“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she asked as they stepped out of the shop into the street. Griffith glanced instinctively to either side, taking her arm and drawing her close to him. Her maid trailed behind, and Griffith looked back to ensure she was safe as well.
“Stop manhandling me,” she said as she twisted her arm away. “I am perfectly capable of walking down the street on my own.”
He took her arm again, glancing down at her with an amused expression on his face. “I believe that, my lady. Perhaps I want the comfort of you by my side since I am unfamiliar with London?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied, but she didn’t pull away.
“Thank you for your help today,” he said as they walked. Toward where, he had no idea. He only hoped it wasn’t to buy more clothing. “Do you have the proper attire for our upcoming adventure?” he asked.
“Sarah and I went shopping yesterday.”
Damn. He wished he could have seen her trying gowns on, offering his opinion as to which was the most appealing on her. By which he meant the one that would show off her curves and creamy skin the best.
“There is a stack of invitations for us at Frederick’s house.” He spoke in a rueful tone. “News of my return traveled quickly. I believe there is a party tonight, should you be prepared for it. Unless you need more time?”
“I do not,” she retorted, as he could have predicted. Lady Della was nothing if not predictably snappish, especially if it appeared one was questioning her being up to a task.
“Excellent. I will pick you up this evening, say around eight o’clock?” He glanced around them. “Where are we going now anyway?”
He saw her cheeks turn pink as she replied. “Since we are posing as an engaged couple, I thought it would be best if we have a ring. We’re going to a jeweler’s. Hopefully my mother won’t have decided to go shopping today as well,” she muttered, her tone as apprehensive as he’d heard from her thus far.
“A ring! I’d forgotten about that.” He grinned at her. “Are you certain you haven’t done this sort of subterfuge before?”
“You mean pretending I am betrothed to a duke’s heir? I am fairly certain I would have recalled,” she said in a dry tone.
He leaned his head back in laughter. She glanced up at him, a wry smile on her mouth, and then she laughed also, shaking her head.
This was already so much fun, and they hadn’t even gotten into the teeth of Society yet.
“That one,” Lord Stanbury said, pointing to a ring in the jewelry case.
Della frowned at seeing his selection. “That is far too large,” she said.
“I am far too large, my lady, and yet you are stuck with me.” The clerk in the shop raised her eyebrows, but didn’t say anything. The clerk had introduced herself as Mrs. Harcourt, and judging by her placid demeanor, she was accustomed to seeing gentlemen purchasing jewels for ladies.
“You are not ostentatious and blindingly sparkling,” she pointed out as the clerk withdrew the ring, laying it on the counter.
It was an enormous ruby, square-cut, surrounded by a ring of multicolored stones in a thick gold setting. It was, in Della’s opinion, remarkably vulgar in its opulence, but she had to admit it drew the eye.
“I strongly disagree, my lady. I plan on being both ostentatious and blindingly sparkling this evening, when we attend that party.”
“You will not,” Della said firmly. “The point is for you to be accepted into Society, not to antagonize it. Even though you’re insisting you bring me along, which will already be an impediment.”
“Ah, but that is the whole fun of it.” He winked at her. “Why should I compromise who I am? Who you are? Just so we can move through Society?”
“Don’t be surprised when they turn their backs on you,” she muttered.
He took her arm and turned her to face him. His gaze was intense, focused on her face. She inhaled at how fierce he looked. And how fierce he sounded when he spoke. “They will not. I understand these people. They pretend to be scandalized when someone in their world steps out of line, but they adore it when that someone does it with confidence. That is all you need, my lady. Confidence. We will succeed in our own storming of this castle, and we won’t have to pretend to be anyone but ourselves.”
Listening to him, seeing the look in his eyes, Della could almost believe it would be as easy as he said. Even though she knew that her situation—being a ruined woman—was far different from his. Not only that, but she’d be returning on the arm of a gentleman who would otherwise be fair game for single young ladies, so she would be despised even more.
It would not be enjoyable, not at all. But it was what he was demanding as the price to his helping her find Mr. Wattings, and she would face much worse than Society’s disapproval if there was a chance she could help Sarah achieve some level of peace.
“Try it on,” he urged. She picked the ring up and slid it on her finger. She stared down at it, at how the stone glinted in the light. It looked less terrible on her hand than it had in the case, and she could almost admit he was right in choosing this one. It said that there was no embarrassment to this engagement, that both the giver and wearer were proud to be open about their relationship.
“It looks lovely,” the clerk said, her tone surprised.
Della looked up at the woman, her lips curling up into a smile as she met her gaze. “It does, doesn’t it?”
“See?” he said in satisfaction. He addressed the clerk. “If you will send the bill to the Duke of Northam’s house, we will settle the account immediately.” He leaned toward Della to look into the case again, gesturing to something within. “And those earrings on the right, also.”
“No, there is no need. The ring is plenty.” Even though she couldn’t suppress a gasp of appreciation as the clerk laid the earrings he’d indicated on the counter. They were ruby also, but simple teardrops on a plain gold wire.
“I say that there is.” His tone allowed for no more argument. And besides, they were exceptionally beautiful. She could only resist so much.
“Shall I wrap these up?” the clerk asked.
“I’ll wear them,” Della said, scooping up the earrings. “And the ring too.”
He watched as she slid the earrings through her ears, then tossed her head to make them dance when they were in. His gaze was appreciative, making her warm all over.
The clerk stepped over to the far side of the counter, writing up the order. Becky stood by the front door, her attention focused on the street outside.
“They suit you,” he said in a low voice. “Richly beautiful, simple, elegant, in a color you cannot ignore. Like you,” he finished. His words sent a ripple of pleasure through her body.
She bit her lip as she stared up at him, seeing the look of hunger in his gaze. Knowing that hungry look was likely duplicated in her own eyes.
This was so much trouble. He was trouble personified, and she would have to be wary in dealing with him that she didn’t succumb as she had before. No pleasures of the flesh were worth the heartache that would inevitably come afterward. And she had no doubt that if she let him he would cause her plenty of heartache.
Better to keep her distance, no matter how much she wanted to close that distance for what she knew would be a passionate, intense kiss.
Griffith felt his breath catch in his chest as she looked up at him. Her expression was equal parts vulnerability and desire, and he swallowed against the urge to step forward and take her in his arms.
He had only known her for a bit over a day, and he could already admit he was besotted. He wouldn’t act on it; it wouldn’t be fair, given the inequity of their relationship already. If he approached her for anything beyond their current bargain, she might feel pressured to agree. Although he imagined she could take care of herself, but he wouldn’t want her to have to, at least in regard to him. Lesser men would pester women, not understanding that a woman, especially a lady, had little recourse in that kind of situation. A hat pin was likely the most defense a lady could muster, and he’d seen what kind of result that had achieved.
But he would take her up on anything she might offer.
“And now?” she said, her tone returning to its imperious mien. “If you’re done purchasing extravagant jewelry beyond what is required for this subterfuge, shouldn’t we start looking for Mr. Wattings?”
He grinned at her. So she had felt it too. That was why she was being more than unusually prickly at the moment.
“Of course, my lady. As it happens,” he said, quickening his steps, feeling as she scurried beside him, “I need to locate my first mate. The last I saw of him was at that pub.”
“The one where you got arrested?” she asked pointedly. “The sleeping man?”
“Yes, that one.”
“And will this be in pursuit of our goal of locating Mr. Wattings?”
Griffith nodded as he thought it out. “Clark will be less conspicuous than me. He can ask questions about where Wattings might have gone to.”
“I want to go. I want to ask questions.”
Griffith suppressed an urge to shake her. He knew he was stubborn, but Lady Della made him seem almost accommodating. Which he absolutely was not. “You, as you might have noticed when you came to the docks, are entirely conspicuous. Do you think anyone would answer your questions?” He raised his brow as he looked her up and down. “Never mind your person would be in danger. Sailors and the like are not accustomed to seeing anyone or anything nearly as beautiful as you.”
Her eyes widened. In shock? Did she not know she was beautiful? Or more likely because it was him saying it?
And then her mouth flattened, and he saw as she marshaled her Della forces to deliver him some sort of crushing verbal blow.
“But I can see it is important to you,” he continued. “And I did promise. So we will have to find you a disguise. Something to hide all of—” And then he gestured vaguely toward her so she wouldn’t know if it was her face or her figure he thought needed disguising.
She looked as though now she didn’t know how to respond, and he felt a moment of glee inside at having rousted her so thoroughly.
“A disguise,” she said stiffly. “I suppose I can borrow something from somebody at the Society for Poor and Unfortunate Children. Mrs. Wattings and I teach there.”
“As long as whatever you borrow hides the glory of Lady Della,” he said with a grin.
And then she looked embarrassed all over again, and he wanted to take her in his arms and show her with methodical skill and patience just how beautiful he found her.
“But since we can’t get your disguise until later, I’ll go to the docks now to find my first mate. The last I saw of him,” he began, thinking of Clark lying on that table, “well, I think he must be wondering where I am.” Not to mention the rest of his crew, though they were likely pleased to have a reprieve from his orders, although he knew they’d be displeased to hear he wouldn’t be their captain any longer when he did get to speak with them.
“As long as you don’t begin the investigation without me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. I promise.”
“And tonight we can announce ourselves to Society.”
A shadow passed over her face as she spoke, and he wondered if she was going to share some of her hesitancy with him. He knew he didn’t want to venture into Society, but he also didn’t have the addition of Society not wanting him to venture into it, unlike her. How must that feel? And that she was willing to do it for her friend spoke volumes about her loyalty and the depth of her love.
But no, the moment passed; she raised her chin and took a deep breath. “This will be our first public appearance together.”
“Yes, it will, my beloved.”
She blinked, then her features cleared. “Oh yes. You’re practicing. And I will have to practice saying Lord Stanbury.”
“Or some other cozy nickname you might come up with?” he teased. “My captain? Lord Handsome?”
“Or the Duke of Arrogance?” she retorted. Her expression was amused.
“That would suit me very well,” he said, putting his hands behind his back to thrust out his chest. He didn’t miss how she glanced at him then, nor did he miss the look of interest in her eyes. “Although that would make you the Duchess of Arrogance.”
“Not until I marry you,” she reminded him. “And that will not happen.”
It was unfortunate that this was only pretense—otherwise, he would be thinking about what she would be like in bed when they actually were married. How she’d tease and play with him there as skillfully as she was doing now on the street. Only she’d be naked and supine, and he would much prefer that scenario.
And he hadn’t been lying when he said he did not want to be married. If he had to be shackled by his ducal responsibilities, he’d be damned if he’d add even more into his life. He’d seen his parents—seen how they might have once loved one another, only to become bitter and disappointed by one another’s failings. And how his father had betrayed his mother so many times.
He wouldn’t subject himself to that.
“My lord?” she said. She sounded impatient. How long had he been lost in thought?
“Apologies. Until tonight, then?”
She nodded, then beckoned to her maid and walked away, leaving him staring after her, this time able to look at her form, which was swaying enticingly.
Entering Society was going to be an enormous amount of fun, now that he’d found someone as fascinating as her to accompany him.
The butler paused before announcing her name. Della smiled gently at him. She hoped he wouldn’t be reprimanded for allowing her inside; it wasn’t his fault that Viscount Huge had taken it into his head to bring her here this evening.
“Lady—Lady Della Howlett,” the man said at last.
Della held her breath as she saw everyone in the room turn as one. If it weren’t for his hand at her back—if it weren’t for Sarah—she would have spun on her heel and run out of the room, no matter how bravely she faced scurrilous merchants, recalcitrant schoolgirls, and feisty kittens.
“Go on,” he urged in a low voice. “You are betrothed to the most fascinating man in London. Nobody will scorn you, I promise.”
“Griffith Davies, Viscount Stanbury,” the butler said, this time as though he were actually pleased to be saying the name.
The crowd reacted again, their shocked expressions from before now tinged with curiosity.
Della saw a whirl of color approach her, like a pinwheel come alive, and realized it was Olivia and Eleanor, their eyes wide and their mouths hanging open in surprise.
She hadn’t told her sisters she’d be doing this, so of course they were startled. That they had bolted out from the crowd so quickly to stand by her side made her relax just a tiny bit.
“We didn’t know you were coming this evening,” Olivia said, her eyes darting back and forth from Lord Stanbury to Della, avid interest in her gaze.
“My lord, allow me to present my sisters. This is Lady Eleanor Raybourn, and Lady Olivia—” She paused, frowning. “What is your name anyway?”
Olivia stuck her hand out to Lord Stanbury. “Lady Olivia Wolcott,” she said.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady. And yours, Lady Eleanor.”
“We’re just thrilled you were able to persuade Della to come out,” Olivia said in a delighted tone. “I have told her that it would be fine, but she would not listen.”
“I have already discovered your sister is stubborn,” he replied in a sly tone of voice. “But I was . . . persuasive.” And that additional comment made it seem as though—well, as though something was happening that absolutely was not.
Which Della could tell because of her own reaction, but also because of her sisters’ faces.
“Look,” she said, speaking in a low tone of voice, “do not be shocked when you hear that Lord Stanbury and I are engaged.”
“You are!” Olivia exclaimed. She started to wrap her arms around Della, who shook her head, sharing a commiserating glance with Eleanor.
“We are not, but we are saying we are so as to—so as . . .” She turned to Lord Stanbury. “What are we doing anyway?”
He grinned. “You are helping me keep the ladies at bay.” He swept into a bow. “You see, ladies, I am irresistible. Especially now that it will be known that I am a duke’s heir.”
“That is very clever,” Eleanor commented. “Although you should have kept it a secret from Olivia.”
“I can keep a secret as well as anybody!” Olivia retorted, far louder than Della would have liked.
“Yes, I can see how good you are at not drawing attention to yourself,” Della replied dryly.
“Hmph,” Olivia said, but her eyes sparkled and it looked as though she was pleased to be in on the subterfuge.
“Lord Stanbury,” a soft voice called from a few feet away. A handsome older woman drew toward them, a smile on her face. “I am Lady Linden. It is so lovely you were able to attend our gathering. I am hoping the duke is feeling better?”
A shadow crossed Lord Stanbury’s face, so quickly Della might have missed it if she hadn’t been looking at him at the time. Come to think of it, she spent a lot of the time she was with him just—looking at him.
Damn him for being so attractive, and stirring up all those feelings.
“Yes, he sends his greetings. And sends me, of course,” Lord Stanbury said.
“And you are Lady Della?” Lady Linden said, turning to Della.
She braced herself for the inevitable look of disapproval. But the lady’s face was just warm and welcoming, and she felt something inside her relax.
She still had the remainder of the guests to face, of course, but at least one person wasn’t going to be unpleasant.
She would take it as a win.
“Yes, thank you, my lady,” Della said.
“If you will excuse me,” Lady Linden said. “I will leave you with your sisters and Lord Stanbury. Thank you so much for coming.” She sounded sincere, and Della thought perhaps this wouldn’t be as bad as she’d anticipated.
She felt a pinch on her arm. She turned around, not surprised to see it was Olivia.
“What is going on?” Olivia said in a whisper. “You have to tell us, I am dying of curiosity!”
Behind her, Eleanor nodded her agreement.
“If you will excuse us, my lord?”
“You can’t desert me,” Lord Stanbury said in a pained voice. It sounded as though he was serious. Was it possible that Lord Exuberant was actually terrified of meeting Society people? Was that what made him run off to sea? Or was his current attitude because he had so thoroughly thumbed his nose at these people—and now he was back among them.
“Come with us, then,” Della said. “We can surround you in a phalanx of Howletts so nobody will speak to you.”
She heard Eleanor smother a snort, and saw Olivia’s face brighten. “Oh do come. Let’s go get some wine. Lord Linden is famous for his wine cellar.”
“No beer, I suppose,” she heard him murmur as they walked toward the refreshments.
“Did you find your Clark?” Della asked.
Lord Stanbury shook his head. “No, I wonder if he is still sleeping it off somewhere. I’ll look tomorrow.”
“I’ll go with you. So we can ask for your first mate as well as see what we can find out about Mr. Wattings. Sarah found a disguise that will work.”
“So stubborn,” he said, and the admiring warmth in his tone made something happen low in her belly.
She couldn’t blame the wine, since she hadn’t had any yet. It was just him, and his outsized presence, and his surprisingly sweet trepidation about entering Society.
Oh dear, she thought as she walked beside him. I am in so much trouble.
“That wasn’t so terrible,” Griffith admitted as they waited for their cloaks. She had remained by his side the entire evening, sending pointed glances toward any young lady who appeared to be overstepping. He’d had to smother several grins at seeing how the young ladies wilted under Lady Della’s proud gaze.
Her sisters had protected her all evening as well, stepping in whenever it seemed as though some Society member was about to mention Lady Della’s scandalous past.
He’d never had that kind of protective family himself; the closest had been Frederick, who’d helped him run off to sea, but who had been too cowed by his father to stand up for Griffith when the duke had berated him.
“I suppose not,” she said, smiling at the servant who arrived with her cloak. The servant blinked, as though startled. Yes, she is beautiful, Griffith thought. And she is mine.
Damn it, where had that come from?
He nearly glared down at his cock, since he knew perfectly well which of his parts had instigated that idea.
“Are you ready to leave?” she asked in an impatient tone.
“Yes, of course,” Griffith said, shrugging into his own cloak, the voluminous fabric swirling around his body, hopefully hiding his reaction to her. He did not want her to know just how much he’d been thinking about her. About all that fierce passion of hers playing out in bed sport. Wanting her to tell him what to do and how hard to do it.
“Tomorrow we’ll find Clark and begin our investigation,” he said, as much to confirm their plans as to get his mind off her body.
“Yes, we spoke about that.” Her tone made it clear she thought he was being dim-witted, and he smothered a grin at how she’d react if he told her just why he was repeating himself—I want to worship your body, Lady Della. I want to make you see stars. I want to hear you tell me just what you want me to do to you.
So I tried to derail my thoughts by reminding us both of our plans for the next day.
They descended the stairs to Frederick’s carriage in silence, the coachman holding the door open for them. She allowed him to assist her inside, and he followed, shutting them in together. Alone.
In a dark carriage with at least half an hour’s worth of travel time before he deposited her back at her house.
His mind raced frantically for topics other than what was uppermost in his mind—and his trousers.
He was annoyed at himself for being so easily distracted. Yes, she was lovely and proud and stubborn and wickedly sharp. But he had a purpose in reentering Society, and it was not to engage in sexual congress with her.
Never mind that she would likely slap him if she had a hint he was so inclined.
“Thank you,” she said in a soft voice, startling him—thankfully—from his thoughts.
“For what?” he replied in surprise.
He heard her shift on the seat next to him. “For staying by my side all evening. I noticed.”
He chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. “That was at least as much for my benefit as yours, my lady. I was telling the truth when I said the thought of those people terrified me. Knowing you were there at my side, quelling any potential awkwardness with a glare from your lovely eyes made it bearable.”
Silence as she digested his words. “Why are you so terrified?”
He hadn’t expected her question. Although he probably should have, given how forthright she seemed to be. She did not seem to be the type of person who would hold back from asking something that crossed her mind.
Which of course led him right back into thinking of her in his bed.
“I wasn’t in Society at all when I was last a respectable member of the Davies family,” he began. “I was too young. And I ran off to sea before I could leave home to get more of an education.”
“So your terror is because it’s unknown?” she said in a speculative voice. “Though that doesn’t seem likely. You ran off to sea, for example, not knowing anything about it.”
“Leaving the familiar has always fascinated me.” Odd how he had never articulated that to himself. He shrugged. “I think that what I loathe is all the protocol. The having to be polite to people you despise, having to attend parties and pay attention when you’d rather be doing something—anything else.”
“But if you never did it, how do you know it’s as terrible as you say?”
Griffith bristled at the idea that he was prejudiced against something he hadn’t experienced himself. Even though what she was saying was true.
“I don’t know,” he admitted at last. “Perhaps it isn’t as bad as I’d imagined. Perhaps all the young ladies who obtained introductions this evening truly wanted to converse about the weather and the party.” His tone was skeptical.
She nudged him in the arm with her elbow. “Stop. Those young ladies are far more trapped than you will ever be. They are trotted out like show ponies for inspection, with the prize being stuck with one person for the rest of their life.” Her tone made it clear what she thought about that. “I know your fear is that you’d accidentally wind up married to one of them, but imagine how they feel? Knowing that their future existence depends on being chosen by some lord because of how well they danced, or what they look like?” She snorted. “That is my idea of torture. Pretending to be your betrothed is far more pleasant, at least.”
“I am glad I am the lesser of two evils,” Griffith replied. “Is that what you went through before—before?” He paused, not sure how to reference her past scandal. Since he didn’t even know what it was, but since she had a child and no husband he could likely guess. Not to mention how strongly she’d advised him against asking her to pose as his betrothed. Or the requirements she’d insisted upon. Which, of course, had only made it seem that much more intriguing.
“I had a season,” she said. “I went to parties and spoke with gentlemen and wore pretty gowns. It wasn’t all awful. I got to dance, and I do love to dance.” She emitted a rueful laugh. “Which is what got me in trouble.” She paused. “But I do not want to speak of that now.”
He knew it would be a matter of simply asking someone, anyone, what her scandal was, but for some reason he wanted to hear it from her. And he wouldn’t press until she felt comfortable enough to tell him.
“What do you wish to speak of, then?” he asked. “Or we can sit in silence. I will leave the decision up to you.” He wasn’t trying to tease her now.
For a moment, he thought she had made her choice because she was silent.
“Thank you,” she said at last, sounding surprised. “Not many men—that is, no man of my acquaintance—would leave any kind of decision up to a woman. Which is why I insisted upon it. But I hadn’t guessed you’d be so amenable.”
“As you’ve noted, I am a remarkable man,” Griffith couldn’t help but reply.
“A remarkably conceited one,” she said in a dry tone. “But I can’t fault you for that.” More silence as he wondered what she could possibly mean by that. “Which is why I choose to do this.”
And then she moved closer to him, putting her fingers on his jaw and turning his head toward her, bringing his face down to hers until, at last, she pressed her mouth against his.
Lady Della was kissing him.
Oh. She’d been thinking about doing just this, honestly, since the first time she saw him in that dingy pub by the docks. Even though she hadn’t wanted to admit it, not even to herself.
About how all that strength and size would feel in a moment of passion.
But her imagination could not live up to the reality.
Her fingers slid up from his face to his hair, and she tugged on some of the long strands, eliciting a soft chuckle in his throat. She could tell he was smiling against her mouth, and she drew his bottom lip between her teeth, biting gently before sliding her tongue inside.
His tongue met hers, but he didn’t immediately take over in the kiss; instead, he allowed her to explore, holding himself still as she devoured his mouth.
But she could tell he was affected, and holding himself back, because his hand was on her arm, his fingers gripping her so tightly she knew he would leave a mark. A mark she would bear gladly, a reminder that this attraction was mutual, and she had instigated it. He wouldn’t have, she knew that. Just as she knew that he felt it as strongly as she did.
Oh, but she’d missed this. Focusing entirely on a kiss, a caress, as though there was nothing else in the world. Nothing but the rumble of the carriage, of how his mouth was warm, and his tongue was now on the offensive, ravaging her mouth as though he was laying waste to all of her defenses.
Which she had to admit he was.
It was a good thing they were in a moving carriage or she would have torn his clothing off already. Her breasts felt sore and achy, but in a yearning way, while lower down that place throbbed, clamoring for attention. His attention.
It had been far too long since she’d been touched like this. Her own ministrations were fine, but there was nothing to compare to having a passionate partner.
She heard a moan, low in her throat, as his fingers moved up her arm to her neck, teasing in between the fabric of her cloak and her bare skin.
She shifted, thrusting her body up closer in an implicit wish for him to touch her more, on her breast. Squeeze her nipple, if he were so inclined.
Oh, please be so inclined, she pleaded.
He stroked her skin, his thumb resting on the pulse at her neck. She ran her hands down his neck, rubbed the broad expanse of shoulders. Goodness, he was huge.
Was he huge everywhere? If forced to guess, she would say yes.
Dear Lord.
And then his fingers were dipping into the top of her gown, sliding down to the curve of her bosom, and she wanted everything. She wanted him to strip her bare, to plunge into her, to ride her to climax. Her climax, of course. He would have to wait for his.
The thought would have amused her if she weren’t so focused on what he was doing—his fingers had found her nipple, and he was playing with it, sliding his fingertip across the taut peak. She shuddered, and arched her back, her mind frantically trying to do the necessary equation for coupling inside a coach.
He was too big to manage it satisfactorily, she would imagine.
Although he would likely take her up on the challenge, which would be pleasurable in and of itself—to watch as he twisted that huge body to successfully enter her. To push her into the carriage seat as he thrust into her.
He was kissing her more urgently, his fingers rubbing her nipple, then sliding around the globe of her breast as she ached and yearned and wanted everything from him right now, despite the logistical problem.
And then she couldn’t take it any longer, not without feeling as though she were going to explode, and not in the way she longed for.
She drew back from him, staring up into his face. He was gazing intently at her, his eyes sparking with passion, his mouth wet from her kiss.
“That was even better than I’d thought it might be,” she admitted. She was annoyed that she was speaking in a breathy voice.
“So you’ve been imagining this?” His voice was ragged, the masculine equivalent of breathy.
Good to know they were equally affected.
“Yes, of course,” she replied. He closed his eyes for a moment, as though savoring her words.
“And how was it?” he asked, his voice resuming its usual arrogant tone. Although she couldn’t fault him, not now. It was tremendous.
“You know how it was.” She took a deep breath. Reminding her, as she inhaled, that his fingers were still on her breast.
She didn’t want him to take his hand away. Even though they should be nearly home soon.
“It was.” He paused, and then he extricated his hand from her gown in as graceful a manner as was possible, given the circumstances. “What do you propose we do about it?”
She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze forthrightly. “I propose that we have an affair.”