked in her head to say her good-byes, Mrs. Newell was indeed still at table, her maid hovering nearby.
“I shall have both luncheon and tea with my friend. So if you come back and I have not returned yet, don’t wait for me. Order your own tea,” said Mrs. Newell between instructions to her maid on which dresses to lay out.
In town Mrs. Newell took her tea at five and liked to linger a good while for conversation. Livia, therefore, didn’t need to return to the hotel before dark. She left with a smile. Her good mood lasted until she turned the first street corner. And then all the doubts and misgivings Mrs. Newell’s fortifying company had kept at bay came crashing back.
The last time someone had called on Charlotte on Moriarty’s orders, the goal had been to ferret out the whereabouts of their illegitimate half brother, Mr. Myron Finch, who had defected from Moriarty’s service. Livia had been awake in the middle of the night wondering what new diabolical schemes required the participation of Moriarty himself, when she’d abruptly asked herself whether Mr. Finch didn’t factor into this new charade.
The idea had struck with the force of one of her mother’s openhanded slaps and in its wake, the anxiety pumping through her veins had made her bolt up in bed, breathing hard.
When she thought of Mr. Finch’s peril, she usually understood it in terms of Moriarty’s vindictiveness—minions were allowed to gather under his banner, but never to leave on their own terms. But from time to time, she remembered that, according to Charlotte, who had heard it from Mr. Marbleton, Mr. Finch might have absconded with something of Moriarty’s, something of vital importance.
So important that Moriarty had risked a valuable and well-placed spy for a chance at its recovery.
