“And here I worried you didn’t like me.” Her words came out broken, stumbling over halting gasps.
“I like you,” he assured her. “See how much?”
She kissed him deeply as he focused all his attention on bringing her to climax. It wasn’t difficult. She was eager for him, and after another moment she cried out (a touch more loudly than was prudent), bucking against his hand until her pleasure had passed and left her shaking in its wake.
Lyman slid his fingers free and gently settled her skirts back into place.
“You should hurry back inside,” he said. “Someone might come to see what that noise was.”
She laughed, the sound as pure and joyful as birdsong. “I’m sorry. I tried to be quiet. But what about you?” Della glanced at the bulge in his trousers, a smile teasing her lips. “Don’t you want to continue?”
Yes. More than I want air.
Lyman shook his head. “Not now.”
He didn’t know why he refused when he’d been so excited only a moment before, except that a sudden foreboding had crept over him. A premotion that, if he should take his own pleasure instead ofmerely giving it, he might hurt Miss Danby.
She was happy with him now. She thought him attractive and considerate, and she was grateful for a successful evening.
Let it end this way, before he could ruin things.
“Next time then,” she promised. What possibility lived in those words. “Why don’t you come by the house tomorrow? I know we said we’d cancel our meeting, but I’d love to see you again. Maybe I can find some way to get rid of Annabelle.”
“All right.”
“Or…” She took three steps backwards, her eyes still warming Lyman with their heat, then stopped short of the entrance to the alleyway.
She pointed up.
“Do you see that window?”
It was almost impossible to make out anything in these shadows, but he could almost detect the glint of a reflection on glass, one story above them.
“I think so.”
“That’s my room. I’ll leave it open tomorrow night, if you’d rather continue this in a more private setting.”
How in the hell he was supposed to climb to the second story without the aid of a ladder, Lyman didn’t know. Was there a trellis around here somewhere? Never mind; he would think of something.
“Aren’t you worried we might be discovered?”
“My parents are never at home and the servants are well compensated for their continued ignorance. As for Annabelle, I’ll handle her.”
With that, Della blew him a kiss and disappeared from sight, leaving only the empty frame of the gate before him.
Eight
Della opened the door, deposited her cloak, and tiptoed up the stairs without taking in any of it. She felt as if she were drunk, though Lord Ashton had been telling the truth when he’d said those sherry cobblers didn’t have much kick to them. No, Della was drunk on victory—a far sweeter refreshment.
She had driven away her nemesis, the stern-faced aristocrat who underestimated her at every turn and never gave fair consideration to her efforts.Hewas the one who’d refused to put her club in his book and scoffed at the idea that she could write one herself. And now Della had replaced him with a slightly less stern-faced aristocrat who kissed her as sinfully as the devil himself.
What a fantastic trade!
She hadn’t expected Ashton to be a good kisser. She’d mostly wanted to do it because she found him so handsome (even though sheknewhandsome men were often the worst kissers, as they tended to be selfish), or perhaps it had only been to see if he would finally warm to her. But that hadn’t been warm, it had been…feverish. The way he’d touched her and the things he’d said to her!Thiswas a manshe could believe had visited all the places in his books, a man who knew how to live.
This version of the viscount would be a pleasure to work with. He wouldn’t sigh and run his hands through his hair at the suggestion that they each write their own introduction. He would smile and say, “That’s a capital idea, Della. How thoughtful of you to have found a compromise for us.”
She opened the door to her room and floated inside. They were going to get along so much better now that—
