He angled his head, ravaged her mouth, and she consciously met him. Flagrantly urged him on. His fingers closed again and she shuddered, no longer trying to disguise her response. Her hands rose, of their own volition found his shoulders, then pushed on, around, back, then she speared her fingers into his black hair.
The silken touch of the heavy locks didn’t distract, but only added to the tactile experience; her greedy senses, awakened and starved, welcomed and wallowed. His hand shifted on her breast, blatantly possessive; his fingers tightened again—hers clenched in response.
He moved closer, into her, deepening the kiss—and suddenly they were somewhere else, in some place they hadn’t been before. Somewhere hotter, more fiery, where their needs escalated and their senses grew ravenous. Clamorous.
Urgent.
It was he who broke the kiss, lifted his head and hauled them free of the fire. Drew them back to earth, back to themselves, to their bodies locked close in the parlor.
To their breaths fast and shallow, to their pulses hammering in their veins. Lids lifting, their gazes locked; in his, the flames still smoldered. Her lips throbbed, appeased yet still hungry.
His gaze fell to them, then lower. To where his hand lay over her breast. He closed that hand, slowly, deliberately. Desire welled and washed down her spine; something inside her clenched tight.
His eyes lifted to hers. “Not here, not now.” He bent his head and kissed her, slowly, deeply, intimately, then drew back. “But soon.”
His hand left her aching flesh, yet he didn’t step back. Instead, his gaze returning to her eyes, trapping her, holding her, he deftly rebuttoned her bodice.
Her head was whirling, but some part of her no longer cared. That part of her that seemed new, different— changed. Or perhaps revealed, called forth. That part of her that thrilled to that decisive “But soon.”
She might have thought she was mad, but knew she wasn’t. This was a facet of life she’d yet to experience, yet to explore.
As a widow, she couldn’t pretend not to understand. The look in his eyes convinced her she’d never succeed in denying what she’d felt, in pretending her hunger didn’t exist. He’d seen it, felt it, understood it—almost certainly better than she did.
There was nothing she could say—that she could think of that was safe to say—so she merely held his gaze and, her pulse still thundering, waited to follow his lead.
That seemed an acceptable response. When, stepping back, he quizzed her with his eyes, she merely arched a brow, and saw his lips quirk.
He took her hand, raised it to his lips. “I’ll leave you. I’m afraid I won’t be attending the Waverleys’ ball tonight.” He turned to the door; she walked beside him. “I need to consult with some others about the investigation.”
He opened the door; she led him into the front hall.
“The rumors concerning you and Ruskin should be fading.”
She glanced at him, saw a frown in his eyes. “I’m sure we’ll manage.”
Her even reply didn’t reassure him. “Lady Amery will be attending, and Lady Osbaldestone, too, should you need any support.”
Opening the front door, she held it, and looked at him. “I doubt that will be necessary, but I’ll bear it in mind.”
Pausing by her side, he looked into her eyes. She got the distinct impression he wanted to say something more, something other, but couldn’t find the words.
Then he reached out, with the pad of his thumb caressed her lower lip.
It throbbed.
Swiftly, he bent his head, pressed a kiss, hard and definite, to the spot, then he straightened. “I’ll call on you tomorrow.”
With a nod, he went down the steps.
She stood at the door, watching him walk away, then shut it. She paused, waiting until her nerves steadied and untensed, then, lips firming, she headed for the stairs.
Alicia tapped on the door of Adriana’s bedchamber, then entered.
Sprawled on her bed, her sketchbook before her, Adriana looked up, then smiled. Impishly. “Has he gone?”
“Yes.” Alicia frowned as Adriana bounced into a sitting position. “But you shouldn’t have left us alone.”
“Why ever not?” Adriana grinned. “He was waiting to be alone with you, wasn’t he?”
Sitting on the end of the bed, Alicia grimaced. “Probably. Nevertheless, it would be wiser if I didn’t spend time alone with him.”
“Nonsense! You’re a widow—you’re allowed to be alone with gentlemen.” Adriana’s eyes sparkled. “Especially gentlemen like him.”
“But I’m not a widow—remember?” Alicia frowned.
“And gentlemen like him are dangerous.”
Adriana sobered. “Surely not—not him.” She frowned. “Geoffrey told me Tony—Torrington—was totally trustworthy. An absolutely to-his-bones honorable gentleman.”
Alicia raised her brows. “That may be so, but he thinks I’m a widow. His attitude to me is based on that.”
“But…”Adriana’s puzzlement grew; curling her legs, she shifted closer, studying Alicia’s face. “Gentlemen do marry widows, you know.”
“Perhaps.” Alicia caught her eye. “But how many noblemen marry widows? I don’t think that’s at all common. And you know what the books said—unless of the nobility herself, a widow is often viewed by gentlemen of the haut ton as a perfect candidate for the position of mistress.”
“Yes…but the books were warning of the general run of gentlemen, the bucks, the bloods, the—”
“Dangerous blades?” Alicia’s lips twisted; reaching out, she squeezed Adriana’s hand. “You’re not, I hope, going to tell me Tony—Torrington—isn’t dangerous.”
Adriana pulled a face. “No. But—”
“No buts.” Alicia spoke firmly, then stood. “In my estimation, it would be unwise for me to be alone with Torrington in future.”
Adriana’s eyes, fixed on her face, narrowed. “Did he kiss you?’
Her blush gave her away; she met Adriana’s eyes fleetingly. “Yes.”
“And?” When she said nothing, Adriana prompted,
“How was it? How did it feel?”
The word brought back exactly how it had felt; warmth spread beneath her skin, her nipples tightened. One glance confirmed that Adriana was not going to be deterred. “It was… pleasant. But,” she quickly added, “indulging in such pleasantness is far too risky.”
She could see more questions forming in Adriana’s inquisitive mind. “Now that’s enough about me.” She reverted to her firmest tone. “I intend to avoid Torrington in future. But what about you? You’re the reason we’re here, after all.”
Adriana gazed up at her. After a moment, she said, “I like Geoffrey. He’s kind, and funny, and…” She drew breath and continued in a rush, “I think he might be the one.”
That last was said with an almost stricken look. Alicia sat again. “If you only think he might be, perhaps we should cast around a trifle more until you’re certain. There are three weeks yet before the Season begins, so you’ve plenty of time—there’s no reason to feel you must reach a decision quickly.”
“Indeed.” Adriana frowned. “I wouldn’t want to make a mistake.”
The sisters sat side by side, both staring into space, then Alicia stirred. “Perhaps”—she glanced at Adriana—“to help in deciding, it might be time to ask Mr. King to dine.”
Adriana looked at her, then nodded. “Yes.” Her chin firmed. “Perhaps we should.”
Alicia held her head high, her parasol deployed at precisely the correct angle as the natty barouche she’d hired from the livery stables rolled smoothly onto the gravel of the avenue through the park.