Liar. Beth knew she was falling stupidly in love with Ian, and she had no idea how to stop herself. What is the matter with me?
She answered her own question when Ian suddenly gave her a bruising, punishing kiss. Her tension dissolved and she gladly slipped her arms around him, holding him close. Ian made it evident he didn’t want to talk anymore. He shoved her legs apart with a strong hand and pushed his way inside her again, no argument.
Mrs. Barrington would say that only a very loose woman would let a man have his way with her without protest. Beth rocked back on the pillows and spread her thighs, happily violating Mrs. Barrington’s strictures in every way. Beth slept again. When she woke, the window was a dim gray square. Ian stood to one side of it, looking out. Rain still beat down, but the thunder had abated. Ian was naked, and he rested one hand on the wall, his glorious backside half turned to her.
In the gloomy light that played on his powerful muscles, he reminded Beth of the perfect male sculptures she’d seen in the Louvre. But those sculptures had been marble and alabaster; Ian was like living bronze.
When she stirred, Ian put a finger to his lips. “Is someone out there?” she whispered in alarm. They were on the second floor in the front of the pension, the nicest room, the landlord had assured them. But the windows had no curtains, and Beth felt queasily exposed. “Inspector Fellows is watching the house,” Ian said.
“He’s brought along some police.”
Beth pulled the covers to her chin. “Oh, dear, how embarrassing.”
“I think it’s worse than that.”
“How can it be worse? They can’t arrest us for spending the night in a pension, can they? Goodness, if lewd behavior is illegal, they’ll have to arrest half of Paris.”
The newspapers would get hold of it. They always did somehow, and the story would leak across the Channel to London. English Heiress up before the French Magistrates for Fornicating in a Questionable Parisian Hotel. This after Playing at the Evil and Illegal Roulette.
A soft knock on the door made her sit up straight. “It’s me, guv,” came a Cockney voice from the other side. Curry. Beth heaved a sigh of relief.
Ian didn’t bother to cover himself as he let Curry into the room. Curry didn’t pay any attention to lan’s state of nudity, and laid the garments he’d brought with him over the back of a chair. He calmly unfastened a leather bag and took out a razor, shaving cup, and brush.
“Any hot water to be had in this benighted place, guv?” “Ring for the maid. Did you bring Mrs. Ackerley’s things?”
“That I did.” Curry kept his gaze on Ian, pretending he didn’t see Beth cowering in the bed. “Her companion wanted to come, but I convinced her it wouldn’t be prudent.” Ian only nodded. He pulled on the drawers Curry held out to him, hiding his lovely anatomy, and sat down to be shaved. He might be at the luxurious Langham Hotel in London, rising after a night of leisure.
Beth realized with a jolt that Curry had done this before. He seemed comfortable with the routine of slipping in the back way to bring Ian fresh linens and shave him after he’d spent the night with a woman.
Beth hugged her knees. My own stupid fault if I’m jealous.
“Did they see you?” Ian asked Curry.
Curry answered as he stropped the razor. “No, I came up the back alley to the kitchen. The staff are all keeping mum. They don’t want the police in any more than we do.”
“This is too absurd,” Beth said. “Why is Fellows persecuting you like this? And me?”
“It’s his way,” Ian answered.
Not much of an answer, but Ian closed his mouth and leaned his head back as Curry finished sharpening the razor. The maid of the night before slipped quietly into the room bearing a ewer of steaming water, and Curry told her in broken French that she should dress Beth. The girl curtsied, and while Ian and Curry faced the other way,- the maid laced Beth into the clothes Curry had fetched from Isabella’s.
The maid’s face glowed with excitement. “He must be very rich, madame,” she breathed.
Beth didn’t correct her assumption that Ian was her protector. Last night Beth had been amused that the landlord and servants had supposed her lan’s kept woman, though it didn’t seem as funny now.
“I suppose we shall have to flee out the back way as well,” she said to Ian. “Mr. Fellows is getting to be an absolute bother.”
“We’ll not go yet,” Ian said.
“Good, because it is still pouring rain.” Beth glanced at the windows. “I do hope the inspector and all his friends from the Surete are soaked.”
Ian tilted his head back, face covered with lather. “Did you send for it?” he asked Curry.
“I did like you said, m’lord. Now please stop talking so I don’t slice you open.”
Ian went silent, and Curry drew the razor up his throat. Beth sat down on the bed she’d enjoyed such a night in and wished for something to eat.
The maid bustled about and shook out Beth’s clothes from the night before, laying them before the fire to dry. Curry shaved Ian in silence, the only sound the scrape of the razor across lan’s skin and the maid’s pattering footsteps.
Ian seemed in no hurry. When Curry finished, Ian asked the maid to bring him a newspaper and coffee, and tea for Beth. Just after the maid returned with the requested things, someone else knocked on the door. Curry held the razor tightly while he answered it.