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How in the world could she possibly know how to...she really was the most intelligent person in any room.
He held on as long as he could, delighting in her attention—the way she read him, responded to every twitch and every movement of his body.
She was pure pleasure, but so much more. She was Urs, the best friend he ever had. Images of what could be, what was possible tormented him moments before he sailed over the edge. He managed to cry something of a warning to her, but instead of releasing him, she slid him far back in her throat and Jay’s back arched as he flew.
He landed, panting, spent, but still somehow not satisfied. Something was missing. He opened his eyes to see her, still on her knees, her hair wild and her cheeks flushed. She cocked her head and, to his amazement actually licked her lips.
Death, but what a way to go.
Jay drew in a breath. He craved her or more, needed her. With all his remaining strength he reached out and grasped both of her hands off his knees, pulling her on top of him, her skin against his skin. This was what made him feel right, feel content, feel whole.
Urs laid her head on his shoulder. He ran his fingers through the silken tangles. She turned and kissed his neck, a light breeze of satisfaction.
He squeezed her closer. They’d need to get up. Judah would return from his meetings. Rachel and Lydia and Isaac would get bored and come looking for them.
If only.
He breathed in all of her, the lavender and cherries and jasmine. If he could just make time stand still. His throat constricted. No, he wasn’t permitted to even think about her that way. He’d forfeited his rights to such dreams.
Besides she wanted—well, she really didn’t know what she wanted. However, it wasn’t, couldn’t be him.
He kissed her head. Urs deserved so much more, more than Hugo and certainly more than him. She snuggled closer to his body, burrowing into him, her breathing melding with his.
Heaven was no place for a sinner like him. For a few minutes though, what was the harm in dreaming?
Chapter Seventeen
Ursula presented her card to the housekeeper with suspicious eyes while Rose hung back. The dour woman dressed in gray linen disappeared. Ursula’s palms stuck to her gloves. A low ringing buzzed in her ears. Outright confrontation—terrible idea, but after six sleepless nights no better plan came. One had to fight with the army one had, not the army one wanted. Poor Jay.
Minutes later the servant reappeared and motioned for Ursula to follow her down the corridor.
The hall was dark, as was the internal parlor, the shutters still closed to retain the prior night’s coolness. Even in the dim light it was clear that though ornate, the décor was old-fashioned. There was a great deal of linen and pine, certainly not the silks and mahogany adorning her father’s house or even her uncle’s.
A long navy and cream sofa was wedged between two curios. Upon it sat not only Agnes, but Priscilla and Katherine—all of Cerberus’ heads. Ursula swallowed.
Bollocks, double bollocks, blast, damn, tarnation and—um, ratbags.
What exactly had she done to deserve this?
“Miss Nunes,” the servant announced.
“Thank you.” Agnes’ voice was smooth beneath her sneer. “That will be all.”
The woman retreated. Ursula slid into a chair facing the trio of hostile faces with nothing but dread. How was it possible to appear both serene and malevolent at the same time? Was this the sort of thing one learned at the seminaries that rejected her?
“What brings you to this part of town?” Though the words were neutral, there was nothing bland about Priscilla’s tone as she trained her eyes on Ursula. She wrinkled her turned-up nose as if she’d smelled something rotten.
Ursula scraped her tongue against the edge of her teeth. Why did they all have to be there? Couldn’t Agnes do anything alone? Three against one.
No. This was about Jay and putting things right. Three against one, ten against one, it didn’t matter. He deserved someone to fight for him, even if it was only her.
“I came to see Agnes.”
“What you have to say to Agnes, I’m sure you can say to all of us.” Katherine smoothed the pale blue skirt of her day dress, anemic in color, but starched and unstained despite the heat. “We’re all friends here, aren’t we? We trust each other.” She extended a plate of sweets in Ursula’s direction. “Sticky bun? Come on, everyone has heard of your famous appetite.”
Trust each other indeed. To do what exactly? To accurately stab in the front, or, probably, with these three, the back as well?
If only she could have one of the buns. They were probably poisoned, or at least poorly made. The cinnamon wafted towards her.
