He hated that she had her back to the alley, but he needed a clear view of the men whose hushed conversation set his nerves on edge.
Miss Vale glanced up at him. Hunger and fear flashed in her eyes and made for an interesting concoction. “What are we to do?” she whispered, the breeze of her hot breath on his cheek tightening the coil of desire.
He scanned the loose brown tendrils of hair escaping her pink bonnet and caressing her neck, the milky-white breasts that rose to meet him with every rapid inhalation. Those sweet lips remained parted while she awaited his reply.
“For the second time this evening we must play lovers, Miss Vale.”
“Lovers?” She appeared so fragile swamped in his coat. “I do possess a little more skill than I did earlier in the evening.” She placed her palms flat on his chest, and his heart missed a beat. “I must make it clear that we’re a couple.” Offering him a sensual smile, she trailed her hands up over his arms and shoulders. “Make it clear you are mine.”
If she pushed her fingers into his hair, it would be his undoing. Like a moored ship in a wild storm, desire tugged at his safety ropes, threatened to snap every strand and send him hurtling out to sea. Unburdened. Free.
Mistimed footsteps came closer. From the distinct sound and mumbled conversation, he suspected two men. The image of the victim card burst into his mind. Was this the moment Wincote took his revenge? The moment the Brethren punished him for prying? The moment Wincote finally got to sample this lady’s delights?
Over his dead body!
“Can you reach for your knife, Miss Vale?”
“Not with my arms draped around your neck. Is it safe for me to step back?”
Lawrence glanced into the gloom, saw the shadow of the first man approaching. “No,” he whispered into her ear. “Don’t move. I shall reach for it myself if you tell me which leg.”
“My left leg.”
“Then I beg forgiveness in advance for my intimate probing.”
“Do what you must.” The nervous tinge to her voice belied her confident words.
Lawrence reached down to the ruffles of her pantaloons—Good God!—and slid his hand up her thigh.
He tried to imagine he was groping Mrs Crandall’s leg, in the hope the blood in his body might divert from its inevitable course. But all he could picture was Miss Vale standing in nothing but frilly drawers as she secured the weapon to her soft thigh. It was no use. His cock sprang to life with unsurprising vigour.
“Someone’s coming,” his lady whispered, forcing his wicked mind to conjure a lewd reply. “Quickly.”
Internal chaos reigned as his trembling fingers settled around the wooden handle and drew the small knife from its sheath. Lust burned in his veins. Aggression left his fingers pulsing with the need to throw a punch.
The outline of a figure came into view. Just one man—one drunken man—deep in conversation with himself as he shuffled and staggered along the yard. His head bobbed up and down. His beady gaze swayed back and forth as he noticed them huddled in the doorway.
“Nice evenin’ for it guv’nor,” the sot slurred upon noting Lawrence’s hand thrust under Miss Vale’s skirts. He hiccupped, nearly fell flat on his face when he gazed up at the sprinkling of stars in an unusually clear sky. “There’s love in the air, make no mistake.”
Miss Vale craned her neck and glanced heavenward before releasing a pleasurable sigh.
The fellow ambled on, stumbled into a doorway further along where he proceeded to cast up his accounts.
Lawrence silently snorted. The only thing in the air was the sickly stench of gin. Or so he thought until his gaze came to rest on the delicate column of Miss Vale’s throat and the urge to press his lips to the porcelain skin roused a foreign feeling in his chest.
“He’s right,” she said, lowering her head to lock gazes with him. “The sky is remarkably beautiful tonight.”
Not as beautiful as the woman with her arms twined around his neck. “I should slip the knife back into the sheath.” Murder was the last thing on his mind now.
“You should. But do it carefully lest you rip my pantaloons.”
He had every intention of taking his time. “If I rip them, I shall purchase a new pair.” Indeed, he would gladly buy her anything her heart desired.
“I doubt I shall have much cause to wear them again.”
Like a rampant buck with uncontrollable needs, his mind turned lascivious. As he bent his head, ready to slip the blade into the sheath, their mouths were but two inches apart. Her vibrant blue eyes dropped to his lips and remained there for a second too long.
“Forgive me,” he whispered as he surrendered to his wicked thoughts. “Sometimes, a man cannot help but succumb to his weaknesses.”