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It took a moment for everyone to fully comprehend that Peter had tried, nearly unsuccessfully, to make a joke.
Peter continued, despite the heavy silence. “The mystic, here this evening, was actually to blame for a recent murder in the centre of town—as was her friend and confidant, Sampson. Now, Charles Baxter, the investigator, along with my dear friend, Jeffrey, have gathered them up and taken them away. Now—let’s return to the festivities of the evening! Let’s eat, dance, be merry. It seems very likely that we’ll all make it out alive.”
Harry wolf-whistled and Zachary brought his hands together and clapped soundly. Louisa fell into what seemed like endless giggles at Zachary’s clown-like behaviour, which led Zachary to turn his eyes back towards her and deliver one of those magical smiles she’d nearly destroyed herself over weeks before.
Maybe the mystic had been right, after all, Charlotte thought.
Maybe—despite her treachery—she’d been right that Louisa just be patient.
Naturally, the gossip and amazement descended upon the dinner party, then. Charlotte leaned back, watching as Louisa hopped towards Zachary to describe, in detail, how she’d been at the side of the mystic when Jeffrey had come to take her away. Zachary looked amazed, his eyes enormous. He gripped Louisa’s hands and said, “I’m so terribly glad you’re okay, Louisa.”
Charlotte’s heart banged away in her chest. Now that Sampson and Florentia had been taken away, exhaustion and fear stirred in her stomach. She felt on the verge of collapsing.
Suddenly, a familiar hand found her shoulder. She turned to gaze into Jeffrey’s eyes. Her knees gave out, and she collapsed against him, burrowing her face in his chest. His massive hand found the base of her back and held her tightly against him. The only sound she heard was the thud of his heart.
Jeffrey guided her towards the corridor, then back towards the foyer. At the base of the staircase, she gripped the railing and wiped her cheeks.
“Do you want me to take you home?” Jeffrey asked. His hand stretched over her cheek.
“No. I want to be with you,” Charlotte breathed.
“I want that, too.”
They studied one another for a long time, listening as the crowd within the dining area and parlour continued to simmer with intrigue about the events of the evening.
“It’s remarkable that we’ve gone through so much to get to this point,” Charlotte whispered. “And they’ve not known a single element of what we’ve done.”
“It’s enough to make me want to sleep for a good number of days,” Jeffrey said.
“You’ve had years of rage leading up to this point, in fact,” Charlotte said.
“Yet I couldn’t have cornered the mystic, nor Sampson, without your help,” Jeffrey said.
“How lucky that he confessed everything while you and Charles lurked behind the hedge,” Charlotte said. “When he told me to enjoy the rest of my life staring at a prison wall …” She trailed off. The image remained too powerful.
“I know.” Jeffrey paused and gripped her hand. “I already had a plan to get you out of the country before that idiot Charles Baxter laid a finger on you.”
Again, the crowd in the dining area burst into outrageous laughter. Charlotte’s lashes fluttered. Suddenly, Jeffrey bolted forward, collected her in his arms, and kissed her. It was a perfect kiss, the sort that left Charlotte woozy, weak at the knees.
“Let’s go upstairs for a moment,” he told her.
Charlotte nodded, brushing the tip of her nose against his. She strung her fingers through his and followed him up the steps. At the landing, Jeffrey directed them towards the guest bedroom, which was decorated all in eggshell blue—the walls, the bedspread, even the wardrobe—illuminated only with the soft light of the moon. When he clicked the door closed behind him, Charlotte’s chest heaved with lust.
Slowly, Jeffrey splayed Charlotte across the top of that eggshell blue bedspread, kissing her softly, yet earnestly. He unbuttoned her gown and removed it, pushing it towards the far end of the room. Charlotte lay in only her petticoats and chemise. His hand pressed against her stomach, then drew a line towards the dark shadow between her legs.
Her own hand performed a similar action, finding a massive mound, rock-hard and thick, there between his thighs. Delicately, she removed his cock from his trousers. It sprung up, veiny and red, hardly fitting her hand. Her eyes found his as she eased her hand down his member, then back up again. A tiny bit of cum sprung up at the tip of his staff, and his lips formed a circle.
Charlotte loved making him lose his mind.
She’d never known this about herself before.
His fingers found the space between her thighs again, the soft wetness. But instead of using his fingers, he lifted her chemise and dove between her thighs with his lips, his tongue. His tongue traced a line over her clit, over and over again, as her fingers clenched his dark curls. She arched her back and moaned with pleasure, unable to stop herself from growing louder and louder.
“Make them hear you downstairs, my love,” Jeffrey told her. “I don’t care. I don’t care.”
When Charlotte came, her pussy against his lips and tongue, she forgot everything for just a moment. She forgot the horrors of the day or that imagined prison cell; she forgot that she had hardly known Jeffrey for long—that they’d waged war on criminals together and won. She knew only this unique pleasure, this grand escape.
Just before Jeffrey lifted his cock to fill her, there was a knock on the door. Charlotte shot up with panic and blinked into Jeffrey’s eyes.
