She sighed, her head tipping back to give him more access.
Finally, he had to break off the kiss. Running his thumb over her plush, kiss-swollen lips, he murmured, “We’d better go.”
Her eyes had that dazed look. The way it took them several moments to come into focus was bloody glorious. He adored the way she lost herself in their passion, the way primness gave way to sensuality. The blush that spread over her cheeks was lovelier than a sunrise. She pulled away, patting her hands over her hair and brushing her somber skirts.
“Yes,” she mumbled. “We ought to—”
“Sweetheart.” He curled a finger under her chin, bringing her flustered gaze to his. “If I had my way, I’d sweep you off to my bed and make love to you all night. My cock is throbbing like the devil, just from the touch of your lips against mine. But your family is waiting, and I don’t wish to cause them worry.”
Her eyes darted to his groin, widening. Even Bond Street tailoring could not hide the prominent bulge of his erection. He was so aroused that he could feel his pre-seed dampening his smalls—damn, from a simple kiss.
She wetted her lips, and the pulsing in his bollocks grew. Then she dazzled him with a smile, his breath catching at the purity of her beauty.
“You’re right, we should go,” she whispered.
He kissed her on her nose, and they proceeded to her cottage without further ado.
Upon their arrival, the front door of the snug stone cottage was flung open before they reached the front step. Glory scampered out, her cinnamon plaits bouncing over her shoulders.
“Hello, Mr. Jones,” she said breathlessly before addressing her mother. “Mama, thank goodness you are home! Aunt Delilah is here.” Her nose scrunched as raised female voices came from inside the house. “Aunt Patty isn’t too pleased about it.”
“Merciful heavens,” Maggie muttered. “How long have they been at it?”
“Aunt Delilah arrived a few minutes ago, and she was in a state,” the girl supplied helpfully.
“She’s always in a state.” Maggie sighed, turning to him. “Thank you for the escort. If you’ll excuse me, I must talk to my sister—”
Before she could finish her sentence, a woman emerged from the cottage. Even in the falling light, Rhys saw that she shared Maggie’s coloring and build. Her features were coarser, however, and her eyes lacked the alluring, tip-tilted shape of Maggie’s. She would still be considered an attractive woman, had her personality not stamped itself upon her face.
Bitter lines bracketed her mouth. Her eyes were squinted with spite, and her application of paint was far from subtle. Her bright pink frock was scanty on top and boasted an excess of ruffles, ribbons, and pleats on the bottom. Juxtaposed against Maggie’s somber dignity, she had the look of cheap wares.
Her gaze landed on Rhys, and her demeanor altered. Coyness smoothed out her peevish lines. He couldn’t say he found it an improvement.
“Well, Maggie, was wondering what was keeping you. Now oi can see for myself.” Her sooted eyelashes fluttered as she held her hand out to him. “Oi don’t believe oi’ve ’ad the pleasure?”
He touched her as briefly as possible. “Rhys Jones, ma’am. I’m a patron of Foley’s.”
“The name’s Delilah Wilson.” She sidled up to him, and in doing so, “accidentally” brushed her breasts against his arm. “Oi be Maggie’s sister…and a widow.”
By Jove, the woman has the manner of a ha’penny whore.
He looked at Maggie, whose cheeks were stained with embarrassment. She avoided his eyes.
“What do you want, Delilah?” she asked in a low voice.
Delilah’s coyness dropped from her like dung from a cow. She whirled to face her sister.
“Oi want you to fix the problem you caused,” she snapped.
“I didn’t cause any problems for you.”
“Oh no?” Delilah slapped her hands on her hips. “Then why is Jeremy setting up camp in my ’ouse? Says ’e needs a place to stay on account o’ ’is ship not coming in the other night.”
Maggie inhaled, clearly trying to hold onto her temper. “That is not my fault. I tried to help him—”
“Clearly you didn’t because now ’is lazy arse is on my settee! Oi ain’t got room for that git!”
Rhys winced. Delilah’s voice scratched over his eardrums like a fork over china.
