The reality had come crashing down on him as he’d sat beside her in the carriage and sensed the flickering and skittering of her nerves, her growing agitation. After all she’d been through in the last two days, what woman wouldn’t be on edge?
This was not the time to press his suit, regardless of the strength of their passions. Aside from all else, he hadn’t forgotten her earlier mistake over him expecting her to be grateful. Hadn’t forgotten Ruskin’s diabolical scheme—“gratitude” demanded as payment for protection.
Now he was her protector, in more ways, more arenas, more effectively established than Ruskin had ever stood to be.
No. He wanted her safe, wanted her to know she was safe, and had no need to thank him further. No need to come to him out of gratitude.
He didn’t want her in that way, didn’t want her to come to him with any complicating emotions between them. He wanted much more from her.
When she came to him, it had to be because she wanted to, because she wanted him as he wanted her.
That simple—that powerful.
To gain all he wanted, to achieve all his goals, that point was critical. He didn’t question why that was so, but knew absolutely that it was.
She was watching him, puzzled, increasingly tense.
He crossed the room to her. She watched him approach, but didn’t move. Either toward him, or away.
Halting in front of her, through the shadows he looked down on her upturned face. Slowly raising both hands, he feathered his fingers along her delicate jaw, then cupped her face, framed it as he tipped it up, bent his head, and set his lips to hers.
She opened to him readily; she kissed him back, not urging him on, yet not denying their mutual hunger. Her hands rose, her soft palms lightly clasping the backs of his, a subtle, accepting, very feminine caress.
For long moments, they stood in the cool dark, their bodies inches apart and, mouths melding, giving and taking, drank each other in.
The distant chiming of a clock broke the silence, reminding him of time passing. Reluctantly, he drew back; equally reluctantly, or so it seemed, she let him.
Lifting his head, he looked into her face, into the soft pools of her eyes. He couldn’t read their expression, but he didn’t need visual cues to know that she was as aware as he, as achingly, tormentingly conscious of the sensual whirlpool that was swirling about them, of the sheer strength of the attraction that had grown into so much more between them.
He lowered his hands, had to clear his throat to find his voice. “I’ll leave you then.” Despite his determination, there was the tiniest hint of a question in the words.
She drew a deep breath, breasts rising, and nodded. “Yes. And… thank you for all you’ve done.”
No words could have better convinced him he should go. He turned to the door. She followed. He stood back to let her step over the threshold; as she did, a heavy knock fell on the front door.
They both froze, then he reached forward and moved her to the side. “Let me see who it is.”
She made no demur but stood quietly where he’d set her while he crossed the hall and opened the door.
One of his footmen looked up at him. The man smiled in relief. “My lord.” He bowed and offered a letter. “This came from the Bastion Club with instructions it be delivered to your hand as soon as possible.”
Tony took the missive. “Thank you, Cox.” A quick glance at the seal informed him it was from Jack Warnefleet. “Good work. I’ll take care of this. You may go.”
Cox bowed and retreated. His footsteps faded along the street as Tony shut the door.
“What is it? News?” Alicia came to his side.
“Very likely.” Breaking the seal, Tony spread the single sheet. Took in the single sentence with a glance.
“What? Who is it from?”
“Jack Warnefleet. He’s been digging into Ruskin’s county connections.” Folding the note, Tony slipped it into his pocket. “He’s returned with some news he thinks I should hear immediately.”
Jack had written that he’d uncovered something significant and suggested Tony meet him at the Bastion Club “pdq.” Pretty damn quick. Between such as they, that meant with all speed—urgent.
The possibility that they’d finally got some handle on A. C. sent anticipation, a keen sense of the hunt, rising through him. “He’s at the club—I’ll go there now.”
He glanced at Alicia. His welling excitement had communicated itself to her; eyes wide, she reached for the doorknob. “You will tell me if you learn anything major, won’t you? Like who A. C. is?”
Already speculating on what avenues the new information might open up, he nodded as she opened the door. “Yes, of course.”
The words were vague, the nod absentminded; Alicia stifled an oath. She caught his arm and tugged until he looked at her, actually focused on her. “Promise me you’ll come and tell me the instant you learn anything significant.”
She held his gaze, prepared to be belligerent if he turned evasive.
Instead, he looked into her eyes, then smiled. “I promise.”
He ducked his head, kissed her swiftly, then slipped out of the door she was holding half-open. “Lock it— shoot the bolts. Now.”
Grimacing at him, she shut the door, dutifully reached up, and shot the bolt above her head, then bent and slid home the other near the floor. Straightening, she listened. An instant later, she heard his footsteps descending the steps, then he strode away down the street.
Half an hour later, in the shrouded darkness of her bed, she sat up, pummeled her pillow, then flung herself down on it again.
She hadn’t wanted to take the final step.
She reminded herself of that fact in inwardly strident tones—to no avail. They didn’t impinge on her restless moodiness in the slightest, didn’t alleviate the deflated feeling dragging at her—as if she’d been on the brink of receiving some wonderful gift, but it had been delayed at the last moment.
The feeling was nonsensical. Illogical. But very real.
She’d spent the entire evening on tenterhooks, increasingly sharp ones, worrying over what would unfold between them next, worrying that she knew all too well, that Tony would press ahead, engineer the moment, and…
That she felt so ungrateful for his forebearance was damning indeed.
He’d clearly decided to hold back; she should grasp the time he’d granted her to concentrate on those things that were most important—Adriana and their plan and the boys. Closing her eyes, settling her head on the down-filled pillow, she willed herself to keep her mind on such matters, on the things that had always dominated her life.
Determinedly, she relaxed.
Within seconds her mind had roamed, to a pair of hot black eyes, to the feel of his lips, firm and pliant on hers, to the sensations of his hands stroking, caressing, to the intimate probing of his tongue…
Sleep crept into her mind and swept her into her dreams.
She woke sometime later to a preemptory knock on her bedchamber door. She couldn’t imagine… she stared through the shadows at the door.
It opened. Tony walked—stalked—in. He scanned the room and located her in the bed; even through the dark his gaze pinned her. Then he turned and quietly closed the door.
She struggled up onto her elbows, struggled to shake off the cobwebs of sleep and make her mind work. What? Why? Had something serious occurred?
Tony’s calmly deliberate movements made that last seem unlikely. He’d crossed the room. Without meeting her eyes, he turned and sat on the end of her bed. It bowed beneath his weight.
She stared at his back, then wriggled and sat up, hugging the coverlet to her breasts. She’d caught only a glimpse of his face, but her eyes were adjusted to the darkness; it had seemed somewhat harder than usual, the harsh features sharply delineated, the angular planes set like granite.