The carriage rattled along Castle Street on its way to take Mr Hungerford home. Vane sat back in the dark confines of his conveyance and let the immense feeling of satisfaction wash over him.

First, he had followed Estelle without her noticing him. A skill he’d acquired while navigating the backstreets of St Giles looking for a fight.

Even more satisfying was the fact he knew of Hungerford’s game. Vane would wager everything he owned that Hungerford was acquainted with the Frenchman who had set upon them in the alley. Indeed, the man was as craven as Lord Cornell, and yet he’d chased the scoundrel through the fog-drenched streets without a second thought.

To add to Vane’s bounty, he now knew Hungerford’s address and in a matter of minutes would boot the coward out onto the pavement and leave the rest to the runner, Mr Joseph. The true prize of the night was having Estelle to himself on the journey back to the apothecary shop.

Vane glanced at the lady in question. With her gaze fixed firmly on the window, she watched the rain trickle down the pane.

Mr Hungerford sat sulking. Anger brimmed beneath his affable facade but he wouldn’t know what to do if he ever found the strength to unleash the devil.

They turned into James Street and the vehicle jerked to a halt beside a row of townhouses. Mr Hungerford’s abode was of modest proportion, three floors high although too narrow by Mayfair’s standards. Vane could not imagine Estelle living here. She loved riding across open countryside, loved painting in a natural habitat, loved picnics in the orchard and strolling through buttercup fields.

“Should you change your mind about visiting Bow Street, Hungerford, do let me know.” Vane couldn’t resist ruffling the man’s feathers.

“As I said, I see little point in wasting their time,” Hungerford replied. “The blackguard will be long gone by now.” He turned to Estelle. “Perhaps we could take a picnic to the park tomorrow, Miss Brown.”

“What, in the rain?” Vane mocked.

“If the weather is fine,” Hungerford added. “If not, then we could return to the coffeehouse.” The man was persistent. Vane would give him that. “Perhaps you might be inclined to discuss my proposal.”

Estelle cast Vane a furtive glance before considering the fop seated next to her. “Call into the shop tomorrow, and I shall let you know then.” One would have to be blind to miss the reluctance in her eyes, and the rigid reservation in her bearing.

“I’ll see you safely inside, Hungerford.” Vane threw open the carriage door and stepped down to the pavement. Rain lashed his face and bounced off his boots.

Hungerford muttered something incoherent. “I am quite capable of walking, my lord, quite capable of fending off an attack.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” Vane followed the dandy as he hurried under cover of his portico and waited while he retrieved his key from his coat pocket. “But now we’re alone is there not something you wish to ask me?”

Hungerford turned to look at him, but his green eyes flitted back and forth nervously in their sockets. “There … there is a matter I would discuss, but your position demands I keep my lips tightly buttoned.” His cheeks flushed as red as the ridiculous claret coat he’d worn.

“Then allow me to assist you. You want to know of my intentions towards Miss Brown.” Vane glanced at his conveyance to witness Estelle staring back at him.

“Well, I imagine my intentions are obvious, though yours are baffling. Miss Brown possesses too much integrity to be any man’s mistress.”

“You think I want her as my mistress?” It was a fair assumption given his position.

“Don’t you?” Hungerford raised a brow. “I have seen the intense longing in your eyes when you look at her.”

“Perhaps I want her for my wife.” Vane spoke merely for the thrill of annoying the gentleman. And yet he was surprised to find the idea had already taken root and the first buds were beginning to appear on this new tree of hope.

Hungerford scoffed. “A marquess does not marry a shopgirl.”

“Neither does a gentleman.”

“Miss Brown is unlike any woman I have ever met.”

“In that, we are agreed.”

Vane did not bother to offer a parting greeting but simply turned and strode back to his carriage. He informed Wickett of their direction and the message he was to pass to Mr Joseph when they arrived in Whitechapel. Once inside, Vane settled into the seat opposite Estelle, dragged his hand down his wet face and waited to hear the question ready to burst from her lips.

“What did you say to Mr Hungerford?”

“Nothing.” The sodden sleeves of his coat stuck to his shirt, the cold seeping into his skin. He sat forward and shrugged out of the garment. “You should remove your jacket before you catch a chill.”

“You clearly said something. I watched your lips move.”

“Hungerford wanted to know what my intentions are where you’re concerned.”

Vane tugged at his shirt sleeves as the material was plastered to his arms. He could feel the heat of her stare drifting over him, caught her ogling his biceps as they strained against the restrictions of the fabric.

“And what was your reply?” Lacking dexterity, which he attributed to cold fingers, she managed to unfasten the buttons on her jacket. She slipped it off her shoulders and placed it on the seat next to her.

Vane ignored the question. He wasn’t ready to address his feelings just yet, and fear of rejection forced him to remain silent.

He rubbed his hands together to banish the cold. “Had I known it would be this bitter, I’d have had Wickett heat the bricks. There’s a blanket in the box beneath the seat should you need it.”

“Did you threaten him?” She removed her bonnet and shook off the droplets of rain.

“Who?”

“Mr Hungerford.” Her tone carried more than a hint of frustration.

“Why would I do that?”

Estelle shrugged. “How should I know when I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re thinking? I haven’t the faintest idea where you’re taking me, either, though I know it is most definitely not Whitecombe Street.”

Vane liked that she found him unreadable, unpredictable. “I need to make a slight detour. Wickett has a message to deliver to my man in Whitechapel. But have no fear, we shall remain in the carriage.”

That meant he had her alone for at least thirty minutes, more if he instructed Wickett to take his time. And he would rather travel the foggy streets than return to the empty house in Hanover Square.

Silence ensued.

She did not press him on the subject of Mr Hungerford, nor did he ask if she would accept the man’s proposal. The answer was abundantly clear.

“Well,” she began, “if we’re here for a while it seems foolish to sit in silence. What would you like to discuss?”

Numerous questions flitted through his mind. None of them drew his thoughts away from the vibrant energy that thrummed in the air whenever they were alone. None of them captured his attention like the rise and fall of her breasts, like the full lips formed into a pout.

Hell, this woman had a power over him even he could not comprehend.

“So, you’re keen to satisfy my voracious appetite for conversation.” He imagined she could please him on many levels.

The corners of her mouth twitched. “I have the feeling nothing could satisfy you, my lord.”

You could. You’re the only woman who can tame me.

“Then ask me a question, Estelle. Allow me to put your oral skills to the test.”

She swallowed audibly as her breath came a little quicker.

Excellent.

“Very well.” She straightened as if preparing for battle. “Why have you never married?”

“Do you want the truth?”

“Of course.”

“Because after what happened eight years ago I could never trust another woman. And you know my feelings on marriage and fidelity.” He would have been faithful to her as long as he lived. And therein lay the irony of the man he’d become.

She placed a trembling hand on her collarbone. “But you have had relations with women?”

“I’m not a monk. I’ve not taken a vow of celibacy.” And I thought you were dead.

“No,” she whispered. “I didn’t expect you had.”

Vane leant back against the squab as one question suddenly burned within. “And what about you? You say you never married but have you ever had relations with a man?” It was an impertinent question, one a gentleman would never dare ask a lady. But he felt he’d earned the right to know.

She looked to her lap and sighed — and there was his answer.

The blood in his veins turned ice-cold. She was his, always had been, always would be. To know she’d given herself to another was like a cleaver hacking at his heart. God, if there was one thing he despised it was his own damn hypocrisy.

“Did you love him?” he heard himself say, though he was still rolling on a metaphorical floor, writhing in pain, twisting in agony.

She grew suddenly restless, refused to look at him as she rocked back and forth in her seat. “This was a mistake. Stop the carriage. I want to get out.” She reached for the handle.

“Wait!” Panic flared. “You’ll fall to your death.”

Her hand settled over the metal.

Vane lurched forward and grabbed her wrist. “You can’t get out here.”

“I don’t care.” Tears filled her eyes as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp. “Let me go.”

He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her across the carriage and into his lap. She fought him at first, kicked the side and tugged the curtain on the viewing window.

And still, Wickett did not take it as a signal to stop.

Vane wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.” It would kill him to hear her story, but her needs had always come before his own.

She squirmed in his lap and punched his chest, the hollow sound drowned out by her sudden sob. “I can’t.”

Fear turned to anger. When she’d mentioned someone hurt her, surely she had not meant— He shook his head to banish the thought from his brain.

“Tell me what happened, Estelle.” How he kept his voice calm, he would never know. “Confide in me.”

“I was a fool … a fool who forgot how some men treat their maids,” she blurted. “I thought he was a friend.”

“Who?”

“Philipe Robard.” She gulped for breath. “The … the merchant’s son.”

Vane kissed the top of her head to bring her comfort, and to stop him from raising the roof with a barrage of vitriolic curses. “Are you telling me he forced you?”

“It all happened so quickly.” She curled into his lap and pressed her cheek to his chest. “I hit him with a chamber pot, ran down the stairs and out of the house and never looked back.”

Philipe Robard was a dead man. He just didn’t know it yet.

One question filled Vane’s mind. The words stuck to his tongue like a bitter taste that he desperately needed to expel. “Was … was there a child?”

Please say no.

Her head shot up, and her red, puffy eyes settled on him. “Heavens, no.”

Relief coursed through his veins.

“I hit him almost as soon as—” She cut off abruptly but he did not need to hear any more.

“And where will I find Monsieur Robard? In Paris?”

“Find him?” Estelle blinked in surprise. “Why?”

“Why do you think?”

“No, Ross.” She shook her head. “I want to forget about Robard. I want to pretend the incident never happened.”

He would not forget. At some point in the very near future, he would travel to Paris. Once there, he would find the scoundrel and beat him so severely he would never regain the full use of his manhood.

“Please, Ross.” Estelle put a hand on his cheek, and he resisted the urge to close his eyes and relish the connection. “There was nothing you or I could have done to prevent it. I told you because you asked and because you were honest with me. But please, put it from your mind.”

“You ask the impossible.”

“Can you not understand?” Both dainty hands cupped his face now. “I want to leave all of that behind me.” Her face was so close he could feel her sweet breath breeze across his lips. “How can I do that if you won’t let me? Please, you must allow me to move on.”

“When you say move on what you really mean is run away.” Vane stared into her sad eyes. “Will you ever stop running, Estelle?”

She fell silent for a moment. “How can I? How can I stop when I don’t have the courage to face the truth?”

Vane wasn’t sure what she was referring to, but she gazed longingly at his mouth as her thumbs stroked his cheeks. He knew enough about women to know she wanted him and so he took a leap of faith.

“And what is the truth? Do you regret leaving Prescott Hall?”

Do you regret leaving me?

She swallowed visibly. “I regret it more than you will ever know.”

“Why?” They were finally getting somewhere.

“Because I lost the respect and friendship of someone dear to me.” She bent her head and pressed her lips to his in a chaste kiss. “I lost you.”

Had Estelle been sitting opposite he might have asked questions, probed her for more information. But her soft buttocks were but an inch away from his throbbing cock. The mere touch of her lips roused his desire, and he was lapping her comment up like a thirsty dog did a puddle of rainwater.

“What do you want from me?” Vane whispered. He cupped her neck, drew her mouth to his and kissed her with a passion reserved only for this woman. Leaving her in no doubt of his intentions.

“We cannot go back to how things were. Too much has happened. Our lives are so different now.” She moistened her lips. “But you’re the only man I have ever wanted. I would like to know you, Ross, to know the pleasure that comes when two people share a special bond, a deep connection.”

The devil on his shoulder rubbed his hands gleefully, eager for an opportunity to sate his curiosity, to know if joining with her would be everything he imagined it to be. The saint in him raised his hands to the heavens and prayed for caution. What if this experience made him want her all the more? If she left again how would he cope? But he was too weak to deny his body, too weak to deny his heart.

Holding her tightly to his chest, Vane leant forward and tugged down the blinds.

“Then kiss me again, Estelle. Convince me this is truly what you want.”

She sat up, shuffled to straddle him. “I need you, Ross. Help me to forget every painful memory.” She claimed his mouth in a ravenous assault, teased his lips apart and delved inside. It was as though she could not taste him deeply enough, as though she was famished and he was her only sustenance.

The wild, erotic dance of their tongues sent the blood rushing to his cock. He’d never been so hard, never been so eager to consummate an alliance. The sudden urge to feel every inch of her took hold. Frantic hands traced the curve of her hips, gripped her buttocks and drew her against the evidence of his arousal.

A moan escaped her lips.

Good God.

His mind was lost in a heady cloud of lust, of desire. It surrounded him, flowed through his body in pleasurable waves.

“We should be at home in bed, naked,” he murmured against her mouth. “Where I can worship your body as you deserve.” But in truth, the urgency to fill her full eradicated all thoughts of a more thorough seduction.

“I cannot wait, Ross. If we stop now … I …”

He heard the unspoken words. This might be his only opportunity to have her. The dream to possess her still lived inside him. This was about claiming what he craved, surrendering to the light, admitting she was his only weakness now.

“Just tell me you want me.” Vane’s voice sounded gravelly, hoarse. He tugged at the hem of her dress, slid his hands underneath, up past the top of her stockings. “Let me hear you say the words.”

“You know I want you. It has always been you.”

That was his undoing.

“Then forgive me, for I lack the strength of will to prolong this moment.” Never had he imagined himself saying those words. “I need to be inside you. Deep inside you. Undo my breeches.”

He did not have to ask twice.

She shuffled back as her trembling fingers fumbled with the buttons. A growl rumbled in his chest when her small hand dipped inside. She hesitated, but then her fingers settled around his cock and freed him from his constraint.

“Hurry,” she begged.

His mind was too muddled to think. The potent essence of this woman filled his head. The need to drive home obliterated all else.

Estelle dragged up her dress, her erratic movements and laboured breathing a clear sign of her eagerness to join with him too.

He positioned himself at her entrance. Heaven was but inches away. “I cannot wait a second longer,” he panted.

“Do it now, Ross.”

With one hand settling firmly on her waist, he pushed inside her in one long fluid movement, up to the hilt.

Time stopped.

Buried deep inside her hot, wet core, Vane held her there and allowed himself a few seconds to appreciate the magic of the moment. His heart sang in celebration.

“Oh, Ross.” Estelle’s head fell back.

Never had he seen anything more beautiful. She belonged to him. Long before the first time his heart pulsed upon seeing her. Long before they ever met.

He withdrew slowly only to plunge back into her welcoming body. Estelle gasped and arched her back, her breasts rising against the confines of the material. Oh, how he wanted to free them, to tease her nipples to peak, to feast like a king. She ran her hands over his shoulders and balled his shirt in her fists.

Vane could sense she wasn’t sure what to do. Hell, her inexperience beguiled him — only made him want her all the more. He would be her tutor from now on, and he would await each lesson with eager anticipation.

And so he settled his hands on her hips, ready for the first exercise in a course that would last an eternity, and guided her movements until she rode him in a unique yet intoxicating rhythm.

“Oh God.” Vane watched her come up on her knees and sink back down again and again. “That’s it, love. Just like that.”

He met her with equal enthusiasm. His measured thrusts became more urgent, more powerful than the last. With Estelle, he didn’t need to think of new or novel ways to please her. He didn’t have to pretend this was the most erotic experience of his life — for it truly was. All he cared about was watching the look of pleasure on her face as he filled her body.

“Don’t stop,” she panted.

“Trust me. That is not an option.”

Every delicious slide into heaven took him closer to the edge. He reached between them, managed to push two fingers against her intimate place. Estelle responded to his touch, rubbing against him in a delightfully erratic fashion.

“Hmm. Ross.” Her tongue skimmed her lips. He wanted to devour her mouth but he would stroke her to completion before taking anything more for himself.

“Come for me, love.”

She was the only woman he wanted to come against his fingers, the only woman he wanted to pump his cock with each tremor of her climax.

She reached behind him and held on to the seat, rocked her hips and ground against him, massaging his solid member in the process.

She gasped, shuddered, came apart on a pleasurable sigh.

Vane could no longer keep his passion contained. “Ride me, love.”

As her tremors subsided, Estelle did as he asked, taking him deep inside her, raising up, and sheathing him again and again. Her wicked mouth covered his, hot and demanding, every stroke of her tongue sending him wild.

“I need to withdraw,” he somehow managed to say. But he wished he could push her onto her back, cover her body and drive long and hard. “When I do, I need you to touch me.”

She raised herself high enough for him to disengage. “What now?” she said, still straddling his thighs.

“Now,” he breathed.

Estelle gripped his shaft and he covered her hand with his own and showed her how to stroke him. Every muscle in his body tensed. Vane jerked his hips, pushing his cock through her dainty fingers. He came over the soft skin of her palm — so damn hard he almost choked.

His guttural groan drowned out the patter of rain on the carriage roof. He reached into his coat and gave her his handkerchief, watched in awe as she cleaned herself and then looked at him.

The ripples of pleasure still coursed through his body. Their ragged pants filled the air. Estelle leant forward and touched her forehead to his. A deep sense of satisfaction enveloped him, coupled with a feeling of peace he had never known. This was the only place in the world he wanted to be.

A place he was destined to visit.

A place he was determined to remain.