Plus, now that the excitement of the evening was done, she was feeling uneasy. His concerns for her future were real, and she could not deny that she did indeed court disaster. So she kept him near because he made her feel safe. And that made him very attractive.
“Very well,” she said, trying to give in with grace. “This way.”
He followed her closely, his large presence thrilling her more than it should. The sheer power in his body made her own respond. He was exquisitely male. She even slowed her steps to stay close to him.
That was new. She couldn’t remember doing such a thing before. Not even with a Scotsman since her earliest explorations when she was twelve.
When she finally stopped beside the dark doorway, he was nearly atop her, but he didn’t move back. He leaned against the wall, his eyes sparking in the moonlight.
“Why aren’t you afraid of me?”
“You will not hurt me.”
“I won’t,” he agreed. “But how can you know that?”
Because his every action from the first moment they’d met was to protect her? Certainly, he’d gone about it the wrong way, but she could tell his intentions were honorable.
It was her own that were not.
After all, in her first season, she’d accepted the fact that she would be no man’s wife. And he’d all but stated that she was not an acceptable role model for his daughters. So there was no harm in lingering here in the moonlight. In looking into his eyes and smiling as she appreciated all the ways her body responded to his.
It was madness, but her breasts were heavy and her belly liquid. Her lips were dry, and she moistened them as she thought of having his mouth on hers. They were deep in the shadows. No one would see, no one would know if she allowed a kiss or three. A taste of what she would never have as a spinster.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.
“Why aren’t you looking at me like that?”
She meant, why hadn’t he touched her the way she was aching to be touched? Why hadn’t he moved to kiss her, the way every man in London had tried at one time or another? She was a Scotswoman and therefore deemed fair game for nearly every man she met…except this one.
And so she looked at him with all the yearning in her heart. She wanted his touch, and so much more.
She heard him suck in a breath, then shake his head as if struck dumb. But at long last, he touched her, stroking a single finger along her cheek.
“You are a contradiction. I would have sworn you’d cut me off at the knees if I’d tried anything.”
More like kneed him in the balls, but he hadn’t tried anything. He hadn’t done anything, and so—perverse creature that she was—she wanted it with an ache that was unbearable.
“One kiss,” she whispered. “Please.”
“One kiss,” he echoed, as if speaking to himself. “One roguish act for a man who has worked excruciatingly hard to remain above reproach.”
She smiled. “Yes.”
He mirrored her expression. “Yes.”
And so he kissed her, moving slowly against her lips, teasing his tongue along the seam, and slipping inside as if stealing something she was giving freely. She opened for him, loving the thrust of his tongue and the way he teased the roof of her mouth. Their tongues dueled as her body came alive.
Such fire he stoked inside her. Her blood pumped, her skin heated, and the moment she thought about his hands on her breasts, they were there. She was no ignorant English miss. She knew what men and women did together.
But never had it felt like this. His hands on her breasts, squeezing them as he pinched her nipples. Such large hands, fitting her perfectly, and yet it was not enough.
She felt his organ between her thighs, thick, hard, and hot. She wanted it inside her. She wanted to feel him penetrate her.
She did not hear the banshee wail at first. Who thought of such things in tame London? Banshees were a thing of Scotland, and it had no business here. And yet, the wail grew. Louder and louder, until it vibrated in the air around them.
Lord Heath did not hear it. He continued to kiss her, and she wanted to enjoy it. She loved what he did to her skin, her breasts, and between her thighs. But the wail, the pure shriek of evil consumed her until she dropped to her knees and screamed in agony at the sound.
Lord Heath did not understand. How could he when the thing was of Scotland? But didn’t he have ears? She looked at his confounded expression, but soon her gaze focused on the thing.
