The Viscount Always Knocks Twice by Grace Callaway

Chapter Twenty-Nine

A feeling of déjà vu pervaded Violet as she entered the dimly lit library, Richard ahead of her. As he strode off to make sure the room was unoccupied, her gaze was drawn to the bookshelves where they’d found Monique, and her stomach quivered. While she wanted desperately to find the true killer, her anticipation was tempered with disquiet: in retracing Monique’s footsteps, what were they going to discover?

Her grip tightened on the map she’d found beneath the acrobat’s bed.

Richard returned. “We’re alone for now. Let’s get started.”

They went over to the ancient fireplace. Vi’s gaze travelled over the protruding ledge, and she shivered, even though the blood had been scrubbed from the stone. The majestic header swirled with flora and fauna, the plinths supporting the ledge ornately carved with blossoming roses.

Richard was already running his hands over the mantelpiece. “Look for any hidden openings in the nearby walls,” he said.

Setting down the map, Vi examined the dark paneled walls to the right and left of the fireplace. She smoothed her palms over the wood moldings and detected no secret entrance. Evidently, Richard had the same lack of results for he picked up the map again.

“We’re missing something,” he muttered.

She went to look at the plan with him. Something about the smudged red shapes in the margin continued to niggle at her. Pointing, she said, “What are those?”

“They might just be inkblots.”

“I don’t think so.” Squinting, she said, “The ink is smudged, but I see a rounded edge here and another there. It’s a drawing. Of a cloud or a…”

“Flower.” They said it at the same time, their gazes colliding.

“The roses on the plinth,” she breathed.

He went to the plinth on the right side, she to the left. With care, she examined the stone roses: there were three, one facing forward, the other to the sides. She ran her fingers over the cold petals. Nothing special about the center rose… nor the one facing left. As she scrutinized the one facing inward toward the hearth, she noticed a thin fissure, nearly invisible, around one of the petals.

The wear of time… or something else?

“I’ve nothing on my side.” Richard’s voice came from behind her. “You?”

She pushed on the petal, tried to jiggle it; it didn’t budge. “It’s probably nothing, but there’s a crack here…”

“Let me have a look.”

She moved aside to give him space.

“I see what you mean.” He pushed on the petal, and nothing happened. Crouching, he looked at the underside of the flower. “Interesting. There’s another crack here, too, around a different petal…”

He studied the flower, then he pushed down on the two petals simultaneously.

Violet’s breath held as the stone sections depressed at his touch. A faint click… and the large panel to the left of the fireplace swung open.

She rushed over. “By Golly, you found it! A hidden corridor.”

He raised the lamp. Its flickering illumination revealed a narrow tunnel. “It looks like the corridor goes behind the walls, toward the study.”

“Let’s find out—” She froze at the sound of laughter outside.

“Christ. Get in the tunnel. Now.”

“Wait. The map.” She dashed back to snatch the paper, which they’d left by the hearth. She ran back toward the tunnel, Richard pushing her inside and following her, closing the panel shut behind them… and just in time.

She heard the door open to the library, the voices growing louder. The female tones she recognized as Mrs. Sumner’s. The male voice… she couldn’t be sure, but the cultured accents did not belong to Tobias Price. Apparently, the widow liked variety in her company. A flush heated Violet’s skin as conversation turned predictably into another sort of activity.

Richard whispered in her ear, “They’re going to be at it for a while. We might as well see if the tunnel is true to the map and takes us to the study.”

Collecting herself, Vi nodded. She led the way forward. She was keenly aware of Richard’s presence behind her, solid and reassuring.

Turning to him, she said in hushed tones, “How far do you think this passageway goes?”

“I have no idea.” He ducked his head to avoid hitting the ceiling, which had dropped even lower. “By Jove,” he muttered, “they could have made this a might roomier.”

“Obviously whoever built this had little priests in mind. They weren’t planning for a man of your size.”

“You have a problem with my size, Miss Kent?”

At the gleam in his eyes, warmth stirred in her belly, her awareness of him humming through her veins. The musty air suddenly turned quite humid. She faced forward so he wouldn’t see her looking flustered. “Don’t go fishing for compliments. We have more important oof—”

Her slipper caught on something that clanked, and she pitched forward, the ground coming up at her with terrifying speed. Richard caught her, yanking her back. He held her against his rock-hard physique.

“Have a care, lass,” he murmured against her ear.

Her breath rushed in and out of her lungs. “I—I tripped on something.”

He raised the lamp, illuminating a dark bag that lay on the ground a few feet away. She retrieved it, her fingers closing around supple leather wrapped around some hard objects. Her mind flew back to the contents of the box she’d found in Monique’s room. Although she didn’t fully understand the function of those objects—why would anyone want a statue of a man’s thingamabob?—she had an inkling that their purpose was salacious.

She thrust the pouch at Richard. “You open it,” she blurted.

His mouth twitched. Wordlessly, he exchanged the lamp for the bag and released the drawstring, drawing out the contents. She stared at the thin metal rods he held, each with a uniquely shaped head.

“Lock picks,” he said tersely.

His assessment confirmed her own. “Where do you think they came from?”

“My guess is that Monique left them here.” His voice was grim. “She got what she wanted and ditched her incriminating tools.”

“What was it that she wanted?” Vi said.

He gestured ahead; she saw that they’d reached the end of the corridor, and there was a panel similar to the one they’d entered through in the library.

“We’re at the study, so my guess is that she was after something in there. Something that you would use these,”—his hand closed on the lock picks—“to access.”

Understanding hit her. “You think there’s an iron box in the study?”

“That we’ll have to find out from Billings—”

A door suddenly slammed, the walls of the corridor vibrating. Men’s muffled voices came from the other side of the panel. Violet’s heart drummed in her ears.

Richard held her fast, murmuring, “Steady, love.”

She couldn’t hear what the men were saying, but the cadence seemed adversarial. She identified the agitated voice as belonging to Billings; she couldn’t make out the owner of the other.

Pocketing the lock picks, Richard took her hand, silently leading her back toward the library. They hadn’t made it all the way back before she heard moans and grunts that indicated that the room was still occupied.

“Trapped at both ends.” Richard’s breath tickled her ear. “We’ll have to wait it out.”

She nodded, a shiver of awareness going through her.

He set the lamp down and took her into his arms. Tucking her cheek against his chest, he stroked her back. “No need to be afraid, sweetheart. We’ll be out of here soon.”

Clearly, he misunderstood her reaction. She didn’t know if it was his nearness or their extraordinary adventures this night, but it wasn’t fear she was feeling—it was arousal of a different nature. And while he no doubt meant his touch to be soothing, it instead fed the need simmering inside her.

To distract herself, she whispered the first thing that came to mind. “So those items we found in Monique’s box… what were they for?”

His hand stilled mid-stroke. “I’m not certain that is something we ought to discuss.”

If anything piqued her curiosity, it was something that shouldn’t be talked about.

She tipped her head back. “Why would Monique have a statue of a man’s you-know-what?”

“His you-know-what?” Laughter glinted in Richard’s eyes.

“You know, his… thingamabob.”

He began to shake silently against her.

“What’s so funny? You know perfectly well what I’m referring to…”

His wide shoulders were quaking in earnest, to the degree that she worried that he might give them away. So she covered his mouth with her hand. Gasped when he nipped her fingers lightly.

In the next instant, he had her back against the wall, towering over her. It was a tight fit in the tunnel. He filled her vision and senses completely, crowding out everything else.

“Discussion of you-know-whats and thingamabobs aren’t going to get us very far. If you want to know what those items are for, then we’ll have to improve your vocabulary. Are you up for it, love?”

Mesmerized by his low, husky tone, she nodded.

“Let’s start with the gold chain. The one with the jeweled clamps.”

Her pulse took off in a sprint when he ran a fingertip along the edge of her low-cut bodice. His finger dipped beneath the pink silk, rubbing against the tip of her right breast. She had to bite back a moan as he stimulated the stiff, throbbing peak.

“One of the clamps would fit here on your lovely nipple, just so”—he pinched the tip lightly, and her eyes widened in surprise—“while the other would attach to its equally lovely twin.” He trapped her other nipple between thumb and forefinger, tweaking the pulsing peak. The pleasure, with its slight tingle of pain, melted her center.

“Wouldn’t that… hurt?” she said, her cheeks warming.

“Aye, a little. But doesn’t it also feel good?”

She couldn’t deny that. Could barely breathe for the excitement.

“Imagine a little tug on the chain in between,” he murmured, causing her nipples to throb even more forcefully. “Would you enjoy that, lass?”

“I don’t know. That’s awfully wicked,” she managed.

“Aye. But not as wicked as the balls you were playing with.”

She wetted her lips. “Wh-what are those for?”

Instead of answering, he took her mouth in a hot, fiercely possessive kiss. Her fingers crushed his cravat as she pulled him closer. She couldn’t get enough of his taste, the aggressive thrust of his tongue into her moist cove. When he suddenly withdrew, she moaned in protest.

Panting, pressed against the wall, she stared up into his bluntly masculine features, those heated-iron eyes, and knew the truth: any man she met in the future would be compared to Richard… and found lacking. Because he was all that she’d ever wanted.

And she’d fallen head over slippers in love with him.

“Sweeting,” he said, his voice gravelly, “don’t you wish to know about the balls?”

Balls?she thought hazily. What balls?

In a quick movement, he tossed up her skirts and petticoats, pinning them to her waist with one hand. Her lungs constricted as humid air wafted against her stockinged legs, her bare thighs, kissing her dampened flesh. With his free hand, he took one of hers and brought it there, to that aching apex. She bit her lip, her cheeks burning as he pressed their joined fingers against her sex.

It was so terribly wicked—and so good.

“Feel how wet your pussy is,” he crooned softly against her ear. “How slick and swollen it has gotten for me. Do you like being petted this way?”

Closing her eyes, she let go of shame, drifting freely into the whirlpool of sensation.

“Yes. Oh yes,” she sighed.

The blunt tip of his finger circled her entrance, dipping just inside and no further, teasing her mercilessly. “Now the balls—they’d slip in right here, and you’d feel them inside your cunny, stimulating and arousing you with every move you make.”

Thunderbolts.Her eyes popped open. “That’s beyond wicked.”

“Aye.” His nostrils flared, and when she tried to withdraw her hand, he trapped it beneath his. Brought their joined fingers to the aching peak of her pussy. “Rub your pearl just like that, lass. Don’t stop frigging yourself while I show you the most wicked part.”

Mostwicked?

Her head was already spinning, her mind inflamed by his naughty words, by how she was shamelessly touching herself at his instruction. The familiar tension was building inside her.

“Don’t stop,” he murmured and eased his hand away.

Aroused, she obeyed and watched as he undid the fall of his trousers and freed his manhood. The sight of that huge shaft, so thick and long, made her breath hitch. It stood boldly erect, the wide head nudging past the bottom button of his waistcoat. At its base, his bollocks hung like a heavy, ripe plum nestled against a masculine nest of hair.

She couldn’t tear her gaze away as he ran his fist slowly from the root of the shaft to the tip and back again. She remembered the potent quiver of his burgeoned flesh within her grasp, the bold, wild taste of him upon her tongue, and another rush of dew slickened her circling fingers.

“Now you’ll recall that last item you pulled from the box?”

She couldn’t reply, her eyes glued to his jerking movements, the way he wrung a bead of moisture from the engorged dome of his member.

“It’s a cock—fashioned from jade. A dildo, it’s called.” His sensual words heated her ear and her insides. “And a woman uses it for pleasure.”

She felt lightheaded—as if she were nothing but a mass of sensations, all of them raw, real, and exhilarating. Tingles melded together, a swirling, humid vortex beneath her fingers.

“Not that you’ll ever have need of a dildo. You’ll have the real thing, lass. Imagine my cock inside you. Moving in and out, filling your sweet pussy,” he whispered. “How would that feel?”

Her fingers moved on her pearl, quicker and quicker. The answer puffed breathlessly from her lips. “Good. So good.”

“Aye, lass.” His fist moved like a piston on his cock. His biceps bulged sleekly beneath the arm of his jacket; he touched himself with a ferocity that she would not have dared, and seeing the savage motion, carried out by this proper lord, caused more moisture to trickle between her legs.

“I’ve touched inside your cunny with my fingers, my tongue. I know how sweet you are, how wet and tight,” he rasped. “I can hardly wait to put my cock inside you, lass. To feel you squeezing and milking me harder than a fist.”

Her knees wobbled as the vortex whirled faster, her control slipping.

“When you’re mine, I’ll have you day and night,” he growled in her ear. “I’ll want to be inside you at every moment, filling you up, loving you—”

It was too much. Her vision wavered as she tumbled over the edge.

He caught her against the wall, his mouth covering hers, swallowing her gasps. At the same time, she felt a scorching wet lash against her thigh. It was followed by another and another, his groans vibrating down her throat, his big body shuddering against her.

Bliss suffused her as they held onto each other, their breaths mingling, hearts pounding as one.

He lifted his head. Despite her lethargic state, the heat in his eyes caused a flutter in her belly.

“Don’t keep me waiting any longer,” he demanded huskily. “Say you’ll marry me, Violet.”

She gave the answer in her heart. What else could she do? “I’ll marry you, Richard.”

Triumph blazed in his eyes. Then he leaned in, murmuring in her ear.

At his question, she had to tamp down a giggle.

“I don’t think that any more. In fact,” she whispered back, “I’d say you’ve laid the title of Viscount Killjoy permanently to rest.”