He definitely wanted her but in a way that was somehow different, to a depth that was unfamilar. Something within him had changed, or perhaps more correctly emerged. Some part of him he’d never before had reason to wrestle with; never before had any woman called it forth.
She did. Effortlessly. But she had no idea of what she did, far less of what she tempted.
Her mouth was a delight, a cavern of honeyed sweetness, warm, beguiling, infinitely alluring. Her fingers tangled in his hair; her tongue dueled with his, quick to learn, eager to experience.
He gave her what she wanted, yet reined his demons back. She pressed closer, all but inviting him to deepen the kiss. An invitation he saw no reason to decline.
Slender, supple, subtly curvaceous, her softer limbs and softer flesh were a potent feminine prod to his totally masculine need. The feel of her in his arms fed his desire, stoked the sensual fires that had sprung up between them.
Play it by ear. Follow their noses. The simplest way forward.
She was so unlike the wife he’d imagined—the wife some part of him, was still stubbornly insisting was t
he sort he should be searching for—he wasn’t yet ready to resign that position completely, at least not openly.
He sank deeper into her mouth, drew her closer still, savoring her warmth and its age-old promise.
Time enough to examine where they were once they’d got there; letting matters develop as they would while he dealt with the mysterious burglar was only wise. Regardless of whatever was growing between them, his priorities at this point were unwaveringly clear. Removing the threat hanging over her was his primary and overriding concern; nothing, but nothing, would deflect him from that goal—he was too experienced to permit any interference.
Time enough once he’d accomplished that mission and she was safe, secure, to turn his mind to dealing with the desire that some benighted fate had sown between them.
He could feel it welling, growing in strength, in intent, more ravenous with every minute she spent in his arms. It was time to call a halt; he had no compunction in shutting his demons in, in gradually drawing back from the exchange.
He lifted his head. She blinked dazedly up at him, then drew in a sharp breath and glanced around. He eased his hold and she stepped back, her gaze returning to his face.
Her tongue came out, traced her upper lip.
He was suddenly conscious of a definite ache. He straightened, drew breath.
“What—” She cleared her throat. “What are your plans in relation to the burglar?”
He looked at her. Wondered what it would take to totally strip her wits away. “The new Registry they’re compiling at Somerset House. I want to learn who Montgomery Mountford is.”
She thought for only a moment, then nodded. “I’ll come with you. Two people looking will be faster than one.”
He paused as if considering, then inclined his head. “Very well. I’ll call for you at eleven.”
She stared at him; he couldn’t read her eyes but knew she was surprised.
He smiled. Charmingly.
Her expression turned suspicious.
His smile deepened into a genuine gesture, cynical and amused. Capturing her hand, he raised it to his lips. “Until tomorrow.”
She met his eyes. Her brows rose haughtily. “Shouldn’t you take some notes on the conservatory?”
He held her gaze, turned her hand, and placed a lingering kiss in her palm. “I lied. I already have one.” Releasing her hand, he stepped back. “Remind me to show it to you sometime.”
With a nod and a final challenging glance, he left her.
She was still suspicious when he arrived to take her up in his curricle the next morning.
He met her gaze, then handed her up; she stuck her nose in the air and pretended not to notice. He climbed up, took the reins, and set his greys pacing.
She looked well, striking in a deep blue pelisse buttoned over a walking gown of sky-blue. Her bonnet framed her face, her fine features touched with delicate color as if some artist had taken his brush to the finest porcelain. As he guided his skittish pair through the crowded streets, he found it hard to understand why she’d never married.
All the tonnish males in London couldn’t be that blind. Had she hidden herself away for some reason? Or had her managing disposition, her trenchant self-reliance, her propensity to take the lead, proved too much of a challenge?