“Menservants?” Her frown was definite. “We have Jenkins, of course.”
“One man for a house of this size, with a family of this size?”
Her chin rose as he closed the distance between them. “We’ve never seen the need for a large staff. We’re quite comfortable as we are.”
Halting before her, he caught her gaze. “I’m concerned.”
She searched his eyes. “About what?”
“About the direction my investigation is taking, and the fact someone started rumors about you. Specifically you—the widow Ruskin was blackmailing.”
She hesitated, then said, “Adriana and I are always careful.”
“Be that as it may, this house is large… and you have three young brothers.”
He didn’t need to say more; he watched alarm flare in her eyes, only to be replaced by consideration, then consternation. He picked his moment to murmur, “I have a very large house with a very large staff, most of whom have very little to do given I’m the only member of the family in residence.” Her gaze lifted to his; he held it. “I would feel much happier, less concerned, if you would allow me to lend you a footman, at least until my investigation is successfully concluded.”
She returned his regard steadily. A minute ticked by, then she said, “This footman…?”
“I have one in mind who would suit admirably— Maggs. He’s been with me for years. He’s well trained, and I can assure you he’ll know how to deal with your brothers and the rest of the household, Jenkins especially.”
Her eyes narrowed; her look stated that she understood his tactics, that she recognized he’d left her little room to maneuver, no real excuse to refuse. “Just for the duration of your investigation?”
“You may have him for as long as you wish, but I’d urge you to allow him to stay at least until we have Ruskin’s murderer by the heels.”
She pressed her lips together, then nodded. “Very well. I’ll warn Jenkins.”
They were standing close; he sensed her impulse to step back, away. Instead, she fixed him with a direct look. “It may interest you to know that at the Waverleys’ ball last night and in the park this morning, Adriana and I met with, not just a gratifying degree of acceptance, but a quite astonishing level of support.”
He raised his brows. “Indeed?”
“Indeed.” She held his gaze. “You arranged it, didn’t you?”
His face remained impassive, unreadable; his eyes, he knew, gave nothing away while he debated his answer. Eventually, he said, “Although she no longer resides in the capital, my mother has a large circle of friends among the grandes dames of the haut ton. I used to find their existence a trial. Now… I’m prepared to admit they do have their uses.”
She drew a slow, deep breath; although he kept his eyes locked with hers, he was highly conscious of the swelling of her breasts. “Thank you.” She hesitated, then added, “I don’t know why you’re doing this—”
Alicia broke off when something flashed in his eyes— an expression so vibrant, so powerful, even as fleeting as it was, the glimpse distracted her.
In the same moment, he reached for her; hands sliding around her waist, he drew her to him. Against him. Into his arms as he bent his head.
“The reason I’m doing this…”
The words washed over her lips, suddenly hungry; for a second, their gazes touched, locked, then his lids fell. She felt his gaze on her lips.
“Ought to be obvious.”
Deep, low, the words sank into her brain as his lips covered hers, and he sank into her mouth. Claimed her attention, then sent it spinning, fractured, dispersed. Called her senses, drew them to him, then trapped them, held them enthralled.
She kissed him back, found herself mentally floating as the slow, drugging kisses took their toll. Sinking her fingers into his shoulders, she tried to hang onto her wits, to some degree of control, but steadily, inexorably, implacable and irresistible, he drew it from her grasp.
Then he drew her hard against him, locked her body to his, and the flames and the magic flared.
It had to be magic, that surge of sensation, the giddy delight, the anticipation streaking down her nerves, tingling, tightening so that the need to sate it was suddenly more important than breathing, far more important than any consideration of social strictures.
His hands spread over her back, stroked possessively down the long planes, curving over her hips to close proprietorially over her bottom, provocatively kneading, then boldly caressing. Hot as a flame, heat spread beneath her skin; a deep-seated yearning flowered in its wake.
Then he angled his head and ravaged her mouth, took more, demanded more. Unhesitatingly she followed him deeper into the exchange, encouraging and enjoying the ever more intimate melding of their mouths.
The first inkling she had that he’d opened her bodice was the slithering caress of her silk chemise as, loosened, it slipped down, helped by his long fingers. And then those fingers were on her skin, and she lost touch with the world.
And plunged into another.
Into a realm where sensation and emotions were the only reality, where touches and caresses formed the language, with needs, wants, and desires the only goals. Every slow, possessive caress heightened her need, made her want with an ever greater certainty fueled by escalating, burgeoning desire. Yet that desire seemed entwined with his, with him, with his obvious reason. With what she sensed, in her bones knew, he wanted.
Their lips parted; from under heavy lids, their gazes met, held as his fingers moved on her, upon her, drawing whorls of flame on her skin, tightening her nerves to an excruciating degree. Unable to bear it, she closed her eyes, with a soft gasp let her head fall back. Felt him bend near, felt his lips on her throat, sliding down to fasten over her thudding pulse.
His hands shifted; her gown slid over her shoulders, then cool air caressed her heated skin. The bared skin he set his lips to tracing, with flicking licks and long trailing laves teasing, the hot, wet promise of his mouth withheld…as the fever built, as some need within her grew, and grew… until she moaned.
The sound, soft, nearly suppressed, surprised her, but through the hands at her waist holding her, supporting her, she sensed his satisfaction. A wholly male triumph that he crowned by closing his mouth—every bit as hot and wet as she’d imagined—over the taut, aching peak of one breast.
She tensed, her nerves clenched, not with rejection but delight. Her hands slid through his hair, tightened on his skull as he swirled his tongue about the ruched peak, then sucked gently. Sensation, pure and elemental, streaked through her, racing through her body to pool deep and low, a warming glow within her.
Cracking open her lids, she looked down. Watched as he feasted on her bounty—and wondered at her reaction. Some part of her was shocked, yet she couldn’t, even now, summon any will to refuse him, deny him—to push him away. She couldn’t tense her muscles, couldn’t break the spell. She didn’t want to, couldn’t pretend. Could only watch, feel, learn, and experience.
Something new, something novel, something she’d never felt before.
Tony sensed her fascination and was content. For now. He knew her acquiescence was not, yet, freely given; he could draw her into such sensual exchanges, but she did not, yet, seek them of her own accord.
That was what he wanted. Needed. For her to want him as he wanted her.
Overwhelming her natural resistance, taking over, controlling her—for one of his talents, that wasn’t all that hard. For him, the challenge lay deeper, in making her come to him, making her desire him enough to set aside her reserve and actively seek to be intimate with him.