Honora raised a brow. “I thought viewing the exhibit was a matter of some urgency, my lord. Won’t this route take much longer?”
He slid across the aisle, tossing his cane on the seat he’d just vacated. “Christ, I hope so.” He trailed his fingers along her jaw, stopping to skim her lips before bending his mouth to hers.
A soft sound came from Honora’s throat as she wrapped her arms firmly about his shoulders. His tongue rasped against hers, mouth urgent and hot; he kissed her as if he hadn’t seen her in three years, not a mere three days.
Southwell pulled her into his lap.
The play of his mouth against hers became deeper. Lush. He feasted on her lips as the carriage rocked and swayed through the park. A small groan left him as she wiggled, intentionally, against the pulsing heat beneath her. She slid her hands inside his coat to caress the hard muscles of his stomach.
“Don’t do that,” he growled, taking his mouth from hers. “Else I’ll take you here, in this carriage. You’ll miss all the lovely mummies. And bloody pottery. Or a sarcophagus.”
“Well, that changes everything.” She tried to push herself off his lap. “The mere mention of a sarcophagus immediately cools my ardor.”
“No. Stay.” His arms tightened their grip as he pressed a kiss to her temple. “Just try not to bounce around so much. It’s sheer torture.”
Honora sighed, placing her head on his shoulder. She threaded her fingers through the thick sable hair brushing his shoulders. “Your hair is unfashionably long, my lord. It suits you.”
Another low rumble came from his chest.
When they finally arrived and exited the carriage, Southwell escorted her inside. He stopped before an unimportant-looking side door and knocked. The door opened to reveal an older gentleman, who bowed low to Southwell and nodded politely to Honora before gesturing for them to follow him down a deserted hall.
This part of the museum was empty. Quiet. Their footsteps echoed on the marble floors until they reached a set of double doors. Taking a key from his pocket, the gentleman, whose name was Mr. Filbert, opened the door.
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, my lord, but please no touching,” Filbert said before handing Southwell the key.
“Of course, Filbert. I’ll keep my hands to myself.” Southwell winked at her. “That doesn’t include you, madam.”
Filbert looked scandalized but nodded politely and left them to explore the cavernous area, filled with all sorts of antiquities, themselves.
Honora sneezed at the dust still lingering in the air. “When did you say this will be open to the public?” She waved her hand. “I don’t believe the cleaning crew has been through, Gideon.”
“Tomorrow. But everything is set. The artifacts are marked with tiny cards.” He pointed out one such note before a small case of glass beads. “We can read them as we go along.”
Southwell seemed not to need the cards. He paused at each display, whispering to Honora everything he knew about whatever relic was there, which was quite a lot.
“Have you been involved in this exhibit? You’re very informed.”
He shrugged. “Come look at this mummy.”
The Earl of Southwell was the only person Honora could imagine who could make embalming sound wicked. Or a set of hieroglyphics. Each time he murmured a fact to her, he took the opportunity to touch the tip of his tongue to her neck. Or nip the lobe of her ear. Or press a kiss to the pulse beating in her throat.
Honora was aroused before they even arrived at the sarcophagus.
In her opinion, Southwell was a gifted speaker. A mapmaker. An explorer of distant places and cultures. But after an impassioned recitation on the pharaohs of the Eighteenth Dynasty, Honora realized he was also a scholar. He would never be solely content merely haunting London’s gentlemen’s clubs to play cards or discuss horses and mistresses.
Not once in the nearly three hours they spent discussing, coughing at the dust, and observing did Southwell ever treat Honora with a hint of condescension. He delighted in her curiosity. Encouraged her to follow her interests. Debated historical facts with her, never once deriding her opinion.
Honora’s heart stretched forcefully in his direction, reaching for Southwell and no other.
“Thank you for this, Gideon.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “You’re welcome. There is a café nearby if you’d care to stop before I return you home.”
She nodded and took his arm. “That would be lovely.”
They left the exhibit and went back to the main hall, which was now filling with all manner of people. She was giggling over a story Southwell was relating to her about a large cricket he had found inside his trousers while sleeping in the desert.
Abruptly Southwell halted and pulled her behind him. He gripped the cane tightly in one hand.
