Fingers sinking into his shoulders, lids closing, she managed to shake her head. “I—you… this. We can’t—”
She broke off with a sound very close to a moan.
His hand shifted, fingers closing more definitely about the aching peak he’d so effectively tortured, with expert ministrations soothed the pain, but that somehow only escalated the ache.
“I told you not to worry.”
His words, deep and gravelly, reached through the fog of her whirling senses. “If you need to go slowly, we will. We have no need to rush.”
On the words, his hand left her, fingers trailing upward, then she felt him ease her gown over the peak of her left shoulder. Baring her breast. His hand returned to its seductive play; she knew he was watching as he caressed her swollen flesh. As he knowingly tightened every nerve she possessed.
“We can take the long road.” His voice had deepened, darkened, weaving a sorcerous spell. “And spend as much time as we wish enjoying every sight, every experience along the way.”
Her breasts ached; her whole body seemed to throb.
He leaned nearer; his lips brushed hers. “Is that what you want?”
She nodded. “Yes.” The word was a whisper between their lips.
“So be it,” he whispered back. Then sealed the pact with a kiss.
A kiss that ripped her wits away and sent them spinning. That sent heat and flame pouring through her, down every nerve, down every vein. His hand left her and he gathered her closer; holding her in one arm, he sent his hand exploring again.
Caressing her through her clothes. Not just her breasts, but everywhere. His hand traced her shoulders, her back, her spine, delineated the muscles on either side, then spanned the back of her waist. His palm, hot and hard, passed over her hip, then boldly caressed her bottom. He traced the globes, over and around, all the while holding her to their kiss, to the slow, steady dizzying rhythm of thrust and retreat he’d established.
Her senses spun as he cupped the back of her thigh, then moved down, found her knee, then swept upward. Inward.
She gasped, would have stiffened in his arms, but he didn’t allow it. His other hand shifted, gripping her bottom, holding her still. Then his questing hand splayed over her stomach; he pressed, kneaded, then held her tight, not just in his arms but sensually, too, as he reached lower, traced the tops of her thighs, then stroked, through the fine fabric of her walking dress gently probed the hollow between, caressed the soft curls beneath chemise and gown.
Teased her to life.
Until every nerve in her body was tingling, until heat pulsed just beneath her skin.
Eventually, gradually, he drew back. Eased her back.
Eventually he lifted his head, looked into her face, then brushed her lips once more with his. “If you want it slow, we’ll go slowly. Very, very slowly.”
From beneath her heavy lids, she caught the fire in his eyes.
The reassurance was what she’d wanted.
She wasn’t sure she’d survive.
EIGHT
AFTERNOON TEA IN WAVERTON STREET WAS A SOCIAL engagement Tony felt he could easily grow fond of. In contrast, balls, routs, and soirées held far less appeal; there he had to share Alicia’s attention with anyone else who thought to claim it.
However, she’d asked to go slowly, to rein in their progress, and if he was honest and viewed the whole dispassionately, there was much to be said in support of her request.
He was engaged in a serious and difficult investigation, one in which she was involved; it made sense to conclude the matter, to identify, locate, and nullify A. C. before addressing what lay between them. Before formally mentioning marriage and precipitating the associated hullabaloo.
She was right; they should take the long road. Entering Lady Cumberland’s ballroom, he tried to tell himself he accepted the decree.
He found Alicia in her usual position by the wall near Adriana’s circle. As more families returned to town, that circle grew; the quality of its members was also increasing. Adriana now had two earl’s sons dancing attendance, along with six of lesser standing, including Sir Freddie Caudel and Geoffrey, who looked somewhat tense.
Recognizing in his childhood friend some of the impatience he himself was feeling, Tony inwardly raised his brows. Luckily in his case, Alicia
seemed impervious to the frequent advances made by numerous gentlemen; she consistently dismissed them with an almost absentminded air. He was the only one she’d allowed to draw close, to impinge on her personal world. Unlike Geoffrey, he didn’t need to worry that some rake would appear and turn her head.