I’ll meet you there.”
Larkins looked down at the shivering little sod, remembered the value of the letter in the scroll-holder. “Now you listen to me, son-
The boy’s eyes had grown even rounder. He nodded. “I take the scroll-holder and go by the roads to the big church and meet you there.”
“That’s right.” Larkins narrowed his eyes. “And you won’t forget what will happen to your ma if you don’t, will you?”
The boy’s eyes darkened. His jaw trembled, but he clenched it and shook his head side to side. “No, sahib. I won’t forget that. I will find the letter and bring it with all haste.”
“Good. Now you better get back before anyone misses you.”
“Yes, sahib.” Sangay turned and, without looking back, made his way around the stables. Pulling his collar up around his ears, he clutched it closed, then dashed back through a thickening veil of white.
It had started to snow again.
Eventually everyone retired for the night. In the pleasant chamber she’d been given, Deliah held her hands to the cheery fire and gave thanks the day had ended so well.
Straightening, she glanced at the bed, then at Bess, flicking out a nightgown and laying it over a chair. “I’m not sleepy enough for bed yet. I can get out of this gown by myself, and you’ve had a long day, too. You can go.”
Bess grinned. “If you’re sure?”
“Yes.” Deliah waved at the door. “Off with you.”
Bess chuckled, bobbed and went.
Alone, Deliah idly wandered the room, looking at the paintings, at the ornaments on the mantelpiece. Del, she knew, was in a mood. A restless, edgy, and, despite his outward smiles, scowling mood.
She’d felt it, sensed it. She was fairly certain of its cause.
But be damned if she’d apologize for saving his life.
If she hadn’t stepped out onto the carriage step…just the thought of seeing him cut down sent a sensation of pure ice shafting through her.
The coldness spread until she shivered and shook aside her imagined vision. Bending, she held her hands to the fire again.
Once again, she glanced at the bed. Inwardly frowned at her reluctance to get into it.
Eventually she realized it was the afternoon’s incident-the aftermath of it-that was feeding that reluctance.
She hadn’t thought the fight had affected her that deeply. She’d been shocked and frightened at the time, but they’d come through it, more or less unscathed. They’d triumphed, they’d won, albeit it on a restricted canvas.
It was all over now, and all was well.
Yet still she didn’t want to sleep alone in the big bed.
She was eying the pale blue expanse of the coverlet with increasing self-annoyance, when a soft tap on her door had her whirling.
The door opened, and Del looked in. He glanced once around the room, then slipped in and shut the door.
And locked it.
For one instant, Deliah debated whether to take umbrage at his assumption, but decided she couldn’t be that hypocritical. She was far more thankful she wasn’t, it seemed, destined to sleep alone.
Del crossed the room and halted directly before her. He’d dropped his mask. He knew his expression was tending grim, but although her eyes calmly searched his face, she didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. Not even mildly worried.
He let his inner scowl materialize. “You promised to sit in the middle of the carriage and
“And I did. At first.”
“We didn’t put any time limit on your actions. It was understood you would remain where I’d left you until we quit the scene.”
Her eyes narrowed fractionally. “I also understood you didn’t intend to die. Or even allow yourself to be mortally wounded.”
“I didn’t intend-”
“And neither did I.” She met his determination with blatant intransigence. “Is there any point to this?”
“Yes!” If only he could figure out how to state it. He searched her eyes, seeking inspiration. “If you can’t obey orders-”
“There’s really no point in going over this again.”
“-then how can I trust that you’ll remain safe?” He hauled in a breath. “Damn it, woman, I can’t function if I don’t know that you’ll have the good sense to stay out of the action-”
“And just stand by and watch you get killed?” She came up on her toes, all but nose to nose. “Permit me to inform you, Colonel, that that’s only going to happen in your dreams!”
Her eyes blazed into his.
Lips thin, he met her glare for glare.
Without warning, she clamped her palms about his face, muttered, “Shut up!” and kissed him.
As if she wanted to devour him.
He fought to hold aloof, succeeded for two heartbeats. Then he was with her in her ravenous need; he met her, matched her, an equal participant in the greedy exchange.
He told himself he should use it-the moment, her wildness, her wanting. Her wantonness. That if he was wise, he’d wield her desire like a whip, withholding gratification until she promised-
She pressed against him, into him, and his thought processes stuttered. Stopped.
Evaporated.
She wound her arms about his neck, pressed her breasts to his chest, slid her hips, her belly, sinuously over his erection, and he was lost.
Lost to all pretense that he wasn’t as helplessly in thrall to her as, it appeared, she was to him. That he didn’t want her as much, didn’t need her as much, didn’t crave her as desperately as her lips, her mouth, every seductive curve of her body announced she craved him.
Her need was visceral, flagrant and declared. Her wanting was tangible, a giddy purpose scenting the air. Her craving was elemental, a primitive itch that demanded to be scratched.
All she felt resonated within him.
Their kiss was all-consuming, a blatant expression of all that was to come. Her hands slid from his hair to grip his shoulders. She pushed; when he stepped back, she steered. With slow deliberation, she backed him to the bed.
He let her.
Curious to see what her wishes were, he complied when she pressed down on his shoulders; without breaking the kiss, he sank down to sit on the side of the bed.
She came between his widespread thighs. One hand trailed down from shoulder to chest, to waist. To his groin to cup him.
To fondle with intent.
He mentally gritted his teeth and let her play, while he reached around her and found the laces of her gown. Stripping it from her slowly had been his ambition from the first instant he’d seen her in it, in Madame Latour’s salon.
Now he got to, and she allowed him to, realize that ambition. To slowly peel the gold satin from her perfect shoulders, to ease the slinky fabric down, taking her chemise with it, to expose her magnificent breasts.
Then it was his turn to fondle, with educated intent.
Her turn to grow even more heated. Until she moaned and drew back from the kiss. Until her spine bowed and she leaned back in his hands, and he bent his head and set his hot mouth to her flesh.
