He bent near; she felt his chest at her back, his thighs bracketing hers as he drew her against him. Felt his fingers brush aside the curls at her nape, then his lips touched, brushed. Closing her eyes, she fought to quell a too-revealing shudder and failed.
Then his voice, deep and dark and sinfully dangerous, brushed over her ear, slid across her senses. “This night is not yet ended…for us.”
He hadn’t forgotten; she’d thought he had.
Every nerve in her body came alive, awoke on a rush of anticipation at the promise of long-desired gratification.
She hesitated, not quite believing the moment had come. “Here?”
Even to her ears the question was purely curious.
His lips cruised her nape. “I’m staying at the club—I can’t take you to my bed there. So…”
He paused, and she waited, breath bated, wondering why she felt as if she’d been captured. Why she felt so deeply thrilled.
His hand shifted across her waist, pressing more firmly; his strength flowed around her, indescribably male, primitively real in the dark.
Then he pressed a hot, wet, open-mouthed kiss to her nape, on her spine, then ordered, his voice gravelly and harsh, “Take me upstairs to yours.”
Chapter 14
He followed close behind her as she led him up the stairs. Not touching her, yet close enough that her nerves constantly leapt, unstintingly aware of him.
As they stepped into the gallery and she turned to the front of the house, he leaned close and murmured, “Where’s Edith’s room?”
“At the back.” A restless sleeper, her aunt had always preferred the quieter room, but these days Edith invariably drank a tisane on retiring, after which she could be counted on not to stir until morning. By then…
They neared the door to her room.
“Your maid?”
“Asleep.” Skinner didn’t wait up for her on the nights she performed a rescue; her maid needed to be awake and about early the next morning in case there were any unexpected details requiring attention.
As she reached her bedchamber door, an acute awareness that she was alone with a man in the dead of night, that there was no one near, no one who would hear any scream or moan, swept over her. No one to interfere; no one who would save her. She was even more aware, to her tingling fingertips aware as she reached for the door latch, that the man in question was immensely powerful—strong, masterful, used to his own way—used to seizing what he wanted, and that if he so wished, he could do whatever he wished with her. To her.
And he would.
That was his intent as he followed her through the door.
Why she wasn’t frightened was a mystery; instead she felt a lancing thrill of excitement, of eager anticipation.
Yes, she’d wanted this, wanted him to want her, and get to the point of taking her, but in the back of her mind a question had lingered: Would she balk at the last moment?
Would her old fears, those fears he’d inadvertently prodded to panicky life but which subsequently he’d been canny enough to circumvent, rise up and prevent her from learning what she so desperately wanted to know, from experiencing all she had thought she never would, even now, even with him?
To her immense relief, the answer seemed to be no.
She halted in the middle of the floor and turned to face him.
He’d closed the door; he walked unhurriedly toward her, looking about, taking in the large four-poster bed with its emerald silk draperies tied back with tasseled cords. The ornate headboard sat against the outer wall; the two windows flanking it looked over the street.
The curtains over both windows were tightly drawn, blocking out even the moonlight; the room was lit only by the flickering glow of a small oil lamp on her dressing table. He glanced around; to her surprise, he seemed to be examining the furniture. Reaching her side, he pointed to the three three-armed candelabras set about the room, adorning the chest of drawers, one of the bedside tables, and the small Pembroke table she had her breakfast on.
“Light those.”
A frisson of expectation slithered down her spine. A bed, he’d wanted, and light…light so he could see her as he took her. She remembered his tone as he’d said that; the promise in his voice echoed in her mind as she gathered the three candelabras, lit one candle from the lamp, then used it to light all the others.
From behind her came shuffling sounds; grasping two of the candelabras, she turned—to discover he’d moved both bedside tables out so one stood midway down each side of the bed, about three feet away from it.