"Fustian!" he declared.
Theo's flush deepened. She regarded him in silence for a minute, then said with an air of resolution, "I am truly sorry about this afternoon, Sylvester. It was stupid and reckless and anything else you want to call it"
He strode across to her, catching her chin, saying roughly, "What you mean is that forgetting to take your pistol was all of those things. Isn't that what you mean, Theo?
"Isn't that what you mean?" he repeated when she didn't immediately respond.
"I suppose so," she confessed. "I do believe everything would have been fine if I'd thought it through. Only I didn't."
"No, you didn't, and nearly got both yourself and Edward killed." His fingers tightened on her jaw. "Well, it's not going to happen again, Theo. As soon as my mother leaves, you're going back to Stoneridge."
"Alone?" Startled indignation flared in the purple eyes.
"Alone," he confirmed. "I have some unfinished business here. When it's done, I'll come myself."
"Oh, so that's it!" She jerked her head sideways, away from his hold. "You're afraid I might dip my toes in your unfinished business! You don't understand. You just don't understand! I want to be a part of what's troubling you. I want to help you. People who care for people want to help them. But you don't understand that because you don't understand what it is to care for someone." Her voice thickened on an angry sob as she flung away from him.
"What do you mean, I don't care?" Sylvester said, taken aback. "Of course I do."
She was standing in front of the fire, and the shape of her body was outlined beneath the almost transparent lawn of her nightgown. He could see the pale swell of her breasts and the darker shadow of her nipples. His body stirred, sprang to life.
"Come here," he said softly, reaching for her hands, drawing her against him. "Let me show you how much I care."
"No!" Theo said fiercely, trying to push him away. "Don't touch me! I don't want you to touch me, Stoneridge. In fact, I don't think I want you to touch me ever again!"
"Now, that's a silly thing to say." And she knew that it was.
He caught her wrists in one hand, clipping them behind her back, pressing her body against his, his other hand tilting her chin so that she had to look up at him. Her eyes were a battlefield of confusion, need, and anger.
She jerked her head aside as he bent to kiss her.
His mouth bumped into her ear, which struck him as good a place as any other. His tongue darted, a hot, moist lance, and Theo struggled in his hold, but he laughed and tightened his grip as his tongue explored the intricate whorls of the dainty shell lying flat against the side of her head.
"I adore your ears," he murmured, his breath a warm and tickling rustle. Theo tried to pull her head free of his grasp, struggling to resist the irresistible. He knew how sensitive her ears were, how after a very few moments she would yield to the tormenting, arousing stimulation that would spread from the spot where his tongue danced right down to her toes.
His teeth nibbled her earlobe, and she bucked and jerked in his hold, every sinuous wriggle increasing his determination to transform her resistance to passion. She was too slender and light to have much muscle power, and he knew her strength lay in the way she could use her body. Swiftly, he adjusted his hold so that he held her sideways across his thighs. She was now unbalanced and could get no leverage. He swung a leg over hers, imprisoning her legs just in case she was contemplating one of her devastating high kicks, and then, confident that he had her firmly secured, he smiled down into her furious, flushed face.
"That's better. Now, are you going to let me get on with giving us both pleasure, or shall we wrestle some more?"
There was something different about him, she thought. Something carefree and impulsive, as if he'd shed some restraints. Desire danced in his eyes, and she could smell brandy sweetness on his breath as he laughed down at her.
"You're foxed," she accused, forgetting her predicament for the moment. It was hard to imagine Sylvester allowing cognac to erode the tight control he kept over himself and his life… and his private concerns, she remembered with a fresh surge of anger.
He shook his head. "Not in the least, my love." He lifted her into his arms. "My dear little gypsy, don't look as if you're going to the gallows." He laid her on the bed and she gazed up at him, her eyes huge and unreadable, her hair a black mantel flowing over the billowing folds of her white nightgown.
He put a knee on the bed beside her and lightly traced the curve of her cheek with his fingertip. Theo didn't move. He ran his thumb over her mouth, expecting her tongue to dart forth in her usual response, flickering against the pad of his thumb. But she continued to lie motionless beneath the caress, although her eyes had darkened and he could read their sensual glow. The glow deepened as he slid his hand down the column of her throat, and his fingers tiptoed into the neck of her nightgown, dancing over the swell of her breast, circling her nipple without touching.
The glow deepened but she didn't move, just lay gazing up at him. There was challenge in her eyes, something he wasn't used to seeing in the bedroom.
He stood up, shrugging out of his dressing gown, letting it fall to the floor before kneeling on the bed again. Theo's eyes darted involuntarily down his body, and he suppressed a smile. He placed a hand on her ankle and smoothed upward over her shin, cupping her rounded kneecap. Pausing, he watched her face. She gazed at the ceiling, but her mouth was soft, a delicate pink blossoming on her cheek.
She wasn't capable of hiding her responses, he thought, allowing his hand to continue its upward journey. Her body tensed, her skin rippled as his fingertips crept into the heated cleft and flickered momentarily against the tight bud of her sex.
He withdrew his hand, and Theo drew a swift breath of surprise and what he hoped was disappointment. Catching up the hem of her nightgown, he began to fold it backward with deliberate care, smoothing each fold before beginning the next, baring her body inch by inch.
Theo fought her unruly responses as the cool air laved her skin. And then this slow exposure paused for what seemed an eternity at the top of her thighs, and she found she was holding her breath. It took every ounce of self-control to keep from moving, from murmuring her impatience, from putting her hands on his chest, lifting her head to touch her tongue to his nipples as he knelt above her. But still she resisted the temptation.
"Stubborn little gypsy," Sylvester murmured, half smiling, feeling her struggle as if it were his own. He took another fold in the fine lawn of her nightgown and then another, until the material lay in a flat roll at her waist. He bent to kiss her bare belly, drawing his tongue over the smooth skin in a damp, heated stroke that set her muscles jumping with a life of their own. But still she kept silent and made no voluntary move.
"Perhaps I should try another approach," he mused, as if talking to himself, and promptly flipped her onto her stomach.
Theo was taken aback. She'd been expecting that moist and tantalizing exploration to continue its downward progression. But now he was rolling up the back of her nightgown as he'd done with the front, baring her body inch by inch until he reached the small of her back. She felt his breath warm on her skin as his tongue darted into the dimpled indentations above the flare of her buttocks. His hand slid between her thighs as he kissed his way over the damask rounds, his fingers probing, stroking, flickering, opening. And finally Theo moaned and her body lifted to his caress, tightening around the thumb that was within her and the delicate teasing fingers at the core of her sensitivity.
Sylvester knelt beside her, his free hand sliding up and under the nightgown, pressing against her spine, working up the bony column to the nape of her neck, and she stretched and arched catlike as the firm pressure released little knots of tension along her back.