“I’m sorry, m’lady, but he is not at home.”

Aslyn gave Kip’s butler a stern look. “Literally not at home?”

“Literally, miss. He has yet to return from last night’s—­” he cleared his throat “—­adventures.”

Gambling and drinking and God knew what else he was up to, what other indulgences might be occupying his time. Blast it all! She spun on her heel and strode out of the town house, her entourage of servants in her wake. They needed to talk, to reach an understanding regarding their betrothal: it was over. She could not—­would not—­marry him when she harbored such intense adoration for another man, when she drifted off to sleep with visions of Mick Trewlove prancing through her head. Although he hadn’t truly been prancing. In truth, he’d been barely moving at all, simply holding her gaze and slowly trailing his finger along her throat, over her collarbone, across the swells of her breasts—­

Her errant thoughts centering around Mick were more intense, more detailed, more consuming than any she’d ever envisioned with Kip. Mick had the right of it. Where Kip was concerned, her passions had been those of a child, a sister toward a brother, a friend toward a friend. Mick brought forth her womanly passions with little more than a look, a smile, a touch, a word, passions that were very far removed from anything resembling what a sister might feel toward a brother.

The duke and duchess needed to be informed that she was crying off, that she would not marry their son, but she wanted Kip there with her, wanted it understood no hard feelings existed between them—­they were simply not suited for each other, not when it came to marriage.

A footman handed her up into the carriage, and she settled back against the squabs. It was an odd thing to realize she had floated through most of her life, never questioning the direction she traveled, the decisions made for her. If Fancy Trewlove hadn’t accidentally bumped into Kip that night at Cremorne, she’d have a very different life unfolding before her. She would have continued on her path of merely existing. Being with Mick made her feel alive.

She pondered the way the duchess had described falling in love. The description very much applied to her. She was falling, and she had no doubt Mick would be there to catch her.

She was beautiful, gorgeous, as he handed her down from her carriage. He’d been standing on the front steps of his hotel, staring down the street, like some lovesick loon waiting for her arrival because he was anxious to see her again, to touch her, to inhale her fragrance, to bask in the gentle smile she bestowed upon him.

“I thought you’d never get here.”

“For a lady to make a proper entrance, she must arrive somewhat tardily.”

The little chit had tormented him on purpose, and he couldn’t find it within him to take her to task. She was here now, and that was all that mattered.

With her hand nestled in the crook of his elbow, he began leading her up the steps. “Are your servants going to wait for you?”

“I think it best. I’ve sworn them to secrecy. My maid isn’t too happy about my being here. She wanted to accompany me inside, serve as chaperone.”

“But you don’t want a chaperone.”

That crooked smile again, the one that made his chest expand even as it tightened into a painful knot. “No. She’ll wait in the coach.”

They reached the doors, and he jerked his head back. “Jones, let them know you’ll watch the carriage if they want to enjoy dinner in the dining room and relax in the parlor with some port until they’re needed.”

“Yes, sir.” He pulled open the door. “I’ll see to it immediately.”

“Are you striving to spoil my servants, Mr. Trewlove?” she asked teasingly, as they strolled over the threshold.

“Trying to ensure their silence and reward their devotion to you. Whatever is necessary to safeguard your visit here.”

“Having a pristine reputation is such a bother.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Her tinkling laughter echoed through the lobby. She was at home here, comfortable, and it occurred to him he’d built this place for her before he’d even known she existed.

As they glided through the lobby, the gas-­lit chandeliers revealed her in all her glory. She wore a gown that was neither blue nor green, but the manner in which the light caught it made it appear to be both. It reminded him of the sea, seen in the distance, reminded him of their day at Brighton.

At her throat were the pearls he’d returned to her. In her upswept hair was the comb. If she were his, he would gift her with all the jewels in England and beyond. But he had the promise of her for only tonight, for only as long as his secret held, for only as long as she didn’t know the truth.

He considered telling her, telling her everything, but it would test her loyalties, and he wasn’t confident hers would remain with him. She’d known him such a short amount of time and known them forever. They were family and he . . . he couldn’t be certain he was more than a curiosity. She was learning to spread her wings, preparing to take flight, and he had no guarantee she would fly to him. He began leading her up the stairs.

“I thought we were going to have dinner,” she said, looking back toward the dining room.

“I want to show you something first.” Something he’d not shared with anyone else, something he’d not wanted to share. Until now. Until her.

She didn’t object as he continued up the stairs, floor by floor. He had her trust. It humbled him. She humbled him.

“You should know I’m ending things with Kipwick.”

He very nearly tumbled back down the stairs with her quiet pronouncement. “Does he know?”

“Only that I’ve been considering it. I was going to confirm it for him today, but when I went to his residence, he wasn’t in.”

“He’ll be disappointed.”

“But not heartbroken. I don’t think he truly loves me, and what I feel for him is the love of a girl for a boy. I do not think it would stand the test of years spent in each other’s company.”

And what of years spent with me? But he didn’t ask. It was possible even Hedley’s acknowledgment wouldn’t be enough to cleave her to him for any great length of time.

“I’m glad.” Remarkably so. He nearly went mad anytime he thought of Kipwick kissing her, touching her, having her. Visions of bursting into the church and claiming her there in front of God and everyone had begun visiting his dreams. “I’m glad you’re free of him.”

“Almost free of him. Our separation is not complete until he also acknowledges that our betrothal is at an end, but it is a bit of a relief to have made the decision.”

“He’ll try to change your mind.” He needs your dowry.

“I shall stand firm, because I’ve no doubt it’s the correct decision, and he’ll come to understand that as well, in time.”

After witnessing her with the servant at the seaside, he didn’t doubt her strength of conviction. But he questioned Kipwick’s willingness to give up easily, knowing he would never find anyone as beautiful, as courageous, as dignified, as elegant.

When they reached the top floor, he walked her past his office to a solid door that gave nothing away regarding what was inside.

“Your rooms?” she asked.

“Yes. You’ll be as safe in here as you were in my office.”

Her look was pointed. “You kissed me in your office.”

“True. And I’ll probably kiss you in here, as well. Would that be so awful?”

Her cheeks flushed. “Carry on.”

With a measure of victory, he swung open the door. His butler stepped forward.

“Shall I take the lady’s wrap?” he asked.

“In a bit. She might yet have need of it.”

She gave him an odd look. “Have you no fireplaces?”

“Not where we’re going.”

“So mysterious.”

“You’ll love it, I promise.”

Aslyn heard the utter confidence in his tone, and she wondered if the man ever doubted anything in his life. His entryway branched off into a huge parlor and two hallways, one on either side. She assumed the one down which he did not take her led to bedchambers. The one they traversed ended in an enormous library with a wall of windows and three of shelves with enough books to fill a small bookshop. But it was the spiral staircase leading into the ceiling that captured her attention.

“Where does that go?”

“To heaven.”

He took her hand, entwining their fingers, holding her firmly as though fearing he could easily lose her on the trek up. The stairs were narrow, they couldn’t walk beside each other, and she found herself in a position where she could study his back, his buttocks, his thighs without his being able to see where her eyes wandered, and they wandered over the entire length of him. She did wish he’d dispensed with his jacket, perhaps even his waistcoat—­

Heat swarmed through her as she realized she’d very much like to see him trudging up those steps with no clothing at all. She wanted to see his muscles bunching with his movements, wanted to see the strength and firmness. She wanted to see the flawlessness of his flesh.

Never before had she thought in such detail about any man’s person, and yet she found herself constantly considering every aspect of his, yearned to see it all revealed, wondered if it would be as magnificent as she imagined.

When the steps came to an end, she found herself enclosed in a small pantry-­like room. He shoved open a door and stepped out, pulling her along with him.

Onto the roof.

Into the night. A rare clear one that nearly took her breath.

“We’re perfectly safe. There’s a wall around the edge.” Tightening his hold on her hand, he escorted her across the flat expanse to the short brick barrier that came to her waist. On top of it was what appeared to be a wrought-­iron railing, although the dimness of the light prevented her from knowing for certain. In the distance she could see balls of light, the illumination from streetlamps, she assumed.

No moon hovered. The sky was adorned with so many stars she doubted any astronomer would ever be able to count them all.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered in awe.

“When all the shops and houses are built, I’ll be able to come up here and see the lights glowing in windows and know that inside people are content, happy, hopefully well-­fed and warm. I’ll have a sense of accomplishment. People can have good lives because of what we’re doing here.”

People who might have been impoverished otherwise. He might have amassed a fortune, but he hadn’t been doing it all for himself. She could hardly see his features in the darkness. “You’re remarkable.”

“Hardly. In lifting others, we lift ourselves.”

He was a man of such confidence, it had never occurred to her he’d be modest as well.

“Can you imagine it?” he asked. “With all the lights?”

“It’ll be incredible.”

“There are other lights.” He drew her in close, her back to his chest, and closed his arms around her. “Watch the sky,” he whispered near her ear, his breath wafting over her cheek.

His tongue outlined the shell of her ear, and she sank against him. She should have handed her pelisse over to the butler, as Mick was making her exceedingly warm. His mouth dropped lower, to the nape of her neck, then moved slowly, provocatively, leaving little nips along the way, to her jawline. The sensations were so exquisite, velvet lapping at silk. Was she the only woman to not know that such sweet surrender existed?

Closing her eyes, she began falling into the bliss.

“Keep your eyes open,” he rasped. “Don’t look away from the sky in the distance.”

The vast expanse before her. The stars tossed across the inky blackness like diamonds on velvet. Her breath caught. The fireworks.

Far, far away, but there all the same, filling the darkness with color, rivaling the stars for attention.

“I’m going to unleash the fireworks inside you,” Mick vowed, his voice deep, low, nearly feral in its intensity.

“Mick—­”

“Shh. Just keep your eyes on the distance.” He suckled at the underside of her jaw, dragged his mouth—­open and hot—­along the column of her throat.

Yes, she wished the pelisse was gone and the frock, and all the lace and linen beneath it. What a wanton she was. The cool breeze wafted over her, but it did little to dissipate the heat scouring through her.

He unclasped her pelisse and it was gone, falling quickly to the rooftop as though fearing it was in danger of being scorched, as well. His hand glided with assurance and purpose over her ribs, her waist, her hips. Lower still, somehow grabbing her thigh, lifting her leg—­

“Open for me,” he ordered as though he were Ali Baba intent on stealing treasure.

—­and placed her foot on the low brick wall where it met wrought iron. His fingers slipped beneath the hem, wrapped around her ankle, began moving up, deliciously slowly in little circles.

“People will see us.”

“There’s no light up here. We’re one with the night. If they see anything at all, it will be only shadows. They won’t be able to discern what those shadows are doing.”

She almost asked what the shadows were doing, but she knew. She’d witnessed it the night before, in secretive places between buildings, behind trees, wherever the shadows were the thickest. She hadn’t understood why people would risk so much, risk being caught. She understood now, because now she had the itch. The itch for sensations she’d never before known, the pleasure spiraling through her, the promise of it filling her with bursts of color: red, green, white—­not only what she saw in the deepening sky but every color and shade that existed in the universe, hues she wasn’t even aware were possible.

He cupped her knee, his long fingers toying with the back of it, a place where she’d never realized the skin was so sensitive. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

Lethargically she shook her head. “I’m on the train now, I can’t disembark.”

Her reward for her words was a low chuckle just before he nibbled on her earlobe. How was it that such a small action could create such an enormous tide of sensations? His fingernails scraped along the inside of her thigh, deliciously wicked, scandalously so.

This was what she had craved and yearned for without even realizing what it was she longed to feel. A woman’s passion, one that was not satisfied with the landing of a butterfly on a palm, but one that required a man’s touch, a man’s hands, a man’s desire to please.

It was a chore to keep her eyes open as the sensations rioted through her, as her mewling escaped into the emptiness and filled it to bursting. She gasped as his fingers grazed over her curls, as his mouth journeyed over her shoulder, creating an outline of dew where cloth met skin. Separating her folds, he homed in on the tiny little bud at her intimate core. He dragged one finger over it, and she moaned in torment, sweet, exquisite torment. Another stroke, a longer one, a circling.

Her knees threatened to buckle. If not for his arm at her waist holding her against him, she’d have melted into a molten pool at his feet. His thumb replaced his finger, working earnestly to elicit more cries from her, and they were accompanied with gasps and shudders. Slowly, provocatively his finger entered her and she cried out.

“Not quite yet,” he ordered.

Lost in a myriad of sensations, she didn’t know what he meant. She couldn’t control the tingles, the pleasure dancing along her nerve endings, as another finger joined the first, moving in and out.

“Christ, but you’re tight.” He seemed pleased by the discovery.

Reaching back with one hand, she grabbed his thigh, dug her fingers into his muscles, searching for purchase, as the fireworks grew larger and larger, filling the sky, filling her, reaching for the heavens—­

She cried out as an explosion of ecstasy ripped through her, claiming her, destroying her, rebuilding. Then his mouth was on hers, capturing the cries, devouring, his tongue thrusting with the same urgency that his fingers had only a few seconds before. Her foot was no longer on the brickwork, but was back on the ground, his arms cradling her body against his as his mouth continued to plunder, as though he could share everything she’d just experienced, make it his own, but it was already his as much as it was hers.

He’d given her something no one else had, and at that moment she couldn’t imagine anyone else gifting her with it. Tearing his mouth from hers, he cradled the back of her head with his large hand, pressed her cheek against his chest where she heard the rapid thudding of his heart beating in tandem with hers.

“Did you enjoy the fireworks?”

A quick burst of laughter escaped from her. She nodded, taking satisfaction in his low, dark chuckle. “I think I would stand here every night watching them,” she said on a soft sigh.

“The rooftop is yours whenever you want it.”

But she only wanted it if he was there to share it with her.

He sat against the arm of the sofa with one leg stretched out on the cushions, the other foot on the floor, and her nestled between his thighs, her back to his chest, sipping her wine. He’d never known such satisfaction as he had the moment she’d come apart in his arms. Nothing he’d ever purchased or acquired in his business dealings had brought him such pleasure. With her cheeks still flushed, he knew the only thing he’d ever enjoy more would be taking her to his bed and possessing her completely.

“Did you choose this location because you could see the fireworks of Cremorne?” she asked.

A low fire burned on the hearth. It wasn’t really needed for heat, but he liked the atmosphere it created. One perfect for seduction, although this night it seemed he was finding himself the seduced rather than the seducer. “No, it was a lovely surprise I discovered much later. I wanted access to the roof so I could look out over everything I’d accomplished, take a measure of pride in it.” Reaching for a small chunk of cheese on a platter on the nearby low table, he carried it to her mouth, fought not to grow hard as her lips closed around it, grazing his fingers.

“I thought we’d be dining downstairs in your hotel dining room.”

He heard no chastisement or disappointment in her voice. “That’s what I’d planned, but then I decided I wanted you all to myself.”

Watching the blush creep up her neck, he pressed a kiss to her nape. Her willingness to accept pleasure at his hands had taken him by surprise. Other than the desperate duke’s widow, no other lady of quality had ever given him leave to put his roughened fingers on her, in her. Tonight, for Aslyn, he wished they’d been as smooth as silk, had never grown callused lifting tin pails, had never grown rough hauling bricks.

“I should think your wife will have a jolly good time furnishing all the rooms,” she said, no doubt an attempt to keep the conversation bland rather than naughty.

He’d taken her on a tour of the flat. Other than the rooms for which he had an immediate use—­the front parlor, the library, his bedchamber—­he’d done very little in the way of readying the place for visitors. His brothers and Gillie generally joined him in the library where they could pour from decanters to their hearts’ content. Fancy and his mum took tea here in the parlor. “What would you do with the rooms?”

“Brighten them up a little bit, I think. You have enough dark in the hotel. After a while I think too much of it could become oppressive.”

“I wouldn’t want the pink of your bedchamber.”

Twisting around, with her elbow digging into his stomach, she caused him to grunt. Her brow was furrowed. “How do you know the color of my room?”

“It was a guess. All the pink I’ve seen you wear.”

“I’m not wearing pink tonight.”

“No, tonight you’re dressed like the sea.” He skimmed his finger along the low neckline, tempted to slip his hand beneath the cloth and cradle her breast, show her how every aspect of her body was created for pleasure. “I like it. Although I’d rather have you with nothing on at all.”

Her eyes widened as she swung back around and settled against him. “The things you say.”

He pressed his open mouth on the curve where neck met shoulder. “You’d be disappointed if there wasn’t some gutter in me.”

She sat up, faced him, and he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. “What you said isn’t something that came from the gutter. If you’re drawn to someone, shouldn’t you want to see them without their clothes? I constantly think of you going about without a stitch of clothing.”

He arched a brow. “Do you?”

“Well, not constantly. Often.”

“I didn’t think ladies of quality had such thoughts.”

“I didn’t.” She knotted her fingers together, studied them. “Until you.”

Shoving himself up, he cradled her cheek with one hand. “I’m glad.”

“It’s one of the reasons I know Kipwick and I aren’t suited. I could never—­”

She lifted her gaze to the ceiling, and he knew she was seeing beyond it to the roof.

“There’s more, much more. What I did on the roof . . . I can do it all with my mouth.”

The blush that took over her face was the reddest hue he’d ever seen. He loved her innocence, loved how she wanted so desperately to be sophisticated, to act as though carnal desires weren’t new to her. But they were, and he wanted to introduce every aspect of them to her. He wanted to take her on a sojourn of pleasure that would leave her too exhausted and sated to ever leave his bed.

“You’re wicked. You know saying that is going to make me think about it.”

He grinned. “Which means you’ll be thinking about me.”

“I would anyway.” She skimmed her fingers over his beard before cupping his chin in her palm. “Sometimes I wonder what you would look like without it.”

“I’m curious myself.”

Her eyes glinted. “Have you always had it, then?”

“From the day I noticed whiskers.”

She scraped her fingers along his jaw. “You have a strong jaw.” Toward his chin.

He swooped down, captured two of her fingers with his mouth. She released a tiny squeal of surprise. When she would have pulled them free, he wrapped a hand around her wrist, licked the tips that tasted of a strawberry she’d eaten earlier.

“Oh my,” she whispered on a sigh.

Slowly he began moving her fingers in and out of his mouth, like the waves rolling onto shore, like his cock wanted to thrust in and out of her. The delicate tendons at her throat worked as she swallowed, her eyes focused on the erotic play, the blue of her irises deepening.

He stroked his tongue along the seam between the two fingers, suckled gently. Without averting her gaze, she closed her hand around his that rested on his thigh and carried his hand up.

Her lips parted slightly, her tongue slipped out to coat them in heavenly dew, before her mouth closed around the middle two fingers of his hand and the velvety heat consumed him as though she’d taken in his entire body. He grew so hard he ached for the want of her. As he continued to stroke her fingers, he watched mesmerized as she pushed his into the sweet confines of her mouth, suckled briefly, only to withdraw them, dragging them over the velvety roughness of her tongue. In. Out. In. A swirling of her tongue. A suck. Out.

She mimicked his actions, and he didn’t know if he’d ever experienced anything so erotic. If anything had ever made him grow so hard, so fast, so near to bursting.

He’d thought only to stop her exploration of his chin, and now he wanted nothing more than for her to explore every inch of him.

Her eyes were filled with heat and desire. He suspected his were, as well. Christ. Even the duke’s widow hadn’t done this to him, hadn’t taught him the pleasures to be gained in going slowly, in taking one’s time, in merely tasting.

He pulled her fingers out of his mouth, pulled his out of hers, cupped the back of her head and brought her down to him so their tongues could experience what their fingers had. Leisurely, yet deeply. Stroking and thrusting, suckling and soothing.

His groan was low, nearly feral, perhaps because he knew she would give him no more than this tonight, that he would ask for no more, even as his body was tense with need, with a hunger for her that would terrify him if he thought about it later when she wasn’t in his arms. But as long as she was curled against him, he would face the hell of not possessing her completely, if only for this. For now this was enough, this was everything.

This was a promise of more.

He was offering more. She knew that as she explored the sultry confines of his mouth laced with the dark, rich wine he’d been drinking. He was offering everything even as he had to know that she would not take it, that she was not yet ready to cast aside all the morality she’d been taught.

But oh how she was tempted.

Draped over his chest, his belly, between his thighs, she could feel the hard length of him pressed against her. It had startled her at first, when she’d taken his fingers into her mouth, and she’d become aware of his body changing. Startled her but not frightened her. Instinctually she’d understood what was happening, that he was preparing for the taking of her—­

But as he’d initiated no advances toward that completion, she realized he quite possibly had no control over that aspect of the mating ritual, and that pleased her even more. That she could have such influence over him, that she could drive him to such distraction. He wanted her, he desired her, and she’d never felt more powerful in her life.

This was a man who controlled everything around him, and yet she could control him.

She wondered if she took him upon the roof if she could show him fireworks. Some night she might, but for now she was content to be where she was, with his broad hands running over her back, her buttocks, squeezing, lingering, moving on.

The sensations he elicited from her were what she’d hoped being with a man would be like. All heat and hunger and need. The need to be touched, stroked, kissed. The need to be held as though it was the only way to stay anchored, the only way to fly together.

Here was the itch about which he’d spoken. Now she understood why a woman would risk so much for a moment’s pleasure. Because it extended beyond the moment, because she would carry it with her into tomorrow and the day after. Because it elevated her, gave her confidence, made her feel loved.

Loved as she’d never felt before.

Cupping her face between his hands, he drew back, held her at a short distance, his gaze searching, and she wondered if her lips were as swollen as his. They felt as though they were when she ran her tongue over them, taking delight in the way his eyes tracked her movement, the way they darkened.

“Damn, but you are temptation and sin,” he rasped. “I should see you home while I still have the will to resist.”

“Am I so hard to resist?”

“Nearly impossible.”

She grinned, delighted by his words.

“You little witch. You’re happy about that.”

“I am. I feared I wasn’t.”

His thumbs stroked her cheeks. “You are the most tempting creature I’ve ever known.”

She ducked her head into the curve of his neck. “You humble me.”

“My God, Aslyn, I am the one humbled. You’re the daughter of an earl, and I’m but a bastard.”

Her head came up. “You’re a successful businessman.”

“With no lineage to speak of.”

She shrugged. “You’ll be the first of your line. Every great dynasty must have a start somewhere.”

He chuckled low. “You see me with a dynasty?”

“I see you being, doing anything you want.” She pushed herself up until she was sitting on the sofa. “It’s not all fun and games, being part of the nobility, you know. There are expectations, duties and responsibilities. We’re not allowed to scratch itches until we’re wed.”

He shoved himself up until both his feet were on the floor and he was sitting beside her. “You’re not allowed to lose your virginity until you’re wed.” Leaning in, he kissed the side of her neck. “I think you learned tonight there are other ways to scratch itches.”

“I suppose you know them all?”

“I know a good many. I take great care not to have any by-­blows.”

He would, of course. He had a keen understanding of the price paid by the illegitimate while until recently she’d only had a vague notion that they existed.

Standing, he held out his hand to her. “Let’s see you home.”

Shortly thereafter, they located Nan and the coachman in the parlor, sipping brandy before the fire, talking low. When they spotted Aslyn, they both jumped to their feet as though caught doing something they shouldn’t.

“Did you enjoy your relaxing evening?” she asked.

Nan bobbed her head. “It was a lovely dinner. Thank you, Mr. Trewlove.”

“You can thank me by keeping where you came tonight to yourself.”

Nan tilted up her chin. “After dinner, my lady went to bed with a megrim. We never left the residence.”

He grinned with approval. “I hope she feels better on the morrow.”

“I’m certain she will, sir.”

“We should be on our way, then,” Aslyn said.

As they neared the coach, Mick asked, “Nan, have you ever ridden atop a coach?”

“I most certainly have not.” Her tone indicated she was offended by the question.

“Then you’re in for an adventure.”

Her maid came to an abrupt halt. “My lady?”

Aslyn looked at Mick. “My maid doesn’t travel outside of the carriage.”

“Tonight she does. I’m seeing you home.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I insist. I’m not sending you through the London streets without escort.”

“I travel in this manner, with only Nan, the driver and the footman, all the time.”

“Not tonight, not anytime after you’ve been with me.”

The man was so stubborn. “Then they’ll have to bring you back.”

“I’ll walk or find a hansom.” In front of her servants—­thank goodness they were the only ones about at the moment, except for Jones at the door—­he cupped her face, tilted it up and held her gaze. “You are too precious for me to risk that something might go awry on your way to Hedley Hall. It’s late. Ruffians are likely to be about.”

Her heart warmed with his words that she was precious to him, but she also saw no need for his protection. “So we’ll both be at risk.”

His grin was wicked and dangerous, as though he were spoiling for a fight. “I can hold my own against them.”

She had no doubt of that, and she did appreciate that he worried for her. “All right. But Nan does not ride atop.”

“There’s a hundred pounds in it for her if she does.”

“You can’t buy—­”

“I’ve always wanted to ride atop a carriage,” Nan suddenly announced. “I think it’ll be jolly good fun.”

Mick’s smile was one of victory that made her want to kiss him. “Fine,” she said. “Let’s be on our way.”

Like a gentleman, he took the seat opposite her. He had the sense she wasn’t quite pleased with his high-­handedness, that she wasn’t happy he’d been unwilling to let her travel without his escort. The odds were she’d get home safely. But even a one in a hundred chance she wouldn’t was too high as far as he was concerned. And he did know how to handle ruffians. He and his brothers had been dealing with them their entire lives.

Once the carriage bolted forward, he crossed over to her, took her in his arms and claimed her mouth with his own. He would make her grateful he was there.

It took very little. An urging of her lips to part, a thrusting of his tongue, and with the sweetest of moans, she sank against him, into him, her slender arms coming around his neck, her hands clasping the back of his head, holding him in place as though she feared he’d only tease her, then withdraw.

But teasing her teased him as well, and he’d had enough of it for tonight. She was no doubt blissfully unaware of how tightly strung he was, how her hand below his waist, at the fall of his trousers, would have him embarrassing himself. He’d never before been so near the brink of release without being buried in a woman.

She unmanned him.

It took so little on her part to have him raging with need. A dozen times since he’d met her, he’d considered seeking surcease in the arms of another, and yet he wanted no other, understood wholeheartedly that no other would satisfy. Even taking himself in hand did little to assuage his desire, his need, his want for her. He couldn’t even claim the release to be temporary because it brought no satisfaction whatsoever, no dulling of his yearning for her.

But the yearning went beyond the tasting of her haven between her thighs, the ecstasy of her muscles closing around his cock, his thrust taking him deeper to the heart of her—­the yearning encompassed what he’d always considered mundane: her smiles, her laughter, her fragrance, the lilt of her voice. Her mere presence.

Whether she sat across from him or was nestled against him, she satisfied something deep within him that had never before been touched. Now it was awakened and would not settle back into slumber.

He dragged his mouth over her chin, along her jaw to the sensitive area just below her ear and nibbled as if it were the finest delicacy. To him it was. “When can I see you again?”

“I have to settle things with Kipwick first,” she said distractedly, as though being awakened from a pleasant dream.

“Speaking with him might be difficult.”

She drew back. “Why do you say that?”

“He’s spending a good deal of his time at Aiden’s club. He’s taken a room there, to be honest.” Not a room exactly. A bed, a pallet, to catch a few winks before asking for another loan and returning to the tables. Not that he was going to tell her all of that.

“I must speak with him.”

“Not there.”

Shoving away from him, she gazed out the window. He wished he’d kept his tongue in her mouth instead of giving it freedom to speak. “I’ll get word to him that you need to see him.”

“He told me that winning was a thrill.”

“It is. The problem with thrills is that after a while they become mundane when they are the same one over and over, so one must look for ways to make them bigger. A larger wager, more at stake. To lose is a harder kick in the gut, but to win is an elation like no other. However, it, too, becomes the same. Habitual gamblers are always in want of a more intense thrill.”

“It’s an addiction of sorts, isn’t it?”

“For him, yes.”

She turned to him, a sadness in her eyes. “Can you help him? Can you have your brother close his doors to him?”

“Yes.” As soon as I’ve acquired what I want. But studying her, he wondered if it was worth it, if there was another way to gain the acknowledgment he wanted—­needed—­more than ever. Recognizing his bloodline—­even if his blood wasn’t pure—­would gain him admittance into Hedley Hall, would allow him to be seen with her in public.

He wanted her on his arm, proud to accompany him, into a fancy ballroom filled with those of noble birth.

“I’ll speak with him,” he added, as though Kipwick would listen to anything he had to say. Although when Mick presented him with all his markers and deeds, the man would pay a great deal of attention to his words.

As the carriage turned onto the drive, she smiled. “I have faith in you.”

Her words devastated him. He should confess everything, but in the confessing he’d lose her. However, if he plowed ahead, he would make things right. She would see that everything had been necessary to ensure they could step out of the shadows.