[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

"It's better," she whispered.
He smiled against her neck. "Aye."
"Are you happy with me this morning?"
He lifted his head and looked down at her. An odd question.
"Aye. Why wouldn't I be?"
"You aren't groaning."
"I'm too busy trying not to hurt you for any groaning."
"You're doing a fine job of not," she said, blushing.
"Am I? Then let me see if I can bring you pleasure."
He covered her mouth with his and continued on with his intention. Her gasps stole his breath. He kept
on, gently teasing her all the way to pleasure. When she found it, she dug her fingernails into his back and
moved beneath him with an unconscious seductiveness that was his undoing. He lost his control before
she had regained hers. He reined himself in, so as not to hurt her, than collapsed against her, wanting to
weep.
"Genevieve?" he rasped when he felt her tears against his neck.
She shook her head and held him tightly to her. "Don't leave me."
"Never." He stayed right where he was and wrapped his arms around her, trying not to crush her. He
held her until her tears had ceased and she was merely dragging her hand across his back rhythmically.
"Genevieve?"
"Yes, Kendrick."
"Did I hurt you?"
"No, Kendrick."
"Why did you weep?"
"Because I love you."
He smiled. "Am I crushing you?"
"No. I like you here. You'll stay awhile, won't you?"
"I'll stay forever if you wish it."
"I do."
Kendrick did his best to keep some of his weight on his elbows so Genevieve could still breathe. And he
smiled. He'd loved his lady well, bringing her pleasure. Not a bad accomplishment before breakfast. He
grinned against Genevieve's neck. Who knew what he could accomplish before lunch?
Chapter Thirty
« ^ »
Kendrick shut off the shower, relishing the feel of actually having used hot water for a change. He dried
off, then put on what Genevieve called biker shorts. They were tight and bound his thigh muscles well.
Perfect for training. A pity they wouldn't come off easily. The more easily taken off, the better, as his
fondest wish was to be in bed with his lady for as long as possible, as naked as possible.
Unfortunately Genevieve was still sleeping. Kendrick left the bathroom and looked down at his love. She
was exhausted, and no wonder. Over the past week they'd done little but make love, eat and sleep,
though sleeping was only done when they couldn't keep their eyes open. Not that he was complaining, no
indeed. But Genevieve needed sleep and he intended that she have it.
He donned his high-top sneakers and fetched his sword from where it leaned against his trunk. A
morning spent training with Royce was what he needed. Then perhaps he would plead soreness and
Genevieve could be persuaded to come into the bathroom with him again. She had refused ever since
he'd teased her about the noise of her passion. Just the memory of that sweet afternoon sent heat rushing
through his veins.
The phone rang as he entered the kitchen. Perhaps Royce was reading his mind after all. He picked up
the receiver.
"Aye?"
"Lord Seakirk? Ah, it's Inspector O'Mally, Your Lordship. I came up to question the lads who gave your
lady a bit of trouble the fortnight past and thought I might come by and give you some news."
Kendrick paused, faced with two alternatives. One was spending the morning listening to the Inspector
ramble on about things he didn't wish to think about. The other in training with Royce, then fixing his love
a meal, carrying her into her library and making love to her again on that extra-large sofa in the
soundproof viewing room.
There just wasn't a choice.
"You can tell me over the phone."
"I spoke to Worthington, my lord, and he informed me of your nuptials and of the recent cure of your
affliction."
"Affliction?" Kendrick echoed.
"The one that forced you to refrain from touching anyone?" The Inspector chuckled, albeit weakly. "To
be honest, Your Lordship, I'd entertained the idea that you were a ghost." He was silent for several
moments. "But such things surely aren't possible. This is the twentieth century, after all."
Affliction? Leave it to Worthington to make it sound as if he'd had the bloody plague!
"Ah, well," Kendrick said gruffly, scrambling for something to say, " 'tis the miracle of modem medicine."
"Your tale of being born in the thirteenth century was told very well. I must confess I believed it fully. And
what I saw in your hall that day "
"Mirrors," Kendrick lied. "Eccentricities of the nobility and all."
"Indeed," the Inspector chuckled. "Now, on to other matters, if you will. When should I pop in for our
visit?"
Bloody hell, the man was persistent. Kendrick sighed deeply.
"Over the phone, man. I'm too busy for an audience today."
Inspector O'Mally's sigh was faint, but audible. "Very well then, my lord. It would appear that the two
lads were from a nearby village and had been hired by a man from London. They wouldn't divulge his
name and I'm of the opinion that they didn't have it to give. He paid them via a package posted in
London. It will be next to impossible to determine who sent the package. They received a telephone call
but we traced it to a booth in London, not a flat. The caller was a man with a nasal voice, but no other
distinguishing patterns of speech and such."
"London," Kendrick mused. "I know few there. Have you run checks on them? Anyone with an
abundance of funds and a reason to want Genevieve dead?"
"The only person you and Lady Seakirk have in common is Bryan McShane, my lord. I called his
secretary and was told he was out of the office the week the funds and instructions were posted."
Kendrick stroked his chin thoughtfully. Bryan McShane? Impossible. The man was a pitiful rabbit. And
he was paid far too well to attempt anything so foolish. How could he profit by hurting Genevieve?
"Nay, my good man, he has no reason to want to hurt my lady. It has to be someone else."
"I will of course keep looking, but I'll keep my eye on this young McShane, my lord, if you don't mind.
You never know just what lurks inside the criminal mind."
"You do that," Kendrick agreed. "Ring me when you have tidings."
He hung up. Bryan McShane? Preposterous. The man was afraid of his own shadow. He wouldn't have [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]