Caressing her through her clothes. Not just her breasts, but everywhere. His hand traced her shoulders, her back, her spine, delineated the muscles on either side, then spanned the back of her waist. His palm, hot and hard, passed over her hip, then boldly caressed her bottom. He traced the globes, over and around, all the while holding her to their kiss, to the slow, steady dizzying rhythm of thrust and retreat he’d established.
Her senses spun as he cupped the back of her thigh, then moved down, found her knee, then swept upward. Inward.
She gasped, would have stiffened in his arms, but he didn’t allow it. His other hand shifted, gripping her bottom, holding her still. Then his questing hand splayed over her stomach; he pressed, kneaded, then held her tight, not just in his arms but sensually, too, as he reached lower, traced the tops of her thighs, then stroked, through the fine fabric of her walking dress gently probed the hollow between, caressed the soft curls beneath chemise and gown.
Teased her to life.
Until every nerve in her body was tingling, until heat pulsed just beneath her skin.
Eventually, gradually, he drew back. Eased her back.
Eventually he lifted his head, looked into her face, then brushed her lips once more with his. “If you want it slow, we’ll go slowly. Very, very slowly.”
From beneath her heavy lids, she caught the fire in his eyes.
The reassurance was what she’d wanted.
She wasn’t sure she’d survive.
EIGHT
AFTERNOON TEA IN WAVERTON STREET WAS A SOCIAL engagement Tony felt he could easily grow fond of. In contrast, balls, routs, and soirées held far less appeal; there he had to share Alicia’s attention with anyone else who thought to claim it.
However, she’d asked to go slowly, to rein in their progress, and if he was honest and viewed the whole dispassionately, there was much to be said in support of her request.
He was engaged in a serious and difficult investigation, one in which she was involved; it made sense to conclude the matter, to identify, locate, and nullify A. C. before addressing what lay between them. Before formally mentioning marriage and precipitating the associated hullabaloo.
She was right; they should take the long road. Entering Lady Cumberland’s ballroom, he tried to tell himself he accepted the decree.
He found Alicia in her usual position by the wall near Adriana’s circle. As more families returned to town, that circle grew; the quality of its members was also increasing. Adriana now had two earl’s sons dancing attendance, along with six of lesser standing, including Sir Freddie Caudel and Geoffrey, who looked somewhat tense.
Recognizing in his childhood friend some of the impatience he himself was feeling, Tony inwardly raised his brows. Luckily in his case, Alicia seemed impervious to the frequent advances made by numerous gentlemen; she consistently dismissed them with an almost absentminded air. He was the only one she’d allowed to draw close, to impinge on her personal world. Unlike Geoffrey, he didn’t need to worry that some rake would appear and turn her head.
Reaching Alicia, all thoughts of Adriana and her swains disappeared; taking Alicia’s hand—the hand she now freely offered—he bowed, then placed her fingers on his sleeve, covering them with his.
She looked up at him, faintly arched a brow.
He simply smiled at her.
With a haughty look, she returned to her watching brief.
He studied her. Her gown of apricot silk, a warm and subtle shade, deepened the rich mahogany of her hair and made her creamy complexion glow. The gown hugged her curves, the silk flowing over her hips and down the long line of her legs. For the moment, he was content simply to stand and let his senses drink her in.
Two days had passed since he’d last had her to himself. He’d spent those days and the intervening evening pursuing a whisper Dalziel had heard of a possible link between Ruskin and someone in the War Office. Nothing, however, had come of it; while there might be someone in the War Office interested in things that were no business of theirs, there was no hint of a connection between Ruskin and anyone bar the mysterious A. C.
He’d caught up with Alicia at a ball yesterday evening; he’d had to content himself with a waltz before leaving to spend the rest of the night trawling through gentlemen’s clubs and exclusive hells.
Jack Warnefleet was busy, Gervase likewise in Devon, and Jack Hendon would arrive in town late tomorrow. Jack had conveyed his willingness to place his time and contacts at Tony’s disposal, an offer he intended to take up with all speed.
Tonight, however, the single question nagging him was: how slow was slow?
Cumberland House was a massive old mansion, one with numerous useful little rooms; he’d explored it years ago with some amorous young matron who had known more of its amenities than he. Such knowledge, however, was never wasted.
The musicians were resting; he wondered at his chances of convincing Alicia that Adriana would be perfectly safe for a time.
He glanced at her; she straightened, coming alert. He followed her gaze and saw Adriana looking questioningly Alicia’s way.
Alicia responded; he moved with her as she glided to Adriana’s side.
Adriana looked uncertain. “Sir Freddie was wondering…”
Smoothly urbane, Sir Freddie stepped in. “I was wondering, Mrs. Carrington, if you would permit me to take Miss Pevensey for a stroll in the conservatory. It’s been opened for the evening, and many others are enjoying the cooler air. I thought perhaps you and”—Sir Freddie’s gaze flicked, man-to-man, to Tony—“Lord Torrington might accompany us?”
Alicia smiled regally. “A stroll in the conservatory sounds an excellent idea—it’s quite stuffy in here.” She nodded encouragingly to Adriana, who smiled and accepted Sir Freddie’s arm. “You go ahead, we’ll follow.” Alicia glanced at Tony as Adriana and Sir Freddie turned away. “If you’re willing…?”
He looked down at her, then slowly arched a brow. She blushed lightly and glanced away.
Ignoring Geoffrey and his suppressed displeasure—an emotion Tony had no difficulty interpreting—he tucked Alicia’s hand more definitely in his arm and steered her in her sister’s wake.
While crossing the crowded ballroom, they chatted of this and that, but once inside the long conservatory, with its glass doors latched open and a wide corridor down the center cleared for promenading, there was space enough to ask, “How lies the wind in that quarter?” With a nod, he indicated Adriana, conversing animatedly with Sir Freddie.
Alicia humphed. “Much as I feared. Your friend Manningham has stolen a march on all others. However, as the saying goes, true love never runs smoothly.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Adriana believes she should be certain of her feelings before she bestows her hand on any gentleman. And how is she to be sure other than by testing the waters?”
“Ah. I take it Geoffrey isn’t taking well to her testing program?”
“Indeed.”
He glanced down; a distinctly satisfied expression was stamped on Alicia’s fine features.
“It’s only sensible that a lady should be sure of her choice before declaring it, and if a gentleman has problems with that, well…”
Her gaze was fixed on Adriana and Sir Freddie; Tony told himself she wasn’t speaking of herself. Their conversation drifted to other things, yet as they returned to the ballroom, he couldn’t quite rid himself of the suggestion.
If she needed assistance making up her mind, he was only too ready—and willing—to supply it. How slowly could slowly be, after all?
The musicians had resumed; Lord Montacute was waiting to claim Adriana’s hand in a country dance. Sir Freddie nobly requested Alicia do him the honor; to Tony’s irritation, she granted Sir Freddie’s wish.