Now, there was only Richard, the man who had kissed her, who had protected her, who had revealed a world of vulnerability she had not dared to imagine …
And who now, simply by being near, made her feel fiercely, terrifyingly alive.
Victoria felt her pulse hammering in her chest as Richard leaned closer, the space in the carriage suddenly impossibly small. Every inch of him pressed toward her, heat radiating in a way that made her skin ache. She tried to steady her breathing, tried to reason that this was just the intensity of the evening.
But she knew it was more. So much more.
His gaze caught hers, dark, smoldering, and utterly unrelenting. For a moment, she forgot the dangers outside the carriage, the shadow of Penwike, the careful façade of propriety.
There was only him. Only the way his presence consumed her, the way his nearness made her pulse quicken, and her thoughts scatter.
“Victoria …” His voice was low, raw, every word climbing through her body like fire. “Time … distance … it was supposed to matter. That absence was meant to give me reason. To keep me … unattached. To show the Penwike that you’re not a target he could harm to punish me. And yet … you have undone me.”
Her breath caught. She couldn’t look away, and she didn’t want to. There was something in his eyes, a storm, a hunger, a vulnerability that made her pulse spike.
“I did not leave because I did not care,” he continued, each word deliberate, heavy. “You were always beautiful. But I could not … claim you then. Not really. You were … someone to be kept at arm’s length. Something proper.”
He reached for her face, both hands lifting her jaw, and Victoria gasped softly at the warmth of his touch. His thumbs traced along her skin, firm, grounding, and yet somehow light, teasing. She could feel his intensity in every line of him, every muscle coiled just beneath the surface.
“You must understand … from the very moment I met you, I desired you,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that seemed meant only for her. “I restrained myself because I … because I wanted to honor the line between us. But now … I cannot. You are in my house, in my study, in my thoughts, in my dreams. I wake thinking of you. I sleep thinking of you. You … distract me in ways I cannot stop. Ways I do not want to.”
Victoria’s chest tightened. Every word he spoke set her skin ablaze. She could feel it in her fingertips, in her pulse, in the low hum between them.
Her lips parted slightly. “I … I—” she began, only to falter beneath the weight of his gaze.
“You are everywhere I want to be,” he whispered, leaning closer still, his voice vibrating through her. “I want you against me, Victoria. I want you beneath my hands, beneath my lips. I cannot pretend I do not … cannot stop myself from wanting you.”
Her knees went weak. Every thought, every shred of caution melted into heat and need. She wanted to deny it, to hold herself apart, but the raw intensity in his eyes, the low growl in his voice, made it impossible.
“It’s too dangerous,” he admitted, a shiver in his own words. “But I have no choice … not when you are here. You make it impossible to maintain … control.”
The world had narrowed to him, to the heat of his hands on her face, to the relentless pull between them.
She wanted to warn herself, to remind herself of the feud, of Penwike, of everything else, but she couldn’t.
She wanted him.
She wanted him, and that craving was as overwhelming as the fear.
And then, without another word, he closed the distance completely. His lips pressed to hers, firm, claiming, searing, and Victoria gasped into the kiss.
And in that instant, everything she thought she knew about herself, about propriety, about control … ceased to exist.
Chapter Fifteen
It was a savage and desperate kiss, taking his breath and being. There was nothing in control of it.
Richard’s mouth was demanding and fierce, and he was relieved to feel her willingly give.
She was kissing him back. A woman with limited experience, Victoria was just as relentless, her hands gripping his hair by the nape of his neck. It seemed like they had been carrying a heavy tension throughout these past few weeks. They had shared fear and small, intimate moments while caring for Melody. All of these things they carried exploded into something else—passion.
A guttural sound escaped his mouth, his breath mingling with hers, as they broke the kiss momentarily. His hands moved from her face to her waist, holding her hard against his chest. He could feel her curves through her thin, sapphire gown. His heart hammered in his chest, and he swore that she could hear every beat.
“I cannot think clearly when I am with you, Victoria,” he groaned, before releasing her onto her seat and dropping to his knees on the carriage floor.
Richard remained where he was, kneeling before her, and let himself look at her properly. From this angle, she was all the more striking with her hands braced lightly at her sides, her breath unsteady despite her effort at composure, the faintest color rising in her cheeks.
Desire stirred, hot and hungry. He admired her with the attention she deserved, as though committing her to memory: the way her skirts fell over her knees, the anticipation in her posture, the trust she placed in him simply by allowing him to remain there.
