She slipped her fingers higher on his coat sleeve to feel more. His muscles contracted beneath them, and the warmth low inside her fluttered.
“Breathe,” he murmured again, his voice a bit rough, and again she made the attempt, more of a choke than anything before his mouth covered hers anew. And while it was only lips touching, she felt like he was touching quite a bit more with each kiss. His hands slipped up over her ribs, so warm and strong and holding her firmly, halting just below her breasts.
Yes. She liked a man’s hands so close to her breasts. It made her feel very hot and not at all uncomfortable. A little wild, truth be told, with delicious swirlings in the tips of her breasts. Her fingers clutched him and she let his lips urge hers open farther.
His tongue caressed hers. She gasped.
This—this perfect touching—this could not be a typical kiss. She parted her lips, inviting him to touch her like that again. He did, then again, mating their tongues in a hot, slow dance that made her feel a little frantic. She met his advances, welcomed him inside her. It felt so good, indescribably good, like he was touching the very center of her. He was making her weak but she wanted more. More of him. All the little points of her body, her skin, wanted to be closer to him.
She curved her fingers around his shoulder and pressed herself forward. His grip tightened, holding her in place apart from him.
Abruptly he ended the kiss.
She opened her eyes. It took a moment to focus.
“Second,” she said in a remarkably thin voice. He was so handsome, his hands were tight around her where no one’s hands had ever been, and he made her dizzy. “Or rather, third.”
“Did you breathe?” His voice was very deep.
She nodded. By some miracle she had breathed while he kissed her, but frankly could not seem to now. “I regret having asked for just one.”
He released her and stepped back. His silvery eyes looked like mercury, like the soft throbbing inside her, but his brow creased. “Did you plan that?”
“Of course. I always have a plan f—”
“For everything.” He turned and moved toward his horses, and her heart did a few stuttered beats. Her lips were moist, and she still wanted his on them, and much more of his hands on her body.
She darted a glance at the door. No Betsy in sight. Mrs. Polley must still be safe in the house.
“Would you perhaps kiss me once more?”
He turned to face her, but now his silvery eyes were fierce and his jaw looked hard.
“Miss Lucas, do not ask again.”
“But, I—”
“If you ask again, I vow I will tie you up, stuff you in that traveling trunk, and haul you back to your stepfather’s home at once.”
“I would not fit in my traveling trunk. It is too full of other items.”
“I would remove those first, of course.” He turned to the brown horse and drew it forward. “Was your claim the other night that you can drive an empty boast or truth?”
“I never boast. It’s true. I learned when I was quite young.” At a ridiculously tender age she had convinced the coachman at Glenhaven Hall to teach her. Her stepfather always complained about how successfully she cozened the servants into agreeing to her wayward plans.
He tethered the brown horse to his mount. “Then you may drive. Only do not overturn the carriage. Mrs. Polley would undoubtedly find some justification for scolding me for it rather than you.” It seemed that he teased, but his eyes still glittered sharply.
“I promise not to overturn it.” She watched him move through the stable door ahead with his horses. “Thank you.”
“You needn’t thank me. Galahad prefers to be ridden rather than follow.”
She touched her fingertips to her lips to see if they felt different on the outside. They did not. But she did. He had just taught her how to breathe, and everything inside her felt different.
“I meant thank you for the kiss.”
He did not pause or acknowledge her words. But she thought she heard him mutter “Minx” as he went into the yard.
Chapter 9
Fellow Subjects,
I have frustrating news. The man I hired to follow the member of the Falcon Club that I discovered has lost the trail. I share with you this information because I have had letters from many of you excited at my discovery, and I cannot bear to hold you in suspense. It warms my heart that you are as desirous as I to know the truth of this club.
—Lady Justice
Dearest Lady,
I beg of you—mercy! You must cease this teasing prose. When you write of warmth, your heart, and desire all in the same sentence, I vow I can barely hold my seat. I would erect a tent before the office of your publisher and sleep in it nights in the hopes of capturing a glimpse of you entering the building upon the dawn. Indeed, I have attempted it! Alas, the street warden will not allow it. Thus I am forced to beg of you, my lady, consider my febrile imagination and give it rest.
Increasingly yours, &c.,
Peregrine
Secretary, The Falcon Club
Sir,
You needn’t concern yourself over Lady Rabble-Rouser’s recent ramblings. Raven’s skill at avoiding danger is unmatched. He will throw off this unwanted attention without trouble.
—Peregrine
Chapter 10
He must get rid of her.
He could not wait on Carlyle’s arrival at the rendezvous place he’d indicated in the note sent with young William. He must be rid of her now before she invited him to take greater liberties with her. Before she made further plans.
Dear God, she could drive a man mad with her eager hands and ripe lips and the hunger in her mouth. If she offered him herself again, he wouldn’t even bother resisting. Nine girls in ten years, and he’d never been truly tempted. But now the bottle called to him more stridently than it ever had before too. Undoubtedly, he was slipping. His desires were not entirely within his control any longer.
But if he could keep temptation distant he could fight it. Riding provided some relief. When she rested from driving, however, and he tethered Galahad behind the carriage and took up the ribbons, she did not retire to the back of the carriage with Mrs. Polley. Instead she sat beside him, her arm brushing his with each bump in the road, and she told him stories obviously intended to amuse that gave him opportunity to watch her supple lips move, her hands that had clutched him gesture. She spoke with warmth and laughter, frequently darting glances at him. Despite her open manner, she was not at ease; her eyes shone in a manner they had not before.
He did not trust her not to come at him again. And so, rid of her he must be.
Opportunity presented itself mid-afternoon as the sun dipped, hovering over the hills of the Welsh marches as it did so often in his dreams. Years ago, smothered in the heat of the East Indies, during fitful nights he’d dreamed of this temperate, emerald land, the land he’d come to know in his youth, moving from farm to farm as he found work, carrying only his strength, a pack full of books, and the anger in his heart. During those years he had occasionally allowed himself rest. Every six months or so he visited the single place he’d ever felt at home. The only place he had ever been safe. The place he hadn’t allowed himself to go now in five years and to which he had intended to take Miss Lucas until Carlyle came to retrieve her.
Now he could avoid going there. This was not the opportunity he would have chosen, but he couldn’t throw it away. She seemed shy of nothing and her dedication to her mission was high. But when faced with true danger, she would not continue.