“I had a few sips of wine, but I still couldn’t sleep,” she said, twisting the folds of the nightgown in her hands until it pulled taut over her breasts, and his cock stirred. “I keep seeing Robbie’s face. The man who warned me. And…the cart that accidentally ran him down.”
He snorted. “Yes. Accidentally.”
“You don’t think it was?”
“Don’t be a fool,” he snapped, angry at her naivety, furious at himself again for the wayward direction of his thoughts and the unwanted reaction of his body. “There is a mystery cloaking your father’s death, and a great many people are striving to ensure it stays unsolved. To the point of wishing you ill as well.”
“The men with the weapons Lucas mentioned…they were waiting for me, weren’t they?”
“Quite possibly,” he said bluntly, perching on the corner of his desk to halt the ridiculous pacing. “To what end, I’m not sure. Perhaps they merely wish to examine you, find out what you know.”
Her shuddering gasp was overloud, even against the crackle and spit of the fire and the storm raging outside. “Then I’ve placed you and Lucas in terrible danger. If they know you helped me today—”
“They know. Every other Londoner is secretly in someone’s service. Always assume your enemy is swifter and smarter and progress from there.”
“Brand,” she said softly, hurrying forward.
Hell. Her unfettered breasts were bobbing under the nightgown with the movement. How easy it would be to undo the narrow ties, to shove the garment from her shoulders and kiss and suck her nipples until she arched her back and begged for more. What color might they be? Palest pink? Dark rose? A dusky brown?
Draining his goblet, he held up an unsteady hand. “Don’t. Just go back upstairs, Catherine. Now. Sleep is imperative, we may need to leave before dawn.”
She ignored the order, stepping closer and closer until he could smell the lemon scent of her hair, see the wild pulse beating in her throat. Then soft fingers closed around his arm and a jolt of heat tore through him.
“Please don’t drink anymore. Please.”
“Oh, you’re my conscience now? My confessor, perhaps? Forgive me, Saint Catherine, for I am beyond redemption.”
“Brand.”
“Just leave!”
But she stood her ground, cheeks red yet chin raised defiantly. “Y-you are not my father. And I’m not l-leaving until you explain that kiss in the alley.”
“A ruse to fool the guards. Nothing more.”
“So you don’t wish to kiss me again?”
His cock surged at the thought of that and so much more. No. He couldn’t. She was Arthur’s only child. His friend’s precious daughter. A pure, gentle virgin, the last woman in the world for the likes of him.
“I do not. Now go to bed like a good girl.”
Catherine tilted her head and regarded him for a long moment.
“All right,” she whispered, and he almost groaned in relief.
Until she went up on her toes and leaned in to brush her lips against his cheek. The first was swift, like greeting a friend. The second time her mouth lingered, opening slightly and releasing a tiny puff of warm air against his jaw.
Brand stilled. “If you play with fire, you will get burned. I’m not a green boy. I’m not a damned courtier to stop at honeyed words, poems, and hot looks while dancing. And I’m certainly no gentleman. I’m a bastard, Catherine. In every sense—my mother was never married to my father. I have no honor to uphold. Arthur was the angel on my shoulder, and he is gone. Stay here and I will spread you across that desk and take you again and again for my own base pleasure because that is what I am. Darkness. Dangerous. If you value your maidenhead, go from here now.”
She stared at him, her eyes huge sapphire pools. “I know well you are no boy. And our parents’ faults are not our own. But no gentleman? You showed me kindness when others walked by. No honor? You rescued me from those who meant to take me prisoner or worse. Our Lord blessed—”
“God? God had nothing to do with it. I owed your father,” he said angrily, unable to bear the trust and affection in her gaze, the slight flush in her cheeks that spoke of a fledgling desire newly recognized. Damned foolish woman. Why didn’t she run?
“Perhaps. But I am in your home. There are many other places. To end the obligation, to be free, you only needed to send me away.”
“I will,” he bit out, turning his head away from her, at the limit of his control. “Tomorrow. To some high-ranking, sober Catholic courtier, born in wedlock, inclined to marry, and not averse to a learned female. And I won’t look back. Ever.”
Instead of fleeing, either in temper or sorrow, she ran a tentative finger along his stubbled jaw. “Tis true, I can read and write. But would such a perfect husband be wholly content with that, or might he want more? For in the alley today you taught me how little I know of passion.”
His control shattered entirely.
One hand jerked up, clamping around Catherine’s wrist and pushing it behind her, forcing her closer and at the same time, arching her back. The other slid along the side of her face until his fingers tangled in the curls behind her ear and his thumb could drag across her lower lip. Back and forth until the flesh darkened and plumped, ready for the nip of his teeth and a soothing lick of his tongue.
He wasn’t gentle, couldn’t be, too inflamed by the feel and taste of her faintly wine-scented mouth as he crushed her lips under his, spurred on by her ragged gasps. But soon it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough for the ravenous need that coursed through his body and hardened his cock to the point of pain.
Never losing contact with her mouth, Brand shifted both hands to her waist, bunching up her nightgown and setting her on top
