Tonight though, he found himself equally out of his element, cramped in amongst sets of people he never would have normally interacted with, but none of them curious about him. No, they were all focused on their dancing steps. Around him the laughter, the good humour, the bright candles, and shimmering views in the grand mirrors of the room reflected the happy dancers and the viewers.
The notes of a country dance started, and Maeve drew nearer. At his own insistence, he had secured her a series of handsome gowns, none of them in grey or black. The one she wore tonight was of a stunning turquoise that glinted in the candlelight and sheer puff sleeves that framed her visage well. Her maid had styled Maeve’s auburn locks into a braided finery, twisted through with seed pearls.
For himself, to avoid detection, he had ceased using his cane, and although at first it had been slow going, he was now finding it easier than he expected. With the daily walks along Brighton seafront, he was feeling much healthier. His cane had been a crutch he had used since his injury, and he had clung to it since he feared being vulnerable again. The foolish thing was, now that he was dying, it seemed he no longer needed such support. There was an irony embedded in there which he did not wish to explore too greatly.
Bowing to her, Silverton said gallantly, “You look very well, wife.”
“And you, husband,” she replied. “I believe you like this dance?”
“I do.” He swung them farther out onto the dance floor, in amongst the other pairs.
“I do not think,” she remarked as the music brought them back together, “that London balls could compare to this.”
“Should you wish to see the London Season first hand”—he turned her under his raised arm—“I should be delighted to be your escort.”
She nodded, although for a second or two, doubt passed over her face. It was always there, the constant, dreadful question of how long they would have together. “Yes,” she said, “let’s do that.”
A new tune was hit upon by the musicians, and a passing dancer swung too close; yet, more people filled the dancefloor. Maeve skilfully moved nearer to him, her hands landing on his waistcoat, her face upturned towards his. Her lips were fractions away. The urge to kiss Maeve swelled through him; the image of her silken strong thighs wrapped around him, her mouth on his skin, the flare of Maeve’s hazel eyes as he watched her climax. The desire must have showed on his face because Maeve dropped her gaze before stepping back discreetly.
“Shall we go home, husband?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it was one that echoed with a promise that Silverton was too wise to resist.
On reaching their hotel room, he wasted no time in divesting himself of his coat and her of her cloak, throwing each on the floor in his haste. There was a roaring in his ears, and he could only think of her. Nothing could compete with the heat, the soaring lust he felt for Maeve. His hands moulded and caressed her, fingers inching over the fine material before pulling her flush against his straining body.
Her slight curves melded to him, and the pair of them pulled at each other’s clothes in an eagerness that indicated their mutual desire. There was, for the first time, a realisation that he found salvation in making love to her.
“Up on the bed.” His voice was barely his own, rubbed too raw with desire to be familiar.
Maeve, midway through struggling to loosen her own gown, gave up laughingly and flopped forward onto the bedding. With a complete lack of grace, Silverton pressed himself against her, Maeve’s rounded bottom nestling and lifting to cup delightfully against his aroused groin. His hands reached out and grabbed hers, positioning them in front of her on the bed.
“Hold on to the bed and don’t let go,” he murmured against her ear, his breath fanning her exposed neck as his hands traced down the sides of Maeve’s body, lifting and shifting the folds of her turquoise gown out of the way until his fingertips found their goal. There was something deeply erotic about seeing Maeve spread face down on the bed, waiting for him. Since she had removed her own drawers, he had the delectable view of her bare arse. He reached between her thighs to begin stroking her sex. His hand mimicked the movements of congress as he plunged into the tightly contained prison of her body, in and out, in teasing movements. Her wetness coated his fingers, and he could feel the inner muscles of her sex quiver.
Moaning and trapped against him, Maeve wriggled, pressing her exposed bottom more fully against the straining cloth of his breeches. Cursing himself silently, Silverton eased back, hurriedly loosening the catch of his trousers to let his erection nudge against her bare flesh in his eagerness. His hands moved, and he took hold of Maeve’s hips as if to steady her and position her more perfectly. Her arse was delightfully rounded, and as he pushed himself between her parted thighs, Silverton could not image a more satisfying feeling than this. He drove himself into her wet sex, the warm, tingling core tightened around his cock, and he almost spent himself then and there.
The bedding beneath Maeve was clutched between her fingers, and she shuddered at the sweet invasion. She let out a gasp as he started to move with increasing urgency in a steady rhythm, all the while his hands held her steady. With a deliberate pulse, Silverton rocked into her, attempting to keep his own sanity in the eroticism of seeing Maeve, still in her gown, gasp and moan under him. Leaning forward until his head touched her back, his right hand slipped beneath her once more and found the bundle of nerves at the top of her sex. He pressed against the little pearl, as he filled her again and again, until he was quite sure neither of them was entirely certain which way was up, so overcome with pleasure at their antics. Finally, he felt Maeve shudder and climax against his fingertips. He let go and found his own release in one last aching push into her.
“Lord,” he muttered as he rolled onto the bed next to her. His breath hitched as he struggled to recall anything beyond the pleasure that she brought to him.
Maeve lifted her head and looked across at him, before moving her arm to slide it around his waist. “Are you quite certain you are ill?” she asked with a joking tone.
Leaning forward, Silverton captured her mouth in a deep kiss as his hands finally unbuttoned the back of her ballgown so they could sleep naked in bed together.
When Maeve was finally asleep in the bed, and he could listen to her steady breathing, Silverton slipped from their sheets and lit a candle, bending over his desk to begin writing a letter. The desperation which had been mounting within him had reached a pinnacle, and he could no longer bear to stay silent, so he wrote the same letter to each colleague he trusted and knew—Verne, Trawler, and finally their associate and trusted ally Robinson, all of whom owed their loyalty to the Home Office. To him.
We must wait no longerfor Harlington to make the first move. I need to locate my brother within the next month, and I rely on you to help me secure his end. He was in London only a few weeks ago, as I informed you, but we must move heaven and earth to find him before he comes after us again. He must be found, and he must be killed. There is no other answer.
Silverton
Once each notehad been written, he leant forward and placed the three letters in separate envelopes. It was a beastly task, but one he had to approach with a ruthlessness he had hereto avoided. No longer could his erstwhile sympathies and childish nostalgia keep him from what he had to do. He hoped that whatever angelic forces judged him from on high would understand because he knew his mother never would.
Looking up, Silverton stared across the chamber at the sleeping form of his wife. Her arm was thrown out over the cream coverlet as if she were searching for him even in sleep. Condemning his own brother to death had been a step Silverton had always tried to prevent, even at the cost of his own life. But now, he had something that he valued far more than that.
The utterly unexpected, delightful, beguiling, and clever woman he had wed on almost a mad whim had proved to be the greatest blessing of his life.
It was a stark realisation for Silverton as he took the notes down to the hotelier for them to be posted. He had not been prepared to kill his twin for himself, but for Maeve, he would do it in a heartbeat. Silverton had started to see that, whilst his plan of wooing his wife had seemed foolproof, the one person who was at the greatest risk of being seduced was himself.
CHAPTER12
Without any spoken agreement, their honeymoon had extended into a third week, and Maeve struggled to remember an evening when they had left their bed. It amazed her that so many hours could be occupied in that way. But given the delight and pleasure it gave her, she imagined it brought a similar state of bliss to her husband too.
