The Blake Adventures: Minutes in Heaven
December 1959
"Lucien, are you ready to go?"
Glancing at his reflection in the mirror one last time, Lucien Blake fumbled with his bowtie and gave himself a satisfied nod. "On my way, Mattie!" he called back. Exiting his bedroom, Lucien found Mattie waiting for him. "My, don't you look pretty?" he gushed, admiring her purple-pink gown, overlaid with pale lavender tulle.
She gave a proud little spin. "Thank you! And you're looking quite dapper this evening," she told him, smiling at his tuxedo.
"Is my tie straight? I can never seem to manage it," he complained.
"Come here, I'll take care of it." A new voice joined their conversation. Mattie and Lucien turned to see Jean come down the stairs.
Lucien's jaw dropped. "Jean," he breathed.
"It's rude to gawk, Lucien," she scolded lightly. But as her fingers reached up to straighten his tie, the sparkle in her turquoise-gray eyes told him that she appreciated his reaction. She'd made the dress herself, following a wildly difficult pattern and remeasuring herself about a hundred times to ensure it would fit properly. The shimmering pale blue satin hugged her every curve and the skirt swished delightfully when she moved. The neckline was perhaps a bit low-cut, but the embellished bow on her shoulder took attention away from the décolletage she was sporting. Besides, she had a diamond engagement ring on her finger. She didn't much mind showing a bit more of her figure than usual.
"You look incredible," he murmured. Lucien took her hands in his and pressed a soft kiss to her fingertips. "If we weren't already late, I'd take you upstairs and…"
"Lucien!" she hissed, her eyes darting over to where Mattie was standing within earshot.
Their young lodger tried not to laugh, but she had the tact to walk past them toward the door. "Shall we go?"
Lucien sighed, "I suppose we should. Wouldn't want to be too tardy."
"Susan wouldn't hear of it," Jean added bitterly. She was still very much of two minds in attending the Tyneman Christmas party. It was the first time she'd ever been invited. And it was the first proper public event she would be attending as Lucien's fiancée; it had been nearly three weeks since he proposed, but in all the fallout from the Begonia Festival, they'd been keeping at home as much as possible. But they couldn't very well skip this party. It wouldn't be proper. The whole town would be there, and Patrick had asked Jean specifically if she would be attending. The invitation was addressed to Dr. Lucien Blake and Mrs. Jean Beazley. Charlie had received an invitation of his own, as had Mattie, much to her surprise. This year, it seemed, the Tynemans had invited the entire town.
The party was already in full swing by the time they arrived. Mattie found her friends and Lucien led Jean to the bar so they could get a fortifying drink before entering the fray.
"I thought I'd see you here eventually."
Lucien handed Jean a sherry and took a sip of his scotch before he turned to see Alice Harvey standing in the corner, sipping a martini. "Ah, Doctor Harvey, good evening to you!" He greeted her warmly and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Her widened eyes told everyone that she hadn't expected such a gesture.
"I'm glad to see someone I know, finally," she said, once Lucien had gotten to a respectable distance.
Jean frowned. "You're not here by yourself, are you?"
Alice shifted uncomfortably. "Matthew Lawson was supposed to accompany me, but his leg was bothering him, so I had to come alone."
"Well, it's his loss. You look beautiful. I love that dress," Jean complimented.
"You're far too nice to me, Jean. I did the best I could, but I can't ever seem to find anything that suits me properly. However did you find a gown so perfect?" Alice asked.
"Oh, well, I made it," Jean admitted.
Lucien beamed proudly, wrapping his arm around his fiancée's waist.
Alice sighed, musing aloud, "You know, I can sew up a body but I've never actually tried to sew fabric."
Seeing the startled look on Jean's face, Lucien thought it best to steer away. He put their empty glasses on the bar and excused them. "Alice, we'll come back and find you in a little while. Jean's promised to dance with me."
"Oh, have I?" she teased as he ushered her to the dancefloor.
"Yes, as a part of accepting my marriage proposal, you've implicitly promised to dance with me at every possible opportunity."
Jean merely beamed happily in response. It was ever so exciting to be his fiancée. To be engaged to marry Lucien Blake. She loved him so much, she thought she might burst at the very thought of it sometimes. To think that it had only been about two years earlier that they'd met. He was petulant and odd, an outrageous taciturn drunk without a thought to anyone or anything that wasn't at the forefront of his attention. And she had been rigid and repressed, adhering to what was expected of her so she could survive in a world that sought to punish her for the inner workings of her mind and the yearnings of her heart. Before Lucien, Jean was relegated to her position as a widow housekeeper, trying to hold her head high amidst the whispers that had followed her all her life. Pregnant before she got married. Sent her husband off to his death in the war. Sons who abandoned her, one a criminal and one a stodgy soldier. All of it had been her burden to bear in silence. But Lucien had freed her. She certainly had even more whispers to ignore once he came around, but none of it bothered her anymore. Lucien had softened from her influence, opening his eyes to those around him and respecting Ballarat and more of the people in it. And in return, he had allowed her to be clever and useful and all the things she'd never been allowed to be before. Yes, she was free when she was with him. And through that freedom and the loving partnership they'd begun to forge between them, Jean had given herself to him, wholly and completely. A few times a week, in fact. In the study when no one was home. Sneaking down to his bedroom in the dead of night or him sneaking up to hers. Lucien had given her the freedom to give in to her passions, and she loved him all the more for it.
She felt at home in his arms, dancing amidst all the glitz and glamor—or as much of it as Ballarat could provide. He twirled her around the floor in perfect time to the music, swaying her to the rhythm. Jean pressed her cheek to his, bringing them closer together. Perhaps closer than was proper, but why oh why should she mind that now?
"What's he doing here?" Lucien growled.
Jean took half a step away from him and turned to follow his gaze. And there, standing off to the side of the room in conversation with Patrick Tyenman, was none other than William Munro. The former Chief Superintendent had that same perpetual scowl on his face, and despite having been practically run out of Ballarat in disgrace, here he was at Christmas in a tuxedo.
"I have half a mind to wring his bloody neck," Lucien continued, his voice low and dangerous as the tendrils of rage clutched at him.
"Ignore him," Jean insisted. "Don't let him spoil our night."
"Not like how he spoiled your birthday."
"A murder spoiled my birthday," she reminded him. "But Munro did make it worse, yes, I'll grant you that."
Lucien was still grumbling with annoyance. And Jean couldn't have that.
She murmured quietly in his ear so only he could hear her, "I love when you hold me in your arms while we dance. Almost as much as I love when you hold me in your arms while you're inside me."
He was so shocked, he stumbled over his own feet.
Jean had already pushed herself past the initial embarrassment of speaking in such a way, and she appreciated Lucien's response. And she wasn't ready to stop yet. "The way you move, Lucien, it's intoxicating. All your gorgeous muscles and the thrust of your hips into mine. The touch of your hand is like an electric shock."
Lucien was recovering now, eager to join in on her naughty game. "Tell me how you like me to touch you, Jean," he whispered back to her, pulling her body flush against him as they continued to dance.
"When you drum your fingers over my ribs. When you squeeze my thighs. When your fingers tease me…there."
He was going to be shamefully hard by the time they finished this, but he had no desire to dissuade her. Quite the opposite in fact. "What else do you like?"
"Your lips and your tongue. The scratch of your beard on my breasts and between my legs and everywhere else. I can still feel you hours later, and I love it. I love thinking of how you make me yours."
"And I am yours," he vowed, practically panting with arousal. All thoughts of Munro had flown from his mind. All that existed was Jean. Jean in his arms, in that dress, and how he could get her out of it—or at least get himself under it—as soon as possible. "Let's go home."
"We can't leave Mattie," she reminded him. "But I bet we can find a room somewhere. It's an awfully big house. I'm sure there's a dark, quiet place for us somewhere."
"My god, I love you," he groaned. He gave a subtle thrust against her so she could plainly feel what she did to him.
"Mmm," she hummed in appreciation. She took a quick nip of his earlobe as they danced their way to the edge of the room and subtly down the hallway.
Lucien practically dragged her up the stairs and into the first door he could find. Linen closet. Perfect. "Jean, I need you," he whispered desperately before he kissed her deeply, his tongue delving into her mouth.
"Yes, Lucien, take me," she begged in between his ardent kisses. They couldn't do much in such a small space with the party right downstairs, but that didn't deter them. Her nimble fingers found their way to his trousers, pulling down the zip so she could free his hardness.
He moaned against her neck as she stroked him. He clutched her hips tightly as he sucked hard against her pulse point, eliciting a breathy groan from her.
"Please," she whispered, needing to feel him deep inside her.
Lucien pulled away from her only enough to grab the voluminous fabric of her dress and find his way to her body underneath. He grabbed the back of her thigh and hitched her leg over his hip. Her knickers were dripping wet, so he moved the fabric aside to thrust into her. She shuddered in his arms from the suddenness of his entry. It took everything in him to hold off, to stay still while she adjusted to him. But as soon as she shifted her hips against him and exhaled in a pleasured sigh, he withdrew almost completely and pounded into her in earnest. She met his thrusts with her own, clutching the fabric of his jacket and clinging to him. Her hot breath on his neck was coming in high-pitched pants as he built her up higher and higher until she broke, shattering around him, her body clenching him in rolling waves of pleasure. His pace took on a frenzied rhythm as he followed her to ecstasy.
Their hearts were pounding as they breathed heavily, still holding one another tightly. Lucien was softening inside Jean but couldn't bear to part from her just yet. She stood on one leg, leaning against him as her entire body buzzed from her release. "I love you," she whispered.
"I love you," he replied breathily. Neither of their voices seemed to work, which was probably just as well.
Outside the door, a woman screamed.
Jean and Lucien stumbled in surprise, and he slipped out of her. Jean shifted uncomfortably and immediately grabbed the handkerchief from his jacket pocket and cleaned herself up before she got stains on her dress. He rearranged himself in his trousers and shoved the soiled handkerchief inside the inner pocket of his jacket. It wouldn't do to use it as a pocket square anymore.
They both exited the closet in order to investigate, just in time for William Munro to walk up the stairs and see them. Jean followed his sharp gaze to the lipstick stains all over Lucien's beard and to her own neck where, she was fairly certain, Lucien had left a rather substantial lovebite. She swallowed hard, trying to rearrange her hair a bit to hide it.
"William, so lovely to have you back in Ballarat. To what do we owe the pleasure?" Lucien greeted with feigned enthusiasm.
"I don't think I've got anything to do with your pleasure, Doctor Blake," Munro replied snidely.
Jean was rather certain she'd die of embarrassment. She averted her eyes to the floor in a vain attempt to hide her blush.
"I believe there's been a disturbance up here. Nothing you caused, I take it?" Munro continued.
"We came to see what was the matter as well," Lucien said, ignoring the way his old enemy was baiting him.
The three rounded the corner to see Susan Tyneman shaking and crying. Jean immediately went to her side. "Susan, what's the matter?"
Susan just pointed into the doorway.
There, on the floor, was a young woman with dark hair and pale skin and painted red lips, wearing only a silk slip and her underthings. Her eyes were wide open and there was a bullet hole in the middle of her forehead.
"What the devil is going on?" Patrick Tyneman came blustering in. "Blake? Munro? Susan?" He saw the dead girl and stopped. "Jesus," he whispered. "Where's Edward?"