Now it was too late: they were en route to the Garritys’ townhouse in Bloomsbury.
Shaking his head, he said, “I don’t know what you hope to discover.”
“Anything is better than nothing,” she said prosaically. “With Alfred on De Witt’s tail, we’re free to investigate other possible hellfire suspects. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open for any clues at Garrity’s.”
She said this as if she were a seasoned investigator.
“Garrity is a dangerous man,” Harry stated. “If he catches you in his home—”
“He won’t recognize me. I’ve only met him once, and it was years ago, when I was just a girl and Grandpapa had taken me to Nightingale’s. At any rate, I doubt Garrity will be home at this time of day. If he is, I’ll just be plain Miss Smith, there to take tea with his wife.”
“And that’sallyou’re to do.” Thank God his sisters would be there to keep an eye on things. Since he’d asked Ambrose to inform them of his mission and the dangers Tessa faced, they would be sure to protect her.
“Lecture received, Professor.”
Tessa’s cheeky manner never failed to stir his amusement. She was the picture of the demure debutante in her fawn silk carriage dress and blonde straw bonnet, but at heart she was a saucy wench…Praise Jesus.
“One day, young miss,” he said, his tone deliberately pedantic, “you’re going to learn that there are consequences for misbehavior.”
“What kind of consequences?”
He snorted. “You’re not supposed to sound excited about getting punished, minx.”
“Well, punishments can be pleasurable, can’t they?” she said knowingly.
He stared at her. “What the devil do you know about that?”
“There was a popular themed room at my father’s club called ‘The Headmaster’s Office.’ I wondered why anyone would find that exciting. Naturally, I had to take a peek.”
“Naturally,” he said dryly.
“It was all very strange. Rods and paddles and whatnot.” She wrinkled her nose. “I asked Pretty Francie about it, and all she would say was something along the lines of,To each his own.”
Once again, Tessa’s fount of knowledge astonished him. It was a hodgepodge, not unlike her friend Doolittle’s pawnshop. She was a veritable storehouse of mismatched facts, half-truths, with a few gems strewn here and there. Being with her was like being on a perpetual treasure hunt: you never knew what jewel you might stumble upon next.
Tessa narrowed her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t want to punish me…would you?”
Case in point. What other woman could he have this insanely improper conversation with? The answer was only the one across from him. A female who had the freshness of an ingénue and the mind of a guttersnipe.
The fact made him want to smile.
“Not with rods and paddles and whatnot,” he said gravely. “But I might enjoy torturing you in other ways.”
“How would you torture me?”
Her breathy voice and rosy cheeks suggested that she wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea. His loins throbbed with heat. Egad, their chat was rapidly turning into foreplay. Which wouldn’t do: they needed to concentrate on the upcoming visit, not to mention that Lizzie and the groom were just out of earshot on the driver’s perch.
Not for the first time, Harry wished that he could have Tessa to himself. That he could take her somewhere secluded, away from the danger and deception and the rest of the world. Where it would just be him and her and nothing between them…
Indulging in the fantasy, just for a moment, he said in a low voice, “I might, for instance, prolong your pleasure by making you wait for it.”
“I don’t like waiting,” she protested.
“Exactly. And if you disobeyed me, I would make you wait longer. I’d kiss you everywhere, but I wouldn’t let you come.” His voice turned husky at the thought. “Not until you asked me nicely.”
Her lips formed a silent “o.” The same shape they’d taken when they’d circled his cock. When she’d given him the most intense climax of his life, turning him inside out with pleasure. He’d never known a more generous lover and not just in bed. Tessa accepted him, never asked for more than he could give, and, by God, it made him want to give her everything.
Unfortunately, the carriage was slowing, and as much as he wanted to continue the conversation—or, indeed, turn talk into action—this was neither the time nor the place.
