Part 13 (1/2)

And waited.

He was beginning to think she was going to renege when she leaned over and pressed her lips to his forehead, her touch as warm and smooth as rose petals.

”There,” she murmured, easing away. ”All better.”

His eyelids lifted. ”Hardly.”

And before she could slip away, he wrapped his good arm around her and pulled her against his chest. The impact sent a new jolt of pain through his wound, but he didn't care. Her lips were just too sweet to resist.

”Leo,” she warned. ”Remember what I said.”

He smiled. ”Fancy that. You called me Leo.”

Then he was kissing her, taking her mouth with a gentle, insistent pressure that made his blood heat and his body ache with a different sort of pain altogether. He waited for her to protest. But instead, softly, slowly, she began to kiss him back.

What am I doing? Thalia wondered as a hazy, languorous warmth stole through her. Why am I letting him kiss me, this man I do not want?

Yet even as the thought flickered through her mind, she knew it was a lie. For as imprudent and insane as it might be, she could not deny the attraction she felt for him.

Nor the pleasure of his touch.

Kissing him was lovely, more than lovely, better than the most decadent whipped confection or the sunniest spring day. She'd never known anything quite like it in her life-a curious realization considering that she had been married and was far from a virginal innocent.

Yet perhaps in this she still had much to learn, his touch now, as before, a quiet revelation. How easy it would be to let him go further. How simple to forget time and place, and allow herself to slide down into the bed beside him.

As if hearing her thoughts, he deepened their kiss, parting her lips to ease his tongue inside. He licked her as if she were indeed a treat, using long, luscious strokes that made her toes curl in her slippers and fire sizzle in her veins.

He threaded the fingers of his good hand into her long, loose hair to caress her scalp and the nape of her neck. She arched, unable to deny the pulse of pleasure that rushed through her with a wild beat. Down he went, fingertips moving over her throat and collarbone and shoulder, then lower to steal beneath the edges of her robe.

Finding her breast, he cupped it through her nightgown, along with the traitorous peak that nestled wantonly into the firm flesh of his palm. Smiling against her mouth, he flicked his thumb over the aching point and made her shudder. He was about to do it again-and she was about to let him-when a log popped in the fireplace.

The sound brought her back to her senses.

She jerked, abruptly breaking away.

”There,” she said, hating the breathless quality to her voice, ”you have your good-night kiss. Now you can sleep.”

He quirked a dark golden brow but didn't stop her when she slipped out of his hold. ”Thank you for the kiss. It was perfection. As are you.” Reaching out, he recaptured her hand and pressed his mouth to her palm. ”As for sleep, I fear it may yet elude me, but I shall try.”

Thalia said nothing. Instead, she got to her feet on unsteady legs and made her way to the door. When she stood on the other side in the darkened hallway, she clutched a fist against her chest, aware of the swift, almost painful rhythm of her heart.

He'd said he might not sleep tonight.

She knew she would not either.

Chapter 12.

”You rang, milady?”

Thalia looked up from where she sat at her desk in the study. She had returned to her town house nearly a week ago, glad to be back in the familiar confines of her own home. Her tabby cat, Hera, was asleep nearby, curled up inside a wooden tray full of correspondence.

”Yes, Fletcher,” she said, laying down her quill pen. ”I wanted to inform you that I am expecting company this afternoon. Lor-” She paused, the name sticking suddenly in her throat. She cleared it before continuing. ”Lord Leopold Byron will be paying me a call. See he is shown into the drawing room and advise me of his arrival.”

The butler's white eyebrows rose high on his wrinkled forehead. As a rule, she didn't receive gentlemen callers, especially not the kind who had sent her a gift that she had been sorely tempted to keep rather than send back. But Fletcher had too many years in service to show any further reaction whatever his opinion might be.

”Shall I ask Mrs. Grove to have a tea tray standing ready?” he inquired.

She frowned. She hadn't really considered the social niceties of Lord Leopold's impending visit. Actually, since her return to Town, she'd been trying not to think of it-or him-at all, which sadly had proved impossible.

Much of the time, especially at night, thoughts of him were all that seemed to go round and round in her head-that and the impulse to scold herself for agreeing to his impossible arrangement. But of all the scenarios she had considered, whether to have the tea tray sent up had never occurred. Still, being polite never went amiss.

”Yes, have Mrs. Grove make up a tray,” she said.

Maybe food would prove a useful distraction. Men loved to eat. If she filled him up with enough crumpets and tea, perhaps she could scoot him back out the door before he quite knew what had happened-one of their fourteen days together done.

Two weeks!

Guilt or no guilt, what had she been thinking when she'd agreed to his terms? He had been shot and she had apologized; that should have been enough. What she ought to have done was stand firm and say no, especially when it had come to that last kiss, which should never have happened at all. But as she reminded herself, the allotted two weeks would pa.s.s quickly and then she would be able to put him out of her life once and for all. He'd promised to leave her alone once their time together was over, and she planned to hold him to that pledge.

Now she just had to get through it.

She also had to make sure there was no further kissing or touching. She'd been weak, allowing him to take liberties. But she would not be weak again.

”Thank you, Fletcher,” she said, dismissing the butler. ”That will be all for now.”

He withdrew quickly for a man of his advanced age. No doubt the entire household would know about Lord Leopold's impending call within the next ten minutes. But they were bound to know about him regardless once she let him set foot over the threshold.

Luckily her servants gossiped only among themselves and not outside the house. Most of them had come with her from Lord Kemp's household after the divorce and they were fiercely loyal. She had nothing to worry about on that score.

As for her reputation, it was ironic that the rumor mill would finally be right. For years her detractors had claimed that she entertained men in her house; now she really would be guilty as charged. Although it didn't seem quite fair to count one man as men. Then again, when it came to London Society, one was all it took to be painted with a brush of shame.

A pair of green eyes stared at her from atop her stack of letters. ”What?” she asked the feline. ”You weren't there. He didn't give me any choice.”

Hera blinked, her expression oddly knowing. Then the cat lifted a paw and began to groom her fur.

”What is that supposed to be?”

Leo glanced over at his twin from where he stood in the entry hall of their town house. He accepted his greatcoat from a footman before dismissing the man. ”What does it look like?” he said to his brother. ”It's a sling.”

Lawrence made a small show of walking around him, his gaze roving over the empty rectangle of black cloth tied with a knot at the back of Leo's neck. ”Yes,” Lawrence said, ”but why are you wearing it? It's not as if you have need of its support.”

”Of course I have need. I was shot, if you will recall.”

Lawrence crossed his arms over his chest. ”How could I forget? I leave you to spend a few days at Holland House and you return home amid a flurry of lurid stories about how you went out to take a swim only to return shot, half-naked and slumped over Thalia Lennox on the back of her horse. The betting at the clubs is rampant that she shot you as the result of a lovers' quarrel, then thought better of it. But, of course, I know the truth.”