She flinched, gasped and bit the nearest thing at hand, Owen's earlobe, quite fiercely. The small act of retaliation was as much of a surprise to her as it was to Owen.
He sucked in a harsh breath and held himself very still within her.
For a couple of heartbeats neither of them moved.
'I think we both just drew blood,' Owen said. He sounded as though he was speaking through gritted teeth.
She took a breath and was shocked by the coppery taste on the tip of her tongue. Good grief, she really had bitten the man. It wasn't his fault that she was new to this business.
'My apologies.' Mortified, she dropped her face back down onto his broad shoulder. 'One reads about this sort of experience and one thinks one is prepared, but I wasn't expecting quite such a jolt.'
'Neither was I. Tomorrow I must remember to purchase a gold ring to insert into the ear that you just pierced.'
She raised her head again, alarmed. She stared at the small drop of blood welling on his earlobe. As she watched, the tiny crimson rivulet dripped onto the collar of his pristine white linen shirt.
'Oh, dear,' she said. 'This is awkward.'
'Not as awkward as the position we are in at the moment.'
She could feel the steel-hard tension in his muscles. She sensed that he was holding himself in check for her sake.
She cleared her throat.
'Well,' she said, 'is that all there is to the business? I must say, after waiting so long to escape spinsterhood, I did expect something a bit more interesting.'
'Interesting,' he repeated, a bit too neutrally.
'In sensation novels there is always a transcendent metaphysical passion that accompanies the physical act. I expect when that occurs, it compensates for the uncomfortable side of the experience.'
'You didn't experience anything of a transcendent nature just now?'
'Actually, I was engaged in an extremely transcendent experience, but you just ruined it.'
'It is my turn to apologize. I did not expect you to be a virgin.'
She glared at him. 'Why not?'
'You are a woman of strong passions,' he said. He kissed her cheek. 'I assumed that by now-'
'You mean at my age-'
'I assumed that by now,' he repeated deliberately, 'you would have found some way to explore those passions.'
'Well, I was considering an appointment with Dr. Spinner.'
He caught her face between his hands. 'Could we discuss this some other time?'
'Certainly,' she said politely. She winced, trying to adjust to the feel of him inside her. 'Do, please, get on with it. We've come this far. We may as well carry on to the conclusion.'
'That's the spirit.'
'Are you laughing at me?' she asked, suddenly suspicious.
'No, Virginia, believe me, I am not laughing. It would hurt far too much. I doubt that I would survive.'
He began to move slowly inside her, using his grip on her hips to guide her into the rhythm. She was raw from his initial entry, but she was increasingly certain that she could at least endure the remainder of the process.
To her astonishment, the pain began to transform into a stimulating sense of urgency again. She was still exquisitely sensitive, but the sensation was now a compelling force. Her fingers locked around Owen's shoulders.
One of his hands left her rear and shifted to the place between her legs where their bodies were joined. She felt his fingers on the bud that was the center point of sensation.
A short time later he struck an invisible chord, launching her back out on the fabulous waves of sparkling energy. Small, powerful currents flashed through her, sweeping her along on the dazzling tide. She wanted to scream with the pleasure of it all; she wanted to laugh, to sing, to cry.
But she could do none of those things, because with another low, savage groan, Owen crushed her mouth beneath his own, swallowing any sound she might have made. He thrust heavily into her one last time, and then he went rigid. She felt the shuddering power of his climax slam through him in near-violent waves.
For a timeless moment they sailed the storm together. Then with one last heavy, groaning sigh of release, Owen relaxed deep into the chair.
When Virginia opened her eyes she saw that he was watching her with the lazy satisfaction of the hunter after a successful hunt.
'I knew you were the one,' he said.
Chapter 13
The scientist entered the laboratory the way he always did, through the kitchen door. He stood quietly for a moment, savoring the faint currents of energy that still shivered in the atmosphere. They were starting to fade. That was only to be expected. The experiment was concluded.
He took out the specially designed gold pocket watch that the clock maker had given him and walked down the narrow hall to the stairs.
The atmosphere thickened quite pleasantly as he made his way to the floor above. There were still hints of dread interlaced with the exciting nuances of incipient panic. He admired the aura of escalating fear that he had succeeded in capturing. But it was the dark power of the energy preserved at the moment when the subject understood that death was imminent that was the signature of his great talent.
The subject in this particular experiment had not been a strong talent. There were very few truly powerful glass-readers. But like Ratford, Hackett had served well enough for his purposes.
A muffled clink and thud stopped him at the top of the stairs. In spite of the fact that he was prepared, a cold chill wafted across his senses, rattling his nerves. The clockwork devices that he used to conduct the experiments were ideally suited to the great work. They were, in fact, the key to the perfection of his engine. But they were extraordinarily dangerous, not to mention expensive. He did not like having to leave them on guard, but after discovering that burglars had contaminated the scenes of both experiments, he'd been forced to take precautions. That was a problem with letting a house stand empty. They were magnets for housebreakers and thieves.
He struck a light and then flipped open the pocket watch. The interior of the watchcase was fitted with a special mirror. He held the watch so that the mirror inside was focused on the dark doorway.
The flaring light fell on a praying mantis the size of a house cat. The eyes of the clockwork insect glittered with malevolent energy. The increasing chill in the atmosphere warned him that the device had obtained a focus on him. The energy level started to escalate. His insides chilled. For an instant, panic assailed him. What if the mirror in the pocket watch no longer worked?
He shuddered with relief when the mantis clanked to a halt. The icy currents ceased emanating from the faceted glass eyes.
The scientist breathed a shaky sigh and continued down the hall.
The Hackett and Ratford experiments had both been unqualified successes, thanks to what he had learned during his preliminary research in the basement of the Hollister mansion. In the course of that work he had discovered how to calibrate the clockwork devices.
After Hackett and Ratford, he had been satisfied that the devices worked on glasslight-talents precisely as he had theorized. He had been ready for the final experiment, the one that, if successful, would energize his magnificent engine. But everything had gone wrong the other night.
That was always the way with scientific progress, he reminded himself. One had to expect setbacks.
He opened the door of the bedroom. Inside, all was just as he had fashioned it on the night of the
