And who had the upper hand now?
“Charles …” she murmured when he softened his kiss.
The single word was more declaration than denial. She wanted him. Him. Whom she’d had so little regard for that she’d had her aunt reject him. Well, she could have him. Far be it from him to leave a lady wanting or waiting.
Her shawl slipped down her arms, baring her slender neck. The warmth of her skin and the subtle scent she wore rose to him, wrapping him in a seductive cloud. He answered in the only way he could.
He relinquished her lips to nip at one earlobe, tugging gently until, with a faint moan, her head dropped back to expose her throat. He accepted that invitation and traced a path of kisses to the hollow where her heart beat closest to the surface. Lingering there, he triumphed in her gasp and the quickened beat against his lips.
Georgiana Huffington was his for the taking, and he was mystified by how deeply he wanted her, too. Could it be possible to love and hate at the same time? To want to give both pleasure and pain?
She tangled her fingers through his hair and held him close, lifting her throat to his lips with a longing sigh. He left that sweet spot, moving downward, scraping her delicate skin with the coarse stubble emerging from his morning shave. She shivered and wiggled closer.
He wove his fingers through her hair to hold her immobile while he continued his exploration. He moved his other hand to push the willow-green bodice lower. Even through the gloom of the coach, he could see the delicate pink contrast of her breast appear above the trim, and his sudden need to sample it was greater than he’d thought possible.
He captured the little crown between his teeth and drew it deeper into his mouth. The peak, already firm, tightened into a bead against his tongue, teasing, tickling. He rolled it against the roof of his mouth and she made a soft keening sound. As she’d done all those years ago, before she’d stopped him with a desperate cry.
But there was no plea for mercy this time. No demurring. Her hand, still tangled in his hair, pressed him even closer—so deeply that he feared he’d hurt her. He swept his hand downward to lift her hem and skim his palm up the inside of her thigh. Past stocking, past garter, past a soft chemise, until he found the soft heat of her sex.
She shivered and twitched as if she would draw away or stop him. But he nuzzled her breast again, drawing her ever deeper into his mouth, and she hesitated. That split second was all he needed.
He stroked lightly and she was almost wanton in the way she arched to his teasing touch. He circled her opening with one fingertip, gathering the dew of her passion, and then slipped it upward to find the source of her need. At his first touch to the little nub, she moaned and pressed against his palm. Oh, she was ripe and ready, but he was in no position to join her—damn the luck. Their coach had just passed the park across from her home.
Ah, but he could bind her to him with a lesser satisfaction and leave her still craving more. The next time they met she’d be ready and eager for anything he’d be willing to give. She’d think him smitten and never suspect that he had other motives.
With a few deep strokes, she was finished, gasping and trembling in his arms. She seemed so surprised, so genuinely disconcerted, that he almost believed she had not experienced that particular pleasure before. He eased his hand away and smoothed her skirts as the coach drew up outside her town house. He tugged her bodice up to cover that wanton nipple and lifted her shawl to cover her shoulders. No trace remained of their indiscretion.
“’Ere we are, gov’nor,” the driver said as he threw the door open and lowered the step.
Charles exited first and flipped the driver his coin before he lifted Mrs. Huffington down. He steadied her as the coach pulled away, leaving them in the dim glow of a streetlamp. Even in the darkness, he could see the deepness of her blush. A bit late for that, was it not?
“I … I …” she stuttered. She held his arm as she steadied herself.
He grinned. He liked having the upper hand and vowed not to give it up again. “An auspicious beginning to our new arrangement, is it not?”
“I … that … shouldn’t have happened.”
“Tush! ‘Twas little more than a kiss. And we’ve done that before, so nothing new at all.”
“Did … did we kiss back then? I’d forgotten.”
Her words were so patently a lie that he laughed. On the strength of that long-ago kiss, and before her aunt had invited him to tea to “talk,” he’d been eager to ask for her hand. This “kiss” had been even more powerful, but he was older and wiser now, and he’d known how to use it to his advantage. No longer a callow lad apt to challenge her, he merely smiled, evoking another telltale blush.
She turned toward her door and took an unsteady step. He gripped her arm again and walked up the steps with her. It was not his intention that she take a tumble because he’d weakened her knees. No, her next tumble, though she didn’t know it yet, would be directly into his bed.
With one hand on the door latch, she turned to him. “Mr. Hunter, I scarcely know what to say.”
“Good night will do.” He arranged the shawl around her shoulders and grinned. “Or, ‘Until tomorrow, Mr. Hunter.’“
A spark in her eyes told him that her wits had returned. “I think it should be ‘Never again, Mr.
Hunter.’“
He laughed outright as he gave her a low bow and entered the street.
Around the corner and down a narrow lane, Charlie found himself deep in thought. Though he’d been loath to admit it, that “kiss” had taken a toll on him, too. One that left him barely able to stand straight.
In the coach, though, the years had slipped away the moment their lips had met and he’d been vulnerable again, young and eager to please. Everything he’d done since then, good and bad, everything he’d become, was because of that kiss. Because of Georgiana.
He hated that feeling. Hated that she could still do that to him—make him remember their long conversations and how she’d said she wanted the same things from life that he did—loving each other, learning, a family, travel, extending themselves in service to those less fortunate, growing old together. He felt he’d found the one woman in all the world who could fill his every need, and he had vowed to fill hers.
But now he knew the spell she could cast over him. Knew how deeply he wanted to possess her. And how deeply she wanted him, too. But that was physical. He could still give her that much. So he would take her. Enjoy her. But never fall prey to her wiles again.
Yes, he’d been deliberate. He’d meant to disarm her and draw her closer to him. He’d meant, in fact, to take her completely and lull her into believing he was smitten with her. But … his conscience had pricked him as deeply as a sword point. If she was innocent of the charges, he’d have a damn lot of explaining to do. But if she was guilty … oh, hell! If she was guilty, he’d want her still. As frequently as he could manage before she climbed the gallows.
He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed the movement in the shadows. How had he missed that he was being followed? He barely had time to prepare when, with a suddenness that kicked his heartbeat to a higher level, he was attacked.
A knife slashed across his midsection and he spun away to avoid it. When the knife became caught in his jacket, he used the momentum to gain control. Fear, followed quickly by anger, infused him, making him reckless.
His attacker made a fist