The Mystery Woman (Ladies of Lantern Str - By Amanda Quick Page 0,75

your hands.”

He withdrew slowly and then forged carefully back into her. Tentatively, she raised her hips to meet him. It was too much. He began to move more quickly because he could not do anything else. The need to climax inside her was riding him hard now. Nothing short of the end of the world could stop him. He had to stake his claim on Beatrice, had to make her know that they belonged together.

“Joshua.” She clutched at him. “Joshua.”

Her body shivered. And then she convulsed in his arms. Her head tipped back. Her eyes squeezed shut.

He wanted to savor the thrill of her release but the small pulsations deep inside her were pulling him into a vortex. It was unlike anything he had ever known. He rocked into her one more time and then he poured himself into her, gritting his teeth against the low howl of exultation that welled up inside.

When it was over, he collapsed on top of her. His last semi-coherent thought was that maybe he had been wrong all along. Maybe there really was something to the notion of paranormal energy, after all. Nothing else could explain the startling sense of connection that he experienced in that moment.

All his adult life he had worked to maintain balance in all things, especially when it came to the darker passions.

Another rule broken for the sake of Beatrice. He knew there would be more.

Thirty-Three

He came reluctantly out of the luxurious aftermath and sat up on the side of the bed. A glance out the window told him the fog was lifting. He reached for his trousers and took out his watch. They had two hours until the morning train to London stopped in Upper Dixton.

On the far side of the room, Beatrice was moving about behind the sheet that she had strung around the washstand. He heard water slosh in the bowl and knew that she was washing away the physical evidence of their passion.

For a moment he sat quietly, trying to think of the proper thing to say. He had never before been intimate with a virgin. He pulled on his trousers and fastened them. Then he grasped the cane and pushed himself to his feet.

“Are you . . . all right?” he asked.

“What?” Beatrice put her head around the edge of the sheet. Her hair was pinned up rather carelessly and what he could see of her shoulders indicated she was partially nude. Her brows were scrunched together in bewilderment. Then her expression cleared. “Yes, of course I’m all right. Perfectly fit. I have always enjoyed good health.”

He smiled to himself. “How very fortunate for you.”

She frowned in concern. “What about you? Is your leg bothering you?”

He held up one hand, palm out in a silencing gesture.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I was merely concerned that perhaps all that exercise might have caused your old injury to flare up.”

He gave her a hard look.

She broke off, flushing. She ducked back behind the sheet and resumed her washing. “Right. When do we leave?”

“Soon.”

“Very well,” Beatrice said. “My chief concern at the moment is obtaining fresh clothes. I can’t wait to get home.”

She was rustling around behind the sheet now. He knew that she was getting dressed.

“Beatrice, there is something I have wanted to ask you since the moment I met you.”

There was a slight pause on the other side of the sheet.

“Yes?” she asked. There was a great deal of caution in the single word.

“I understand how you wound up working as an agent for Flint and Marsh. But how did you come to find yourself in Dr. Fleming’s Academy of the Occult?”

There was another short pause. He got the impression that his question was not the one she had anticipated.

“You know how it is when a woman finds herself alone in the world,” she said airily. “After my parents were killed I landed in an orphanage. My career opportunities were quite limited, as you can imagine.”

“Yes,” he said. “I know. The world is a hard place for a woman on her own.”

“I was sent to my first post as a governess when I was sixteen. I’m afraid I was not a very good governess. My employer’s two young sons were little monsters and I lacked the skills to keep them under control. So, I was let go. I managed to obtain another position in the household of a handsome widower. He seemed to take an interest in my well-being. I’m afraid that, in my naïveté, I mistook