Page 75 of Atone, Adonis

“There you go,” he murmured to her. Raising his head for a moment to watch her face. He loved how she closed her eyes in pleasure, how she pursed those lips—still so pink and plush. Still like cherries. He leaned forward again to kiss them, tasting her lips and tongue, biting down on her lower lip before he returned again to her core.

This time, when he licked the length of her he knew she was near to her crisis.

“There,” she moaned at him. “There, Fred.”

And he licked his own palm then, imagining that he was bathing himself in her wetness, and began to pump into his own fist in earnest while his tongue and fingers worked over his wife. He kept the rhythm the same, his fingers of one hand moving in and out of her, the fingers on the other swiping up and down the length of his shaft. Until she came apart in his arms and that was all he needed to push him right over the edge.

He heard himself cry out as he spilled into his hand, his wife still shuddering beneath him.

“Christ,” he heard himself say before he slumped over, boneless and satiated. “Christ.”

Inspector Hughes was waiting for them when they arrived back in Dorset. Gilbert announced him as soon as Fred and Julianna stepped foot in Sedgewick Manor. Fred ran a hand through his tousled hair and frowned. He’d known the Inspector had ridden ahead the day before with Gilbert and the rest of the staff to finish his interviews, but he hadn’t expected to be faced with the man immediately upon his return.

He wanted more time alone with his wife, as well as a hearty repast and, frankly, a nap.

“Shall I send in tea?” the butler asked, clearly catching the look on his face.

“Yes, do.” He may as well get this over with. He turned to Jules. “I’ll see to the Inspector if you’d rather rest a moment.”

“I’ll freshen up, but then I’ll join you. I’d like to get this put to bed as quickly as possible.”

Fred gave her a last, lingering kiss before he stalked down the corridor to his study. The Inspector was already ensconced inside, waiting for him by the hearth.

Fred sat behind his desk and folded his arms. “Tell me what you’ve found.”

Hughes did not answer at once and there was something in his expression that gave Fred pause. Finally, he asked, “Do you usually lock your desk drawers, my lord?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your desk drawers, do you lock them? The ones in which you keep, let us say, your valuables?”

“Speak plainly man. I’ve no idea what you’re getting at. Did you ascertain the culprit’s identity or not?”

“I have interviewed each of your servants. And, given the particulars of the information that was shared with The Poisoned Quill at various times, have narrowed our suspects to those who could have had intimate knowledge of your whereabouts in London.”

“Yes,” Fred said. “I thought we’d agreed on that before.”

“We had. And as of this morning I was rather certain your butler was our man. He was in the position to know every detail of your life and to share them.”

“Gilbert?” Fred asked incredulously. It seemed hard to imagine his stoic butler spreading gossip to the local scandal rags, but he supposed lesser men had committed greater crimes.

“But then,” Hughes went on as if Fred hadn’t spoken, “as I was continuing my investigations, I found I needed a penknife.”

“I can’t imagine what that has to do with anything at all.”

“I went rummaging around for one and checked your desk drawer. Imagine my surprise to find it not only unlocked, but filled with letters you had written to your wife. Letters that contained the details of your lives. So many of which ended up in the papers.”

“No,” Fred whispered, his voice muted with growing horror as he realized Hughes’s point. Then he turned his head up sharply. “You read them?”

“Yes,” Hughes replied flatly. “I did. As did our culprit. Who then shared them with The Poisoned Quill.”

Fred felt the words land hard in his chest. “Christ,” he muttered.

“Indeed.”

“I’ll have my solicitor write to this E.S. Mallory tomorrow. Once they know how the misbegotten information is reaching them they surely won’t print it. And it’s libel is it not? Larceny, if they’ve taken my letters.”

Inspector Hughes was staring at him.