was harder yet to pull back onto that other plane, to deny any expression to what was beating inside them, burgeoning between them, especially when each knew the other felt it, too. That the other wanted just as passionately, just as hungrily.
The need was there in his eyes; the answering tug was very real within her. But they had to play their parts, had to stroll easily, apparently nonchalantly back up the room, returning to take up her usual position near Adriana’s circle, with him by her side.
Tony settled her hand on his sleeve, but didn’t dare leave his hand over hers. He wanted her close, closer than she was; such unsatisfying skin-to-skin contact was almost painful.
Dragging in a breath, he glanced around, unseeing. How he would survive… one thing was certain—no more waltzes. Not until they’d danced to a different tune in a much more private setting.
Not until he’d felt her skin against his, naked body to naked body.
After…he assumed—fervently prayed—that the pressures that seemed to be building inside him, seething volcano-like from somewhere deep within, those emotions he accepted but didn’t wish to examine, would ease. That he wouldn’t feel like snarling when men like Harry Cynster hove near, that he’d be able to waltz with her without remembering… and imagining…
Without wanting to behave like some primitive caveman and toss her over his shoulder, seize her, and cart her away. And…
He had to stop thinking about it, or he’d go mad.
At the end of the ball, he and Geoffrey accompanied the sisters into the front hall. Adriana gave Geoffrey her hand; he bowed over it, whispered something Tony didn’t catch, then took his leave of Alicia, who, distracted, had missed that little interaction entirely. With a nod to him, Geoffrey left.
Alicia turned to him, held out her hand. “Thank you for your company.”
He looked at her, took her hand, and tucked it in his arm. “I’ll escort you home.”
She blinked, but allowed him to draw her close. “You don’t need to do that.”
He looked down at her, then softly stated, “I do.” After a moment, his chest swelled; he looked ahead. “Aside from all else, you’re in my custody.”
She frowned. “I thought you just said that for the benefit of the Watch.”
A footman came to tell them their carriage was waiting. Tony steered her onto the steps, then leaned close, and murmured, “I said it for my benefit, not theirs.”
TWELVE
AFTER THAT COMMENT… ALICIA SPENT THE ENTIRE journey home in a fever of speculation. The waltz had left her nerves, her senses, primed and flickering; rocking over the cobbles in the dark with Tony beside her, his hard thigh riding alongside hers, did nothing to calm them.
Last night—or had it been this morning? Whichever, there was no doubt in her mind that there were no further halts along their road. Yet she hadn’t until now seriously considered, hadn’t asked herself the fateful question.
If it came to that, would she?
If the moment arose and she had the chance, would she take it? Or try to the last to avoid it?
A small voice whispered…how did one avoid the inevitable?
By the time they reached Waverton Street, and he handed her down, she felt as tense as a bowstring. Adriana followed her up the steps. Tony brought up the rear. Maggs opened the door and held it wide; Alicia stepped back and let Adriana precede her. Tony, she noticed, cast comprehensive glances up and down the street as he climbed to the door.
She entered; he followed.
Adriana, no doubt thinking thoughts of Geoffrey Manningham, drifted upstairs without so much as a good night. Uncertain if she should be grateful or irritated, Alicia nodded to Maggs. “Thank you. You may retire. I’ll see his lordship out.”
Maggs bowed and lumbered away.
She watched the green baize door swing shut behind him.
Leaving her alone with the man who would be her lover.
Slowly, she turned… and found herself alone.
Tony had gone. The drawing-room door stood open.
Frowning, she went to the threshold; a dark shadow in the unlighted room, he was standing before the long windows. Puzzled, she went in. “What are you doing?”
“Checking these locks.”
The windows gave onto the narrow area separating the house from the street. “Jenkins checks the locks every night, and I suspect Maggs does, too.”
“Very likely.”
Halting in the middle of the floor, she folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Do you approve?”
“No.” Tony turned from the windows, through the dimness studied her. “But they’ll do.” For now.
Until he could think of some way to improve the defenses he felt compelled to erect about her. He needed to know she was safe. He wanted her his. In the circumstances, satisfaction would—indeed needed to—come in that order.
The reality had come crashing down on him as he’d sat beside her in the carriage and sensed the flickering and skittering of her nerves, her growing agitation. After all she’d been through in the last two days, what woman wouldn’t be on edge?
This was not the time to press his suit, regardless of the strength of their passions. Aside from all else, he hadn’t forgotten her earlier mistake over him expecting her to be grateful. Hadn’t forgotten Ruskin’s diabolical scheme—“gratitude” demanded as payment for protection.
Now
No. He wanted her safe, wanted her to know she was safe, and had no need to thank him further. No need to come to him out of gratitude.
He didn’t want her in that way, didn’t want her to come to him with any complicating emotions between them. He wanted much more from her.
When she came to him, it had to be because she wanted to, because she wanted him as he wanted her.
That simple—that powerful.
To gain all he wanted, to achieve all his goals, that point was critical. He didn’t question why that was so, but knew absolutely that it was.
She was watching him, puzzled, increasingly tense.
He crossed the room to her. She watched him approach, but didn’t move. Either toward him, or away.
Halting in front of her, through the shadows he looked down on her upturned face. Slowly raising both hands, he feathered his fingers along her delicate jaw, then cupped her face, framed it as he tipped it up, bent his head, and set his lips to hers.
She opened to him readily; she kissed him back, not urging him on, yet not denying their mutual hunger. Her hands rose, her soft palms lightly clasping the backs of his, a subtle, accepting, very feminine caress.
For long moments, they stood in the cool dark, their bodies inches apart and, mouths melding, giving and taking, drank each other in.
The distant chiming of a clock broke the silence, reminding him of time passing. Reluctantly, he drew back; equally reluctantly, or so it seemed, she let him.
Lifting his head, he looked into her face, into the soft pools of her eyes. He couldn’t read their expression, but he didn’t need visual cues to know that she was as aware as he, as achingly, tormentingly conscious of the sensual whirlpool that was swirling about them, of the sheer strength of the attraction that had grown into so much more
