Page 60 of Temptress in Disguise
She threaded her arms around his neck. “I pray you get retribution. I want Melissa to know she doesn’t deserve you.”
They kissed. A deep, passionate kiss that had her thrusting her hands into his hair and wiggling her bottom against his growing erection.
He would have tugged down the blinds and given life to his wicked thoughts had he not been forced to tell Gibbs to take a detour to Covent Garden.
“We will feed our voracious appetite for each other tonight,” he said, longing to sink into her warmth. The case was proving to be an annoying distraction, as were his responsibilities at Fortune’s Den. “We’ll hire a room at a coaching inn and put our troubles aside for a few hours.”
“You’ve the stamina to last a few hours?” she teased.
“You know damn well I have.”
“Then let’s pray nothing happens to scupper our plans.” She slid her hand inside his coat, her palm resting on his chest. “Judging by Aaron’s sour mood at breakfast this morning, I fear he’ll invent a reason to keep us apart.”
Aaron had done his best to keep him in the club last night. “Should that be the case, you’ll have to wage war.”
“You expect me to fight with your brother?”
He brushed his mouth over hers and smiled. “There’s no need for fists. Threaten him with the thing he fears most. Invite Miss Scrumptious to tea.”
* * *
The Dog and Duck was a small red-bricked tavern on Maiden Lane, a stone’s throw from the Belldrake theatre, and the drinking den of wealthy scoundrels hunting their next mistress.
Even at midday, preened actresses sat at the long, narrow tables while men plied them with food, ale and empty compliments. It came as no surprise to find Miss Gray and the banyan-wielding Kendrick supping from tankards, their heads buried in a script.
Aramis kept his back to the pair and led Naomi to the crude oak bar, where he summoned the landlord.
A thin man with sunken eyes dried his hands on a rag and came to greet them. “What’s your fancy, gov’nor?”
“Two glasses of ale and a piece of information.” Aramis placed three gold sovereigns on the counter. “Regarding an incident that occurred here the night someone murdered the manager of the Belldrake.” The trick to getting the truth was to pretend you knew more than you were willing to reveal.
“What makes you think we had trouble here?” The landlord looked Aramis keenly in the eyes before his gaze betrayed him and he glanced at Kendrick. “We’re always quiet when the playhouses are full.”
Aramis wore the stern mask he used when hounding debt-ridden lords. “Let’s just say I know Kendrick has a secret that might see him hauled before the magistrate. A secret that might incriminate him and any witnesses who would turn a blind eye.” He hardened his tone. “Accept the coins, or I’ll tear this place apart in a bid for answers.”
The landlord gulped. He stared at Naomi, perhaps wondering why an angel would keep company with the devil.
“I advise you to heed my husband’s warning, sir.”
“Husband?” Suspicion clouded his dull eyes. “Are you in some kind of trouble, Miss Fontaine? Lord Bedlow came in last night asking the punters if they’d seen you. He said you’d vanished. He had Kendrick by the throat, wanting to know if you’d made him a cuckold.”
Naomi was quick to correct the man’s misconceptions. “You’ve mistaken me for someone else. Miss Fontaine is my sister. She went missing from the theatre, and we’re trying to determine her whereabouts.” Along with the lie, Naomi offered a smile that could steal a man’s breath. “We would appreciate your help.”
The fellow frowned. “But you look just like her.”
“They’re nothing alike,” Aramis countered. The sisters had the same golden hair and pale complexions, but that’s where the similarities ended. “But you could assist us by giving your version of what happened between Kendrick and Miss Gray on the night of the murder.”
The landlord took the coins and slipped them into his apron pocket. “There’s nothing much to tell.” As he leaned closer, the stench of sweat assaulted Aramis’ nostrils. “A man joined them at the table. They argued, and then all three of ’em left. Must be gone midnight when a punter said he’d seen the coroner outside the Belldrake.”
It couldn’t be a coincidence.
In all likelihood, Kendrick knew Budworth’s killer.
“And it wasn’t Lord Bedlow?” Naomi asked.
The landlord shook his head. “I don’t know his name, but he’s been in here a few times. Happen he had something to hide because he kept his hat pulled low. There’s nothing more I can tell you.”
Aramis thanked the man. He grabbed their drinks and led Naomi to Kendrick’s table. The keen thespians were so engrossed in conversation they didn’t notice Aramis until he plonked the tankards on the table and pulled out a chair for Naomi.
