“Thank you, Dermot, but we must examine the notebook as a matter of urgency.”
“And if we hope to lure the devil from his lair, we must be the bait.” Wycliff stretched his injured arm, which still clearly pained him. He had refused laudanum, refused to fill his silver flask with brandy. Perhaps it was a way of punishing himself for failing to anticipate the danger at Vauxhall.
“Well, we won’t keep you.” Scarlett came to her feet. “Shall we meet again in two days to discuss our findings?”
“Two days it is,” Dermot replied. “I’ll have news of your intruder by then.”
Wycliff stood though he looked a little pale. “Should you need assistance, you know where to find me.”
What use would he be? With his arm so weak, he could hardly throw a punch. Then again, one look from those piercing dark eyes and any man would drop to his knees and blurt a confession.
They left The Silver Serpent via the alley and made their way to Rupert Street. While the urge to stop and flick through the notebook proved tempting, nothing stole her attention away from the fascinating man at her side.
Wycliff remained quiet in the carriage. With every revolution of the wheels, the silence grew in length and intensity. The heaviness in the air spoke of lust, of a desperate carnal craving kept at bay by a fine thread. Scarlett wondered if she was the only one to feel the powerful vibration. Was she the only one aware that the thread was about to snap? In a dusty, diffident corner of her mind she made excuses for his reticence, believing it stemmed from a need to control the pain in his arm, and nothing to do with his desire for her.
“You look tired.” She kept the prickle of disappointment from her voice. “A dose of laudanum and a good night’s sleep will aid your recovery.”
He stared at her beneath hooded lids, shuffled restlessly in the seat.
“We can look at the notebook in the morning,” she added. “Perhaps it is better to examine it when one has a clear—”
“Sleep is not on my list of priorities.” His voice sounded dark and devilishly sinful. The velvet timbre stirred an inexplicable heat in her blood. “Examining the notebook can, indeed, wait until tomorrow. I don’t need laudanum. I don’t need rest.”
Scarlett tried to swallow down her desire, but her whole body ached to feel his touch, yearned to have his hot mouth ravage hers again.
“What do you need?” She was already damp between her legs, anticipating his reply.
“You know the answer.” Hunger flashed in his coal-black eyes. “The only thing I need tonight is you.”
Chapter Fourteen
The carriage could not ferry them home quickly enough. Damian was of a mind to inform Cutler he had three minutes to reach Bruton Street unless he wanted his master to spill his seed over the new seats.
Lust clawed at Damian’s insides like a starving beast. He jiggled his leg in the hope his pounding heart dispersed blood to other parts of his anatomy.
Two hours he had sat in Flannery’s dingy office listening to Scarlett relay her tale, witnessing the bearded Irishman curse in a foreign tongue. For two hours, he had struggled to think of anything other than her tantalising offer to keep him warm in bed.
They say the temperature will plummet tonight.
It might be cold outside, but his body raged like an inferno.
Now he thought of it he’d waited more than two hours to have her. Ever since she’d lowered her hood, and he realised who she was, he’d kept the wild urges at bay. No! Longer than that. For three blasted years, he’d craved her touch.
Damian glanced across the carriage at her face cast in shadow. A glimpse of her white teeth nipping at her bottom lip should have spoken of nerves, yet he saw the erotic in everything she said or did.
This crippling urgency might have seen him drag her across the narrow space into his lap, but his conveyance slowed, and he knew they had turned into Bruton Street.
When Damian flung open the door, the wheels were still turning. As soon as the vehicle stopped, he vaulted to the pavement. He didn’t waste time lowering the steps but settled his hands on Scarlett’s waist and lifted her to the ground.
She said nothing but allowed him to pull her by the hand into the house. He acknowledged his butler with a curt nod. Determined steps propelled them up the stairs.
Once inside his bedchamber, he kicked the door shut. Every fibre of his being longed to push Scarlett back against the wall, to ravage her mouth like a madman. But even in the faint glow of candlelight and the fire’s amber flames, he saw a flash of apprehension in her eyes, a hint of fear.
Overcome by his obsession to have her, he had lost sight of what this meant to her. She had given every indication she wanted him, too. But it seemed evident her precoital experiences had left her terrified of men.
“You’ve said nothing since I made my declaration.” He drew her close, tempered his carnal cravings and brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “Since I told you I am crippled with need.”
She closed her eyes.