Romance: Detective Romance: A Vicious Affair (Victorian Regency Intrigue 19th England Romance) (Historical Mystery Detective Romance) Read Online Free Page B
time he left the house with it. Weeks of watching it sip weakly at his saucer of milk, chew halfheartedly on a little piece of bird. Try to jump upon the chair—fall back to the hard floorboards with a squeal. And eventually, the triumphant moment of its recovery. He saw it outside Lucia’s house at times, full of life and strong. It didn’t seem to recall him, but that was okay.
“I remember,” he said. “What of it?”
“Why did you do it?”
Wilbert found this to be a strange question. “Why should I not do it? The cat was sick. It would have died.”
“You see?” Lucia said. “You did it without thinking. That is what you are saying.”
“Yes,” Wilbert said, “I suppose it is.”
“That is the difference between you and me. You do kind things without thinking. For me, it would take a momentous effort to even consider saving that cat.” She paused, bit her lip, and then went on: “Wilbert, why do you love me? There is little love in me. Just coldness and hardness. Why not find a nice frumpy woman who will love you deeply and pack your pipe for you?”
Lucia had never spoken so plainly to him. He found himself unable to answer for a time. He choked, coughed, laughed at his inability to act decisively, like a man. There was color in her cheeks, bright red, and her eyes were wide and awake. “Because—” It was the truth. Blast it, why was the truth so hard to speak. “Because,” he said, at length, “that woman would not be you.”
He locked his eyes on her, forcing himself not to look away. He prayed that this was the moment when she would finally see him, finally return his affection. He reached up and touched her cheek. It was soft and gaunt and perfect. She touched his hand, held it against her face. “Wilbert, dear,” she said. “I want to ask you something.”
“Ask me.”
He felt half-asleep. His hand was on her face. Fire rose within him. His manhood stiffened.
“Would you think me a complete whore if I asked you to make love to me right here?”
*****
The words had escaped her, had thrust themselves out of her. She expected to regret them, to quickly mutter an apology. But she did not. Instead, she just watched him, watched the effects of her words rippled through his muscular, supine body. His tilted his head at her and inspected her, tracing his eyes from her forehead down to her boots. She liked when he looked at her like that; it made her feel like prey. But not helpless, not afraid. Just alive.
“Are you sure?” he said.
“I am,” she replied, quickly. His hand was almost twice as big as hers. She gripped his fingers. “Why shouldn’t we?”
He stared at the earth. “I just—I have never—”
“Neither have I,” she said. “Oh, Wilbert, I thought you had – you know how men are – but I am glad that you haven’t. It will be nice, won’t it, if we do it together for the first time?”
“Here? Now?”
“Yes, yes.”
The more they talked about it, the more Lucia wanted it to happen. A metamorphosis had come over her. All because of that look in his eyes, that slightly boyish, speculative, half-afraid look. He didn’t say anything else. He rolled over so they were close, and then kissed her upon the lips. She opened her mouth and thrust her tongue toward him. His tongue caught hers and they danced. His hands were on her, grabbing her breasts, moving down her body to her womanhood.
She moaned as he undressed her.
*****
Afterwards, they lay half-clothed in silence for a time. Then their eyes met, and they began to giggle. Lucia hadn’t known what to expect. The pleasure of the body had always been oblique to her. What she had experienced had been painful at first, and then slowly, slowly, pleasurable. They would do it again. Of that Lucia was sure. But now that case was on, and they had to focus. It was around two o’clock in the afternoon. The Viking would be here soon.
“That was—unexpected,” Wilbert breathed, as he pulled
“I remember,” he said. “What of it?”
“Why did you do it?”
Wilbert found this to be a strange question. “Why should I not do it? The cat was sick. It would have died.”
“You see?” Lucia said. “You did it without thinking. That is what you are saying.”
“Yes,” Wilbert said, “I suppose it is.”
“That is the difference between you and me. You do kind things without thinking. For me, it would take a momentous effort to even consider saving that cat.” She paused, bit her lip, and then went on: “Wilbert, why do you love me? There is little love in me. Just coldness and hardness. Why not find a nice frumpy woman who will love you deeply and pack your pipe for you?”
Lucia had never spoken so plainly to him. He found himself unable to answer for a time. He choked, coughed, laughed at his inability to act decisively, like a man. There was color in her cheeks, bright red, and her eyes were wide and awake. “Because—” It was the truth. Blast it, why was the truth so hard to speak. “Because,” he said, at length, “that woman would not be you.”
He locked his eyes on her, forcing himself not to look away. He prayed that this was the moment when she would finally see him, finally return his affection. He reached up and touched her cheek. It was soft and gaunt and perfect. She touched his hand, held it against her face. “Wilbert, dear,” she said. “I want to ask you something.”
“Ask me.”
He felt half-asleep. His hand was on her face. Fire rose within him. His manhood stiffened.
“Would you think me a complete whore if I asked you to make love to me right here?”
*****
The words had escaped her, had thrust themselves out of her. She expected to regret them, to quickly mutter an apology. But she did not. Instead, she just watched him, watched the effects of her words rippled through his muscular, supine body. His tilted his head at her and inspected her, tracing his eyes from her forehead down to her boots. She liked when he looked at her like that; it made her feel like prey. But not helpless, not afraid. Just alive.
“Are you sure?” he said.
“I am,” she replied, quickly. His hand was almost twice as big as hers. She gripped his fingers. “Why shouldn’t we?”
He stared at the earth. “I just—I have never—”
“Neither have I,” she said. “Oh, Wilbert, I thought you had – you know how men are – but I am glad that you haven’t. It will be nice, won’t it, if we do it together for the first time?”
“Here? Now?”
“Yes, yes.”
The more they talked about it, the more Lucia wanted it to happen. A metamorphosis had come over her. All because of that look in his eyes, that slightly boyish, speculative, half-afraid look. He didn’t say anything else. He rolled over so they were close, and then kissed her upon the lips. She opened her mouth and thrust her tongue toward him. His tongue caught hers and they danced. His hands were on her, grabbing her breasts, moving down her body to her womanhood.
She moaned as he undressed her.
*****
Afterwards, they lay half-clothed in silence for a time. Then their eyes met, and they began to giggle. Lucia hadn’t known what to expect. The pleasure of the body had always been oblique to her. What she had experienced had been painful at first, and then slowly, slowly, pleasurable. They would do it again. Of that Lucia was sure. But now that case was on, and they had to focus. It was around two o’clock in the afternoon. The Viking would be here soon.
“That was—unexpected,” Wilbert breathed, as he pulled
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