He must have sighed aloud, his apparent anxiety causing Sophia to say, “You’re quiet. You’ve hardly spoken since we left the theatre. Are you thinking about Fitzroy’s revelation?” She shuffled uncomfortably in the opposite seat. “Or are you plagued with guilt over our interlude in the broom cupboard?”
“Storeroom,” he corrected.
She laughed. “Does it matter? This isn’t the time to be pedantic.”
“I wished we’d had the luxury of a bed.” During sleepless nights, during those times when a man needed to take himself in hand, he had conjured a seduction scene in his mind. But while the storeroom proved unsatisfactory for a romantic liaison, their lovemaking had not.
He could still smell the potent scent of her arousal, could easily recall the way her muscles pulsed around his fingers. His cock hardened at the mere thought of driving deep into her body again. Indeed, he found himself more than infatuated with the woman who’d let him make love to her in a damn cupboard. More than obsessed.
“I like it when you’re impulsive,” she said. “You’ve been so guarded of late.”
“The mind makes fools of the most logical men. I shall strive to do better.”
“Better in following your impulses? Or better when choosing the next place to make love?”
Finlay cleared his throat. With this new devil-may-care attitude, he considered pulling her into his lap, letting her feel the thickness of his throbbing erection. He had thought about little else since he’d tucked his cock back into his breeches. D’Angelo would be proud.
“Both.”
She lowered her lids in the way he found so beguiling. “So, you wish to be intimate again?”
His heart softened. Sophia radiated confidence now they were back in London. She wasn’t plagued with fears and doubts as she had been at Blackborne. Still, he could hear the apprehension in her voice and felt the need to offer reassurance.
“Sophia, I thought being close to you would push me to the brink of madness, but I find the opposite is true. When I’m with you, everything feels right. Once we’ve dealt with our mounting problems, we might take time to examine what that means.”
In the stillness that followed, he pictured a vision of the future—bright, not bleak.
“Did you have to mention problems?” she teased. “We were so engrossed in pleasing each other I didn’t ask if you believed Fitzroy’s tale.”
While briefly considering all they had learned this evening, Finlay glanced out of the window. They had left the bustling streets of the metropolis and entered the rural province of Chelsea. Soon, they would be at Keel Hall, and a private conversation would be nigh on impossible.
“I didn’t necessarily believe it or disbelieve it.” He’d thought it too much of a coincidence, but where else would Adair have discovered the information? “We need to question Dr Goodwin to get to the truth. Jessica has lived peacefully at Blackborne all these years. So what changed?”
Lost in thoughtful contemplation, Sophia gazed at the sprawling fields stretching into the blackness. “For years, Jessica has been quiet and subdued. She’s often confused, unstable on her feet, but she’s never ventured to the woods. Everything changed two months ago.” She turned to look at him, sadness filling her eyes. “That’s when the whimpering started and the bursts of hysteria. That’s when she started sleepwalking, started the silly talk about witches and curses.”
“And you cannot think what prompted the change?”
“No. Life at Blackborne is rather uneventful. Mrs Friswell keeps to a strict routine as she believes habitual practices help with a disordered mind.”
“She has the look of a tyrant if you ask me.” Those sharp green eyes held a hidden wickedness.
Sophia shook her head, and in a disapproving accent said, “Mrs Friswell may look like a stern governess, but she has a kind heart. For Jessica’s birthday, she made—” She halted, her eyes widening in recognition.
“What is it?”
Sophia sat open-mouthed, even when the carriage rattled to a stop at the Chelsea Park turnpike, and Sloane’s coachman paid the toll.
“What is it?” Finlay repeated, his pulse racing in anticipation. “What have you remembered?”
“Oh, Lord!” Sophia flopped back in the seat as the carriage lurched forward. “How remiss of me not to have suspected a connection. Jessica celebrated her twenty-fifth birthday three months ago. That’s when it all started. It has been a nightmare ever since.”
One might assume the milestone added to Jessica’s emotional trauma. She should be married with children, not locked in a manor house in the heart of a creepy wood. Perhaps it triggered buried resentments. It must have some significance. Jessica was past the age of majority, but perhaps there were specific stipulations in Clarence Draper’s will.
“You mentioned your father’s cousin inherited the house, but that Clarence made financial provisions for you and Jessica. Might you elaborate?”
“Yes. Father amended his will when Jessica became sick. When I married, he set a substantial sum aside for my settlement.”
Finlay snorted. “A substantial sum? If it’s so substantial, why must you bow and scrape to Fitzroy Adair for your allowance?”