The Wedding Bed (The Sun Never Sets, Book One) by Ava Archer Payne Page B

wall of his chest. Initially she’d been intimidated by Derek’s size, by the formidable maleness of his body. No longer. In the span of a single night, everything had changed. Now that very body thrilled her.
    She ran her hands over his mahogany skin, watching his muscles quiver in response to her touch. She saw a nerve flex in his jaw as he held himself still, letting her touch him and explore his body as he had explored hers. Letting her marvel at the masculine strength and tightly leashed power she found there. Beneath the folds of her gown, Calla felt the firm ridge of his arousal announce itself, thrusting against her thighs. Her gaze shot to his. She read pleasure there, and tension, and need. Fierce, pulsing need.
    She brought her hand lower.
    A subtle noise from across the room, something that sounded like a cross between a cough and ahem , stopped her in mid-motion.
    “Unless someone has just died, Bellowes— ”
    “I’m afraid, my lord, that is precisely what has transpired.”

 
     
    Chapter Eight
     
     
    Calla froze, as did Derek.
    Silence rang through the room.
    Slowly , Derek felt his senses return. The erotic thunder that pounded through his brain dimmed to a dull roar. He watched as Calla blinked and shook her head, as though waking from a drugged sleep. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips ruby-stained and swollen. As she shrugged into the bodice of her gown, Derek swept her skirts over her bare thighs. Then he gently set her off his lap and stood.
    “Explain.”
    Bellowes, who until that moment had been staring directly ahead, focusing his gaze on the shrubbery outside the breakfast room window, took that as his cue that it was appropriate to turn. 
    “ Inspector Nevins of the Metropolitan Police, is here, my lord. Apparently there was some trouble down at the docks last night.”
    “Aboard the Makara?”
    “The gentlema n did not elaborate. He requested an immediate audience. He said it was most urgent.”
    “Very well. Show him into the west parlor.” Derek glanced down at himself. His erection had subsided, but his clothing was hardly in a fit state for company. “Tell Rahul I’ll need a fresh shirt, cravat, and a jacket. Then you may inform the inspector I will join them directly.”
    Bellowes gave a small, discreet cough. “I beg your pardon, my lord.”
    “Yes?”
    “It is Lady Keating the gentleman wishes to see, my lord.”
    Derek stiffened. “Excuse me?”
    “ He was quite adamant. He said it was most urgent that he speak with Lady Keating.”
    Derek’s gaze shot to Calla. He watched as shock and confusion warred for prominence on her delicate features.
    “Me?” she said. “I don’t understand. Why would he possibly want to speak with me?”
    An excellent question. One that Derek had no ready answer to. “Make our guest comfortable,” he said to Bellowes. “Lady Keating and I will join him shortly.”
    Bellowes bowed out of the room. In short order, Derek’s valet returned with the clothing items he’d requested. They readied themselves in silence made awkward by their interrupted intimacy. Calla took a moment to restore her hair to its tidy bun, fasten her garters, and smooth the wrinkles from her skirts. Once presentable, Derek drew Calla with him to the west parlor.
    The inspector was short and dark, somewhat small in stature. Derek guessed the man to be somewhere in his mid-forties. He sat with a cup of steaming tea balanced on his thigh, his dark eyes moving about the parlor as though absorbing every detail.
    Unlike the majority of London’s police officers, who dressed in bulky blue coats and carried wooden truncheons at their sides, the inspector wore a smartly tailored checkered brown wool suit. Derek could detect no sign of a weapon carried on his person. Something about his sharp gaze and fastidious manner of dress reminded him of the legions of clerks who swarmed the vast warehouses of the East India Company, burying their noses in customs reports and