The first stroke of his fingers was their undoing.
It was some hours later when they finally fell asleep in each other’s arms, their nightmares a distant memory.
Chapter 14
Lust thrummed in the blood. It stirred every nerve to life, sent one’s heart galloping. The internal sensations were only evident when one spoke or glanced at the object of their desire. Yet the memory of the night spent with Beatrice sent it powering through Dante like a team of wild horses, trampling over every other emotion in its wake. Surely those seated in the drawing room in Hart Street heard the thundering beats, felt the ground tremble and shake.
“D’Angelo?” Cole’s voice penetrated Dante’s inner chaos. “Did you hear what I said?”
Dante dragged himself from his reverie, though his body reacted as if he were still buried deep inside the woman who occupied his thoughts.
“Mr Sloane rode to Farthingdale yesterday to speak to Mrs Pickering,” Beatrice said so calmly she wasn’t thinking about ravaging him senseless. “He should return with her statement tomorrow.”
“Excellent.”
The weight of Lucius Daventry’s stare bore down upon him. “D’Angelo, I know how difficult it—”
“I’m tired,” Dante interjected. “That’s all.”
Tired, and craving Beatrice’s touch. Who would have thought making love to her would have such a profound effect on him?
Ashwood’s lips twitched. “You hardly slept last night. Perhaps when we’re finished here, you should return home.” He glanced at Daventry. “We were forced to share a bed barely big enough for one man, let alone two Herculean specimens.”
Dante forced a light laugh. “You neglected to mention the fact you snore.”
“Amid all the grunts and groans at the inn, I’m surprised you heard me.”
Teasing devil!
“Did you sleep well, Miss Sands?” Daventry was by no means a fool and could read the implicit meaning disguised as gentlemen’s banter.
“Very well, once I recovered from my nightmare.” Beatrice’s innocent smile seemed convincing. “Indeed, I pray I never have to set eyes on my uncle again.”
“I wish there had been another way to gain the information we needed. While his tale of Lady Deighton’s infidelity is plausible, I find it hard to believe a respected enquiry agent would borrow money from a cutthroat like Manning.”
“Most men would rather do a stint in the Marshalsea than borrow from Manning,” Cole added. “Manning harasses the family of those who cannot pay their debts, although whether the moneylender was as powerful eighteen years ago is something we need to investigate.”
“Manning is in Newgate awaiting trial,” Ashwood informed them. “However, he’s still capable of ordering a man’s murder from behind bars, and would have had no issue instructing his men to shoot everyone in that carriage.”
Dante recalled the argument between the two villains. One had fired without compunction, his steel-grey eyes cold and lifeless. During his childhood nightmares, he’d imagined the fiend ripping off his mask to reveal a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Beatrice said. “If my aunt sold the house to pay my father’s debts, why move to Rochester? Unless they didn’t pay the debts and were hiding from Mr Manning.”
“Or moved because they didn’t want you to learn of your inheritance.” Dante wished he’d tortured the truth from the devil. “It could be another case of fraud. One we can investigate once we’ve dealt with Mr Coulter and my devious relations.”
Dante shivered at the memory of the time spent with his maternal grandparents. The depth of the earl’s hatred had been evident from the outset. Did it have something to do with Dante’s Italian heritage, Daphne’s elopement, or did the earl know of his wife’s betrayal?
Cole sat forward. “Coulter has lived in Wilson Street for twenty years and is in his early forties now. He hails from Lancashire, inherited a substantial sum when his parents died.”
Beatrice jerked to attention. “Mr Babington hailed from Lancashire.”
They all fell silent, no doubt wondering at the connection.
A light knock on the door brought Mrs Gunning. She approached Ashwood. “A letter arrived for you, sir, from Bow Street.”
Ashwood took the note and broke the seal. “Thank you, Mrs Gunning.”
The housekeeper left them to their business.