“I will fetch you at seven,” he said. “Behind the house?”
She nodded.
“Until tomorrow,” he murmured.
He bent his head, and her entire being quivered at the hot demand of his kiss. His lips were hard and commanding, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. She sucked eagerly on his offering, and he growled against her lips, thrusting in deeper. A needy pulse started at her core, spreading to the taut tips of her breasts and the aching place between her thighs.
He broke the kiss all too soon.
“Are you wet for me?” he rasped in her ear.
His question made her wetter.
She nodded bashfully.
“Is your little pearl throbbing? Does it want to be stroked?”
When he circled his thumb on her bottom lip, she felt his touch on the place in question.
“Yes,” she sighed.
“Well, you’re not to touch it tonight.”
She blinked at him. Heat scalded her cheeks when she realized that she couldn’t protest his unfair decree without admitting to her furtive bedtime activities. Activities, she thought with squirmy embarrassment, that had started because of him and the feelings he roused in her. Seeing him with Lady Foxton had awakened Livy’s body to a need that had to be assuaged, and she had discovered a temporary and altogether wicked solution.
His slow, knowing smile made her blush even harder. “Christ, you’re a naughty chit. Refrain this eve, and I shall make it worth your while tomorrow.”
She overcame her embarrassment enough to say, “Promise?”
“Promise. Now go back inside, before I debauch you on this balcony.”
“I wouldn’t mind—”
“Go, Livy.”
Reluctantly, she turned to leave, pausing at the door to say, “Sweet dreams, Ben.”
His smile reached his eyes. “If you visit them, they certainly will be.”
Livy floated back to the drawing room in time to see the ending of the magic show. From her vantage point at the back of the packed drawing room, she saw Glory go up and exchange a few words with the handsome magician, who at first looked surprised and then threw back his long braid and laughed.
Livy waited for Glory and the rest of the group to join her.
“Long wait in the retiring room, Livy dear?” the beautiful, russet-haired Duchess of Ranelagh and Somerville asked. “I hope you caught some of the show.”
“I was watching from the back of the room, Your Grace,” Livy said.
“I’ll never understand that trick,” Glory’s papa muttered. “How in the devil did the fellow manage to link and unlinksolidmetal rings?”
“I asked him,” Glory said. “In his native tongue.”
“What did he say, dear?” her mama asked.
“He winked and said, ‘That is the art of the illusion, young miss: to give the audience what they want to see.’”
Livy was waiting at the back of Lady Fayne’s house when Ben’s carriage pulled up the next evening. He handed her up, asking her if she had any trouble getting by the servants. Since she’d pranced out, waving farewell to Mrs. Peabody and the cook, she could truthfully say no. Hawkerhadmuttered, “Duke or no duke, that fellow o’ yours better treat you well, Lady Olivia, or ’e’ll be answering to me,” but Livy knew he only had her interests at heart. Over the weeks, the Angels had discovered that the brawny butler was like a gently boiled egg: hard on the outside and mushy soft at his center.
Sitting beside her, Ben said, “How beautiful you are, Livy.”
