But nothing had ever felt quite so dangerous as this—this ineffable attraction that sizzled along her skin as if she’d been struck by lightning. As Lord Lockhart towered over her, his broad shoulders blotted out the light, casting her into shadow. A muscle in his jaw flexed, as if his teeth were clenched behind the seam of his lips around some words of chastisement that he could not quite make himself speak. She could smell the faint astringency of liquor that clung to him, knew herself to be spry enough to evade him if she wished to. It would be easy. A simple duck beneath his arm, a pivot, and she would be free.
But she didn’t wish to. Her heart fluttered like a caged bird, and her palms were hot and damp. Any moment now, he was going to kiss her, and she—she wanted to know what it would be like. How far, exactly, he had unraveled from the stern, starchy gentleman he had always presented himself as. How much of hisleash he had slipped. How far she might push him still.
She swiped the tip of her tongue across her lower lip. “You knew what I meant to do at your uncle’s house,” she said. “You can hardly complain of it now.”
His brows lowered, dark slashes over the glacial blue of his eyes. “I don’t want you taking such risks again,” he said. “Is that clear?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No!” Grace unfolded her hands, threw them up in a wild little gesture. “Sometimes, there is risk involved in such things—”
“Notyourrisk. Not on my account.”
“But I wasn’t caught,” she protested. “And what’s more, I was successful. It’s true that I had only a few minutes to be about my business, but—”
“I don’t care that you were successful,” he interjected. “I care that you were nearly caught, and it would have been my fault. That you were forced to climb down a damned tree during a dinner party to escape.”
“It was the safest route to take!”
“It won’t happen again.” His voice had pitched to a guttural tone, rife with agitation. “Or your involvement in this is at an end.”
Her mouth dropped open in shock. “You can’t just—justunilaterallydecide such a thing!”
“I can and I am.” His head dipped. She heard his swift, sharp inhale near her ear. “Your hair smells like jasmine.”
Grace’s heart tripped through a few frantic beats. “I have got a stack of correspondence pilfered from your uncle’s desk,” she said, her voice quavering. “You’ll never get it if”—had he sniffed her hair again?—“if you shut me out.”
“I’ve already proved myself reasonably competent at sleightof hand,” he murmured. “I suppose I might as well add housebreaking to my criminal repertoire.”
Criminal repertoire? Despite herself, a hysterical giggle fluttered in her throat. “You’ll never find them,” she said. “I have hiding places you could never dream of.”
“I’ll just bet you do.” He lifted his free hand, and the tip of his finger traced a burning path across her collarbone. “It doesn’t matter. You’re going to give them to me.”
Had a simple touch ever felt quite so evocative? A shiver slid down her spine as he nudged the shoulder of her wrapper aside. Grace swallowed hard, her mouth gone dry. “I am?”
“Yes. And furthermore, you are going to agree not to take such risks in the future. If anyone’s freedom should be at risk, it must be mine.”
Chill bumps broke out upon her flesh at the sensation of his fingertips grazing her skin as they meandered toward the nape of her neck. Her hair slid through his fingers like silk as he combed it away from her neck, catching up a handful of it in his fist to pull her head back gently. She pursed her dry lips. “Let’s—let’s discuss this rationally.”
A low laugh. “God, no. You could talk circles around me. And half the time, you’re lying.”
Grace gave an offended sniff. “Nothalf. I only—”
“Not tonight.” His cheek scraped hers, the scant growth of beard that had bloomed upon his jaw in the hours since his last shave grazing her skin. “Not tonight, Grace.”
The touch of his lips at the corner of her mouth seared her straight to her soul. Oh, she wasweak—weak enough to turn her face to his, to invite further liberties. Her hands lifted, settling upon the wall of his chest, his bare flesh burning her palms.
“Henry.” She had never called him by his name before. She’d never eventhoughtof him by it. He had always been Lord Lockhart; he of unassailable dignity, of unwarranted felinedisparagement, of stern demeanor and frequent disapproval.
But now, with his fingers in her hair and his lips pressed to hers—hewasHenry. His heart beat beneath the palm of her hand; an escalating pound. He eased closer still, and she felt a tremor ripple through the arm he slid about her waist. She knew well enough the flavor of whisky, and it wasn’t only that she tasted on his tongue.
It was fear. Not that he had nearly watched his claim to his title go up like so much smoke, but fear for her. Probably he didn’t know it, but with one arm about her waist and the other raking through her hair, pressing her back to the wall, he had wrapped himself about her. Not like a cage to keep her prisoner, but like a shield to keep hersafe.
Somehow that realization curled around her heart and squeezed. That his overbearing demand had not come from a lack of faith in her abilities, but instead a place of concern for her welfare.
“I don’t lie half the time,” she murmured as his lips parted from hers at last and blazed a path across her cheek.
