He kissed her hungrily. Not the hurried, first-time kiss they’d shared in the Tower, but a melding of souls. A vivid reminder of what he was not going to be allowed to keep.
She tasted like berries, but sweeter than any pie. Made all the more tempting by being a forbidden treat. He wanted to taste her everywhere. To kiss every inch of her skin. Wanted to lick deep within her, to sup on her until she exploded in pleasure around him.
But the lines she’d drawn were clear. This was temporary. Nearly three more weeks. Very well, then. He would take as much advantage as he could. Would let her take advantage of anything she wished.
Hehad no demarcation lines from which she must keep her distance. No more walls to break down. His only hope was to let her see everything that he was. If she liked what she saw, perhaps the rules would change.
And if he wasn’t enough…Well.
At least his memories of her would be full of kisses like this one.
23
The intelligence album Graham was compiling for the Home Office was almost complete. He had not made any notes for Kunigunde, though his brother’s framing of the idea was tempting.
“Poetry,” Graham muttered as he affixed Tommy’s copy of another of her maps. “Bloody Jacob and his bloodypoetrythat he never lets anyone read.”
Graham had taken to working on his compilation before dawn, by the light of two large candelabra, while everyone else was still asleep. He needed the large table in the sitting room to spread out all his supplies and documents.
Kunigunde did not see a future between them. But maybe, when he proved himself useful to British royals, he could become a viable suitor for a certain Balcovian not-princess. And make their romance a little less temporary.
At least Kunigunde liked kissing him.
In the week since their intimate afternoon snack of halfpenny pies, they couldn’t pass each other in the corridor without falling into each other’s arms for a passionate embrace. A position Graham could never have enough of. His stomach clenched in trepidation.
The more time they spent in each other’s arms, the harder it would become to let go.
He pushed the thought away. Well over a fortnight remained before her royal ship set sail back to Balcovia. A lot could happen in eighteen days.
Such as, whatever Kunigunde and Marjorie were up to.
Kunigunde often took Elizabeth with her on scouting expeditions, but with Elizabeth, one knew exactly what to expect. Mayhem, generally, but predictable mayhem.
Now that Kunigunde and Elizabeth had made post-reconnaissance strolls along Bond Street part of their routine, witnesses reported that bosky university loungers scattered on sight—if they dared put in an appearance at all.
But with Marjorie…One never knew with Marjorie. She could be quiet for days, until she wasn’t. Or sequestered up in her studio for weeks, until she wasn’t. Or seem a perfect angel for months, until you discovered she’d spent that time learning how to forge monarchs’ signatures and seals from twelve different countries.
Graham pushed up his shirtsleeves, then turned to a blank page in the album. The maps were affixed with corner mounts so that they could be easily removed for study, but he pasted down a few other bits and bobs. Then he moved the album-in-progress to a spot atop the tallest bookcase to dry and set about cleaning up all evidence of his project.
When the salon had returned to its usual state, he glanced at the clock. The kitchen would begin breakfast preparations soon. There was time to style his hair and change into an unwrinkled frock coat before meeting Kunigunde in the dining room.
He hurried toward the stairs, but paused when he reached the entryway.
Kunigunde was descending the staircase, carrying what appeared to be a book wrapped in cloth. Normally, Graham would have immediately set to unraveling the mystery of the strange parcel, but whenever he was in the same room as Kunigunde, his mind emptied of everything but her.
She was dressed in a gorgeous, flowing morning gown. An overskirt of sheer white mesh set off the rich brown of her soft skin perfectly and allowed for tantalizing glimpses of a formfitting underdress in that brilliant pinkish-purple Balcovian amaranth color Marjorie loved so much.
The bodice sported a delightful flounce of lace, though he could only spy a sliver of it. An unbuttoned, taupe spencer covered her arms and upper torso. Likely concealing not just her lovely bosom, but a collection of freshly sharpened throwing knives to allow convenient access.
If only the blades were the greatest danger. It was her kisses that drugged him and her goodbye that would cause lasting damage to his heart.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, he took Kunigunde’s free hand and pulled her into the closest room in the empty wing.
“You look ravishing,” he murmured.
Her black eyes twinkled up at him. “Are you sure you don’t mean, ‘I want to ravish you’?”
“I mean both things. Get over here.” He hauled her against his chest.
