As the words fell heavy in the charged silence, she suppressed a wince. Referring to such a thing had been not only careless, but cruel on her part. Little wonder Clara despaired of ever finding her a suitable match.
His gaze did not waver but remained trained upon her. If anything, the intensity in the luminous depths of his eyes increased. Before she could form a defense, he leaned forward and bracketed her hips in a firm grip, sliding her across the waxed leather of her squab in one swift tug. Their legs tangled, one of his inserted between hers.
She gasped at the suddenness and indecency of the position both. “Lord Harry.”
Another tug from him and her bottom no longer rested on her seat at all but upon his hard thigh. His heat burned through her trousers and drawers, searing flesh that came to life, aching with longing. The instinct to grind herself against that rigid thigh was strong. Perhaps this was why women wearing trousers was frowned upon. She could easily see the temptations the freedom of garments encouraged.
And she was grateful for them.
“There is one way to determine whether or not I am,” he bit out.
She clutched at his arms, intending to push away from him and return to her side of the carriage. But the muscles beneath her fingers were strong, and at this proximity, his scent was even headier, and his eyes were once again fastened upon her mouth as if it were a feast awaiting a starving man.
Instead of protesting, putting the proper amount of distance between them and turning her mind back to her weather observations where it belonged, she slid forward on his thigh. Just one slow movement that drew her even closer. One pass of her throbbing center over him.
“Damnation, Danvers,” he gritted, his hands moving from her hips to her waist, sliding beneath her overcoat and shirt until warm leather caressed bare skin. “Stop moving or we shall both regret what happens next.”
She wet her lips, unable to look away, and wondered if she would truly regret it. “I am not a gentleman,” she said stupidly.
“I am aware,” he growled. “There is nothing manly about you whatsoever. And I’m beginning to think that makes two of us.”
His lips were achingly near to hers now. “Two of us?”
“I am no gentleman either, for if I were, I wouldn’t do this.” His mouth, warm and firm and knowing, claimed hers.
