Then it was more than all right: it was enthralling. The place between her legs was hot and wet and aching. It ached more with every motion of Stephen’s hands, with every inch of his skin Mina touched, but she desperately wanted to keep going.
And then, from the window nearby: thump.
Mina didn’t even see Stephen move. She barely felt it. One second she was in his arms, her whole being centered on desire; the next, she was facing the window from behind him. Her shoulders were a little sore, and when she had a second to breathe, she processed the whirl of movement. He’d grabbed her and spun her out of the way.
Contrary to all reason, the thought did nothing to diminish her lust.
A pair of green eyes, staring out of the darkness, did. Mina glimpsed them when she peered around Stephen, gasped—and then relaxed when the shape around them moved and she saw more of it.
“Just the cat,” she said.
“The cat?” he grumbled. “I wasna’ aware we had one.”
“Well—a cat, then.” Although it was more like the. Emily had started putting food out for the creature, and Mina had caught Owens with a saucer of milk at least once. Mina couldn’t read Stephen’s tone, though, and she wasn’t inclined to tattle on the scullery maid who sometimes smiled and asked how her day had gone. “I’ve seen it round the back a few times. Strays, you know. You get them in the city.”
“Probably harmless enough, then,” Stephen said, and turned away from the window. His gaze fastened on Mina’s face, and his eyes darkened, but he made no move to approach her.
Mina understood. Harmless as the cat was, its sudden presence outside had been an effective slap in the face for her. Now she was all too aware that she’d been standing in a deserted and dimly lit house, ready to do all sorts of unwise things with a man she’d known for all of three weeks—a gentleman, at that, and one who wasn’t even human. She couldn’t blame him this time, either.
Whatever he was going to say—scandalized lecture or gentlemanly apology—Mina didn’t want to hear it. “People will be getting back soon,” she said. “You should probably go and see to your room before one of the maids gets there.”
“Oh. Aye.” Stephen cleared his throat. “No, it wouldn’t do to have them upset,” he agreed and started up the stairs. Halfway up, as Mina was beginning to walk away, he stopped and turned. “Are—will you be all right?”
“Oh, well enough,” said Mina, turning back with a smile she didn’t really feel. “I’ll just…I’ll make myself a cup of tea.”
“Because that,” she added to the dark hall, once she was alone there, “is sure to solve everything.”
Fourteen
In the morning, the wind spat rain against the window glass. Stephen looked up from his tea and made a sound that sounded unusually dragonish even to him. He should have known. He’d come to London in the spring—if one could call it that.
Oh, the sky was as gray at home and the weather as bad, or worse. He had to admit that. But he’d never minded there. In the city, the rain felt greasy, and the low, bleak sky was an imprisoning wall. There were walls everywhere here. Some of them granted at least a little safety—though last night had shown their limits—but all of them kept him trapped, even the ones that were only words.
Duty: there was a set of iron bars. Honor was another good one. He’d shut himself behind both quite willingly. He knew it was for the best, and yet—
He buttered a scone absently and ate it without tasting it at all.
It was going to be that sort of day. It had not been a particularly restful night. Stephen had seen to his most immediate needs in a matter of minutes with a few rough and almost punishing strokes of his hand. His sleep had still been restless, haunted alternately by red-lit shadows and a woman’s flushed face, her blue eyes hazy with desire.
He wished to hell that his dreaming mind would at least settle on horror or lust.
The knock at the door took him from his thoughts for a moment. “Yes?”
“Miss Seymour, my lord,” said Polly’s voice.
“Good. Come in.”
She always came to breakfast. Her presence today was no surprise and a bit of a relief, considering the previous evening. All the same, Stephen leaned forward to watch the door open, tense and alert for—God knew what.
It was some comfort, and troubling at the same time, to see that Mina didn’t precisely look at ease. Pretty, yes, even on a day like this one and even in yet another combination of plain dark dress and tightly knotted hair. She held her body rigidly, though, and she looked only briefly into his eyes. “Good morning.”
“And to you,” he said. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Polly disappear through the door and wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t have asked her to stay. But what cause would he give? It was too late for him to start acting like a maiden aunt.
He poured Mina a cup of tea and pretended that it took his full concentration, that another sort of tension entirely wasn’t threatening to make itself known. Her skin was creamy and pale against the dark dress, and her eyes were huge, but he wasn’t going to take much notice of that.
He told himself that very firmly, addressing the thought particularly toward his groin, which seemed disinclined to listen.
“I hope your bedroom was all right,” said Mina, fortunately after Stephen had put the teapot back down. It wasn’t so much the words themselves as the way she caught her breath after all right, realizing what she’d implied. She bit her lip, small white teeth against crimson skin.
With that, Stephen’s cock came to full attention.
Damn, he said again, silently this time and directed toward his unruly senses. He had to work with this woman, a purpose he wouldn’t serve by acting like a schoolboy—or a satyr.
He managed to keep his voice from betraying his arousal. “I saw nothing damaged,” he said. “’Tis good of you to ask.”
“Oh. Good.” Mina turned her attention toward her breakfast.
As far as Stephen knew, the walls and furnishings of his drawing room were completely mundane: stone, plaster, and wood, quite natural and certainly not given to changing. All the same, the room seemed about half its normal size. The air was warmer too; the clammy day outside had slipped from his mind entirely.
Business. Business would help—and making progress on that business would get Mina out of his house all the sooner. She’d been very clear about wanting that a few days ago, and it would certainly be better for both of them.
Stephen wished he hadn’t felt the need to tell himself that.
“Speaking of last night—” Bad start. Mina jerked her head upward, eyes wide, and Stephen was very sure which part of last night she was recalling. He shifted in his seat. “Our visitors were mentioning a pub, and you looked like you knew the name.”
“Not very well,” Mina said. The mingled shock and desire left her face—it was probably just as well—and she tried to replace them with a severe, governess-like look. One side of her mouth kept turning up, though. “Not personally, anyhow. But I’ve passed by it a time or two, and I’ve heard a few stories.”
“You’ll need to tell me about the place today.” Stephen glanced over at the window. “We’re having good weather for stories, at least.”
Mina laughed then. “I’ll pull up a chair, shall I, and you can sit at my feet and listen? I only wish I had some knitting, and maybe a lace cap—” Then she stopped laughing, and her golden-brown eyebrows slanted downward. “You’re not going there. And you’re not asking about Ward.”