surrendered.
Let him have her as he would.
Let him lift her, then slowly impale her again, let him battle desire and need to drag the moments out, to savor her body in all its feminine glory freely yielded.
In that instant she made him hers again, totally captured his soul again, for as her green-gold eyes, heavy- lidded with passion, met his, there were no barriers, no shields, no screen to veil the reality that shone in their depths.
He held her steady and rocked into her; her lids fell and he thrust again, deeper, filling her completely.
Thrust again and felt the mouth of her womb.
Felt it and her sheath contract, felt the ripples of her release caress his entire length, held his breath, tried to rein in his galloping heart to cling to the moment for just an instant more, but she pulled him over, took him with her.
They shattered together, tumbling headlong into the abyss of satiation.
Warmth surrounded him as it never had with any other woman. Her warmth, her fire, her passion.
All he’d craved for the last twelve years, and she was in his arms once more.
He slumped back against the desk, holding her in his arms, unable to move, too sated to care.
Letitia eventually stirred. She could, she knew, grow seriously addicted to the feeling of golden pleasure, the inevitable sensation of aftermath she always experienced with him, flowing like sweet honey through her veins.
Such an addiction would not be wise.
But she didn’t see any harm in gorging on what he freely offered.
Of course, he’d thought he would get answers to his questions by reducing her to mindless, quivering need. So she’d given him answers, much good would they do him.
She should be furious, but the revelation that she could, if she wished, sweep
Indeed, as she wriggled and he obliged and, moving very carefully, disengaged and set her on her feet, she couldn’t help feeling a trifle smug.
Unfortunately, her limbs were still too exhausted-wrung out and boneless-to support her; she wobbled, but he grabbed her, gathered her in and settled her against him. Feeling strangely like purring, she nestled against him and let contentment claim her.
Let her mind assess where they now were, and what she should say, how she should go on.
Eventually, summoning every ounce of censure she could lay her tongue to, she coolly informed him, “Your inquisitorial methods did not impress. Don’t try to question me like that again. And just to make sure we’re quite clear on the matter, there will be no more payments of any sort until you find Justin.”
She paused, thought, then frowned. “Incidentally, in light of the down payments and incentives you’ve already received, have you learned anything yet?”
Christian inwardly sighed. With one hand he absentmindedly readjusted his clothing while he told her about Tristan and their inquiries. “Tristan called around this afternoon.” He glanced at her face as he said, “Did you know your brother is no longer-indeed, may never have been-the profligate rake he’s purported to be?”
She frowned in quite genuine puzzlement. “No.” She met his eyes. “What have you-or your friend-heard?”
“It appears that, sometime since coming on the town, or thereabouts, Justin has…turned over an unexpected leaf. He’s in reality highly circumspect in his associations, and conservative to a fault, especially with money.”
Because he was watching, Christian saw the comprehension flare in her eyes-at the mention of money. But the Vaux were wealthy, always had been. They were major landowners, in similar circumstances to himself. “It appears,” he continued, “that with Justin there’s no gambling, that he’s not the least interested in frittering away his patrimony as the bulk of his peers are. Admittedly none of his friends couch it in miserly terms, but rather that he simply isn’t interested in losing large wads of cash, and they can’t recall that he ever was. He also seems to have developed a monkish attitude to women, not complete abstinence but…”
Still studying her face, he summed up Tristan’s and his own findings. “Justin seems to have taken a very mature line from a relatively early age. As if something happened that shocked him to his senses much earlier than is the norm.”
She reacted to his guess that there’d been something-some event she knew of-that had affected her brother as he’d described; he saw speculation light her eyes.
Equally saw her expression close as she shuttered herself against him.
Shutting him out, despite what they’d just shared.
Despite the fact he was searching for Justin.
He caught her gaze, asked anyway. “Do you have any idea what happened to make Justin…so different from what one might expect?”
She looked at him and baldly stated, “No.” She was lying, and knew he knew she was.
Before he could say anything more, she drew back out of his arms, shook her skirts into place, then, buttoning up her bodice, calmly walked away from him.
Toward the door.
She spoke as she walked, facing away from him. “I’m sure you know your way out by now. Do lock the door behind you.”
His lips thinned. “Letitia.” He waited until she paused, but she didn’t look back. “Whatever you and Hermione do, don’t forget about Barton.”
“He’s still out there?”
“Yes. I spotted him when I came in.”
“He’s obsessed.”
“Very possibly. Catching Justin would help his career.”
She hesitated, then inclined her head, still without looking back. “I’ll bear that in mind-and warn Hermione.” She proceeded to the door. Opening it, she went through; turning, she looked back at him as she reached for the doorknob. Met his eyes across the room. “Good night.” Her lips curved slightly. “Sleep well.”
He narrowed his eyes on the door as, quietly, she shut it.
Dealing with the Vaux had never been a simple matter.
Throughout the next day, Christian devoted himself to finding Justin Vaux, and tried his damnedest to keep his thoughts from Justin’s infuriating sister. Infuriating, and enthralling.
The following morning he set off for South Audley Street early. Reaching Randall’s door, he strode past it, then crossed the street to where he’d spied the top of Barton’s head; the man had ducked into the area beside a house’s steps to avoid his gaze as he’d scanned the street.
Halting on the street above the crouching runner, who’d taken refuge on the steps leading to the house’s basement, he mildly inquired, “If I might ask, what do you think you’re doing?”
A moment ticked past, then Barton heaved a put-upon sigh and stood. He had to look up to meet Christian’s eyes. “I’m keeping a close watch on the deceased’s house. On the scene of the crime.”
Christian studied the unprepossessing man. “And by doing so you hope to achieve…what?”
Barton tried his best to look superior. “It’s a well-known fact among us runners that, more often than not, the murderer returns to the scene of the crime.”
“You believe that?”
“Indeed, m’lord. You’d be surprised how many villains we catch simply by being patient and keeping a solid watch.” Barton eyed him a touch suspiciously. “’Specially in the night hours. People tend to think no one will recognize them in the dark.”
Christian held the man’s gaze and let his brows slowly rise. “Is that so? Well in that case, as to Randall’s house, you can expect to see me coming and going rather a lot-in the nighttime as well as during the day.”
“Be that as it may, m’lord, we haven’t figured you for this crime.”
“No, but one might imagine my presence in the house might deter the villain.”
Barton frowned. “No saying what villains will do, but the way I see it, chances are Lord Justin Vaux will try to speak with his sisters. I plan to be here when he comes calling.”
Recognizing that nothing was likely to dissuade the runner from continuing his watch, Christian wished him luck
