Wicked Intentions
Page 47

“Caire,” Temperance whispered.
He lifted his head to glance at his mother. “What is it?”
“If you’re done making a public display of yourself,” Lady Caire said, “the children need to be seen to, and there’s an insane woman Godric St. John says started the fire and murdered three women.”
“Your concern is touching as always,” Caire began, but then Temperance pinched his earlobe. “Ouch.” He looked down at her.
Goodness, aristocrats were idiots at times! “Your mother was very worried for you.”
Caire lifted an eyebrow.
“I love you, Lazarus.” Lady Caire’s voice was clear and certain. But then her lower lip trembled. “You’re my son. I may not express my love effectively, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”
He turned his head and stared at her in wonder. And he probably would’ve continued to stare, dumbstruck, if Temperance hadn’t pinched him again.
“Ow.” He shot a glare at her.
She arched a brow at him pointedly.
“Mother, mine.” Caire leaned down gingerly and kissed his mother’s cheek. “A wise woman once told me that just because love isn’t expressed doesn’t mean it isn’t felt.”
Lady Caire’s eyes welled with tears. “Does that mean you love me as well?”
A corner of Lazarus’s mouth quirked up. “I think it must.”
“I didn’t think you listened to me.”
“Every word you have ever uttered,” Caire whispered, “is engraved upon my heart.”
Lady Caire closed her eyes as if she’d received a benediction.
Then her eyes snapped open. “Yes, well. What shall we do with all these children?”
Temperance glanced at the home. The fire looked nearly out, but there was not much left beyond smoldering ruins. Dear God. It only now occurred to her that they had nowhere to take seven and twenty children, and although she’d set out this morning to find a patron for the home, now she no longer even had a home.
“Perhaps they can come to my town house,” Caire started doubtfully.
His mother snorted. “The home of a bachelor gentleman? I think not. The majority will come to my town house for the moment.”
“And I can find places for some as well.” Lady Hero had approached quietly. “My brother has a house standing nearly empty. He’s in the country for the summer.”
“Oh, thank you!” Temperance hardly knew what to say to such generosity.
“I can help with the little ones,” Mary Whitsun said. Her lower lip trembled. “Until I find an apprenticeship, that is.”
Temperance laid her hand gently on Mary’s sooty hair. “How would you like to remain at the home—wherever the home might be—and help as long as you’d like?”
Mary Whitsun’s eyes shone. “I’d like that, ma’am.”
“Good.” Temperance blinked back yet more tears.
Lady Hero smiled at the two of them. Her titian hair was wet and straggling about her shoulders, and yet she still seemed dignified and every inch the sister of a duke. “When you are settled, I would like to discuss building a new home.”
“As would I,” Lady Caire said. For a moment, both ladies eyed each other.
“Larger, do you think?” Lady Hero murmured.
“Definitely.”
“And with room for the children to play?”
“Oh, quite,” Lady Caire replied decisively, and smiled at the younger woman.
They seemed to have come to some sort of unspoken pact.
“Thank you,” Temperance said, dazed.
“You’re in for it now,” Caire murmured irreverently in her ear. “With my mother and the sister of a duke attending to your affairs.”
But she ignored his teasing, hugging him in her glee. The home had not one but two patronesses!
“And if you don’t mind, I’d like to contribute something to the home as well.” His tone was oddly diffident.
She looked up at him and said, “Thank you. We’d be most honored to have you as a patron as well.”
He kissed her quickly and then Caire sighed. “I need to attend to that.” He nodded his head to where St. John held Mother Heart’s-Ease with the two footmen. “Will you stay here?”
Temperance smiled up at him. “No.”
He sighed. “If you’ll excuse us, Mother, my lady.” He made an abbreviated bow to both ladies.
“Certainly,” Lady Hero said. “I think we need to organize these children.” She raised her eyebrows at Lady Caire.
That lady nodded and as one, the women wheeled to descend on Nell and the group of children.
Caire shivered with mock apprehension. “Those two are going to be formidable.”
“And just what we need,” Temperance said with satisfaction.
He hugged her to his side as they approached St. John and the struggling Mother Heart’s-Ease.
St. John looked at Caire. “What is this about? Why would this women set fire to the home?”
“She killed Marie,” Caire said grimly. “And Marie’s brother, too, when he tried to blackmail her. She realized that we were getting close to discovering her, and she came here to kill Mrs. Dews, I think.”
Temperance looked at the gaunt woman with loathing. “All the children were inside the home as well. She would’ve killed many more than just me.”
“Yes. She didn’t care.” Caire nodded at St. John. “If we search her gin shop, we might find evidence of the murders.”
“No need,” St. John replied. He flipped back the ragged red man’s coat that Mother Heart’s-Ease wore. Beneath, rusty stains splashed across the bosom of her dress and down the front.
“Dear God,” Temperance whispered, covering her mouth with her hand.
It was apparently too much for Mother Heart’s-Ease. She lunged, shrieking obscenities like a madwoman, which, it was quite apparent, she was. Both footmen were hauled forward at the strength of her attack. Caire swung Temperance behind him and backed several steps, putting them both well out of Mother Heart’s-Ease’s reach.
“I’ll bring her to gaol in my carriage,” St. John shouted above the woman’s ravings.
Caire nodded. “Bind her well.”
“I will,” St. John replied. “I’m taking no chance of her escaping.”
The men set about their grim task.
“Come,” Caire whispered in Temperance’s ear. “You’re wet and cold and so am I. Let’s find a carriage to take us home.”
“But Winter…” Temperance glanced about and spotted her brother helping to herd the children.
Winter caught her look and raised his hand, jogging over. “I’m to help Lady Caire and Lady Hero to settle the children, especially the boys. They’ll be staying at the Duke of Wakefield’s house, and they’ll need supervision there.”
“I must help,” Temperance began.
Winter laid his hand on her shoulder. “No need. There’s enough people between the servants and Nell and me.”
Caire nodded above her. “I’m taking her home and giving her a warm bath.”
Winter eyed Caire without speaking. And then he stuck out his hand. “Thank you.”
Caire took his hand, shaking it firmly. “No need to thank me.”
Winter looked between Caire and Temperance, his brow arched, but he merely said, “Take care of her.”
Caire nodded. “I will.”
Winter bussed Temperance on the cheek and ran back to the children.
“Now to find a carriage,” Caire muttered, then grimaced. “Damn it, I forgot to thank St. John for capturing Mother Heart’s-Ease.”
“But he didn’t,” Temperance exclaimed.
He turned to look at her.
And she couldn’t help but laugh; it was such a silly thing after all that had happened. “The Ghost of St. Giles appeared with her while you were inside the house.”
“What, in front of everyone?”
“Yes. He marched right up to St. John and gave Mother Heart’s-Ease to him. I think we were all too stunned to detain him.”
“And St. John was there at the same time?”
“Yes.” She looked at him curiously.
Caire shook his head. “I wish I’d been there. I’d enjoy very much finding out who it is that hides behind that mask.”
Temperance wrapped her arm about his side as they started for the carriages. “I think that’s a mystery that we’ll have to save for another day.”
TEMPERANCE WOULD HAVE fallen asleep on the carriage ride to Caire’s house if she weren’t so nervous with anticipation. She had told Lazarus that she loved him, but there was still something yet—she needed to show him.
So when the carriage stopped outside his town house, she took his hand and led him silently inside.
“I smell of smoke,” he protested as they climbed the grand staircase together.
“I don’t care,” she replied. “I nearly lost you today.”
Her heart was leaping in her chest so violently that she thought she might well faint. She had a second chance. Dear God, Caire was giving her a second chance. Whatever she did, she mustn’t mess it up. She carefully closed his bedroom door behind them and then stood before him.
“I want to… no, I need to show you how much I love you,” she murmured. “I’ve been thinking about it for the last week. How you thought I felt I was degrading myself by making love to you.”
He started to speak, but she placed her forefinger across his lips.
He raised his eyebrows.
“Let me.” She inhaled to fortify her courage and deliberately trailed her finger across his lips, over his jaw, and down his neck. “Please let me.”
He held very still, barely breathing. She knew this caused him pain, but she did it anyway. She needed to teach him that touch—especially her touch—need not bring him pain, that it could be pleasurable as well, and the only way she knew to demonstrate the lesson was to show him.
“I want to see if I can find a way”—she held his gaze as she untied his cloak—“to do this without it hurting you.”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
The cord rasped softly as it slid apart. She took the cloak from his shoulders, carefully placing it along with his hat next to the candle atop the chair. When she turned back to him, he was still standing, watching her curiously. He’d made no move to take off any more of his clothing.
“You healed me.” She swallowed and placed her hands on his shoulders. His jerk this time was softer, as if he either strove to contain the pain or it had receded a bit. She hoped it was the latter. “You made me whole again after years of suffering. I’d like to do the same for you.”
Slowly, gently, she took off his coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth. When she began unbuttoning his shirt, she could feel him shivering under her fingertips. For a moment, her courage failed her. What if forcing her touch on him merely made him more sensitive to it? Gave him more pain?
Then she looked into his face.
“Very well,” he said. “But don’t be disappointed if this doesn’t work. I’ll still love you no matter what.”
She felt tears prick her eyes at his calm acceptance of her and what she wanted to do. Whatever happened, they were in this together and that at least made her feel better.
Bit by bit, one article of clothing at a time, she undressed him in near-complete silence. By the time they got down to his smallclothes, she was out of breath and he was already erect under the cloth. Her hands shook as she divested him of his last article of clothing.