He should stay.Confront the man she waited for, send him away, keep the little mouse to himself.She was amusing.Had a steel backbone.Was she unwed?
Elixir thoughts.Useless.
Yet he was striding across the room and slipping behind the curtain, letting the darkness swallow him as he curled around her.She squeaked, and the door he could no longer see swooshed open.Footsteps and muffled laughter, as if lips were touching lips as whomever entered laughed.The click of a lock.
As his vision grew used to the curtained dark, he found her staring at him with eyes wide as innocence and glowing gold with anger.He lifted a finger to his lips.Those wide eyes narrowed.If a finger to the lips meantquiet, those narrowed eyes meantfuck right off.He swallowed a laugh, bit the inside of his cheek to keep from doing it again.
He bent low over her until his lips did brush her ear.“Stuck here with me.”The words barely audible.
Her hands fisted in his jacket, and she jerked him down low, her lips brushing against his ear now, her warm breath coasting a shiver down his spine.“You jackanapes!”
He cupped the back of her neck.“Willing to risk discovery with insults?”
“There’s a window,” she hissed, her entire body tight and tense in his light hold.
“Wanna put money on whether it creaks or not when it’s opened?I bet it does, darling.This lot has no money for fixing squeaking windows.”
Her hands were fisting so hard in his jacket, he knew—knew—she’d like to stomp his foot.
She wouldn’t.Wouldn’t risk a yelp, risk discovery.Fiery little mouse, wasn’t she?
“Slow down, Polly!”A woman’s voice, not his companion’s.“You’ve been worthless since the opium.Cock limp as a dead fish.And now whisky?”
“It’s good whisky,” a man said.Polly, presumably.“God, you’re gorgeous, Lissy.No dead fish tonight, no matter how much I’ve smoked.”
“Your bride’s glamour isn’t working.I saw her tonight in the ballroom.She’s pretty, actually.”
“Is she?Hadn’t noticed.”
The little mouse in his arms stiffened.
“Your glamours, Polly…” Lissy was hesitant to say something.“None of them seem to be working right.”
“It takes time,” Polly roared.Silence, then, softer, “You know the talent is unreliable in the first month or two after it’s transferred.A fellow can’t practice the talent until he has it.That’s all this is.”
“As you say, Polly.”
“Think he’s downed the entire bottle?”Temple mumbled, his mouth still close to the lady’s ear.His teeth close to her earlobe.He could give it a little nip, a little tug to see what kind of noise she’d make.When she didn’t answer (not that he wanted an answer), he said, “What’s your name, darling?”his thumb was stroking her neck.He liked holding her close.
She jabbed him in the ribs.
And he liked it.
Didn’t want to like it.Fake.All of this desire coursing through him entirely fake.Like the ton, like the illusions they mastered.Didn’t seem to matter.He wanted to make the brazen little mouse in his arms purr with pleasure.
He nuzzled her neck.
She swatted him away, her scowl more potent than her swing.
“Lissy,” the man on the other side of the curtain said, “I want you.I’ve never wanted you so much as I do now.”
“What?Here?Now?”Lissy seemed pleased, her voice rolling and languid.
“Yes.I’m ravenous for you.”
The sounds of kissing.Wet smacks and grunts and clashing teeth.Moans and pleas and—oh.Damn.That kind of echoing smack usually resulted in a lasting hand imprint on someone’s backside.
The woman in Temple’s arms dropped her forehead against his chest with a groan.
