Chapter 19
He halted, his hand tight around the banister.
“You have been crying.”
“What are you doing here? Go away.” She did not plan the words. Apparently they surprised him as much as her; his eyes widened.
“Go back inside the parlor.” He advanced up the steps.
“Stop giving me orders. You have no right to.”
“I damned well do.” He came to her and grasped her arm.
“No you don’t. And stop cursing at me too. You are a cretin after all.”
“I am not cursing at you. Not precisely.” He snatched the missive from her hand. “You should not have written this.”
“I did not—”
“Milady?” The footman peered up at her from the foyer below.
“I am fine, John. Who admitted Lord Blackwood?”
“The door was wide open,” the earl snapped.
“And you sauntered in uninvited?
“Your servants should be horsewhipped for leaving you vulnerable to intruders.”
“We are moving the household down the street. There is a great deal of coming and going. Anyway I thought Mr. Grimm was taking care of the intruders.”
“Go into the parlor,” he ground out.
“John, please see that the front door is properly closed,” she called down. “I will not require tea.
Lord Blackwood will not be remaining long.” She pulled from his hold and went into the parlor and across the chamber, away from him. He shut the door, then moved to the door adjoining the drawing room and closed that as well.
Kitty shook her head. “What are you doing? Don’t. Open them up at once.” When he came toward her she thrust out her palm. “Stop. Do not come any closer.”
But he did, not allowing her the distance she needed from his body, his strength and intensity. He set the letter on the table, his brow severe.
“What did you write?” he demanded.
“You will read it eventually. Why don’t you just wait to find out when Lord Gray gives it to you?
It will heighten the anticipation to be frustrated now, don’t you think? That tactic worked so nicely for us in Shropshire, after all.”
He grasped her shoulders, bringing them close, and God help her, she welcomed even so unloverlike a touch.
His gaze scanned her face, his eyes peculiarly bright. “Kitty, this is no game.”
“How can you say that to me? To
“I cannot allow you to be hurt.”
“I understand that. But you must at least be relieved that your enemy chose to threaten me rather than one of your innocent family members. After all, I consorted with a villain for years. I am well able to—”
“You take my breath away,” he whispered.
She gaped, and melted. He seemed to drink in her features with his dark eyes. He lifted a hand and curved it around her cheek. Then his other hand. He sank his fingers into her hair and his grip tightened.
“I will not allow him to come close to you again.” His voice was hard, hinting at violence.
“Who—who are we talking about? The shooter, Lord Gray, or—”
“You speak and I hear nothing else. You move and I cannot look away,” he said roughly. “It seems I cannot resist you.” He bent and brushed his lips across the corner of her mouth. She sucked in air, trembling toward him.
“But you are trying to resist?” she barely managed.
“I am failing.” His hands holding her were warm, certain.
“Tell me that you did not know of their suspicions of Lord Chamberlayne before, in Shropshire.
Tell me so that I can believe you. Please, Leam.”
“I knew of your glance and your smile, your words and the touch of your hand, and nothing else.
Your very existence mesmerizes me, Kitty Savege. It has since the moment I first saw you three years ago. Is that sufficient to convince you?”
“P-perha—” He captured her lips, openmouthed. She wound her arms about his neck and let him pull her close, closer until their bodies met everywhere and the relief of touching him again filled her. His palms moved down her back, then over her behind, grabbing her up. She let herself touch him, to revel in the strong planes of his face, his shoulders and hard arms, and the pleasure of it. She could lose herself in his kiss and never wish to be found again. She was on the verge of allowing that to happen.
She already had. She was lost.
He sought her jaw with his mouth, the tender place beneath her ear.
“I have not ceased thinking of you,” he uttered. “Not an hour has gone by that I have not recalled the music of your voice, the perfume of your skin, or the pleasure of being inside you.”
“You left Willows Hall abruptly. I thought you despised me for wanting you. Yet now you say this.
And you kiss me. I cannot think.”
“You did not tell me the truth, did you?” His mouth pressed against her hair, his voice low. “It was only Poole, wasn’t it? Why did you wish me to believe otherwise?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “I wanted you to be certain of my inability to conceive. What did it matter if I’d had one or a hundred lovers?”
“What did he do to you, Kitty?”
“What drove me to seek revenge on him? Nothing,” she whispered. “He did nothing.” She had done it to herself, nursing her hurt into vengeance. She understood that now.
His breathing seemed uneven. “He must have.”
“You needn’t worry, Leam. I will not come after you when we are through with one another. One man’s ruination suffices for me this lifetime.”
“Kitty, do not speak such words. Do not.” His big hands bracketed her hips and slid up her waist, in command of her body as though it were his to do with as he wished. He spoke against her cheek. “I do not wish to be through with one another.”
“Not yet. But—” His mouth found hers. She twined her fingers in his hair and let him kiss her as though they never would be through with one another.
He drew away, his hand again circling her face, thumb caressing her lips as he had done before.
“I must see to a matter now.” His gaze moved across her features, then to her eyes. “Promise me you will not do what Gray has asked of you.”
“Why not?”
“Because it does not become your soul to muddle in such pretense. Leave it to those whose souls are already blackened.” He touched his lips to hers gently, tenderly, then more fully. “I must go,” he whispered against her mouth, then released her and stepped back. He took a deep breath.
“Will you return?” Kitty bit her lip, but the words had already tripped out.
He smiled. “Is the ban on my entrance into this house lifted, then?”
She wanted to ask him if it should be. If he returned, did it mean that he was returning with sincere intentions?
“Perhaps we should leave it open to interpretation,” she said instead.
He nodded, bowed, and went out. This time when Kitty sank down upon a chair, jelly-legged and weak, she did not cry. She hoped.
London never quieted, not even in the drenching cold of a February rain. Leam worked his way through carriages and carts and pedestrians, through puddles and across sparkling roads rising with the stench of a city awash in busy commerce, intent upon his destination.
