“What’s that?” he asked.
“Meet your mother,” she said. “If you’d allow me.”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I would very much want you to meet her. But I don’t think we should talk about her right now.”
“And why is that?” she asked.
“Because I don’t want to be thinking about her while I do what I’m about to do,” he said, letting his hands glide down her shoulders, cup her breast.
She smiled and her pupils dilated with desire. “And what is that?”
He didn’t answer, but dropped to his knees on the carriage floor at her feet. He pushed her skirt, lifting it over her calves, her knees, up to her thighs. She scooted down on the carriage bench, widening her legs to allow him access.
He murmured his approval as he brushed his cheek against her inner thigh. He could already scent her desire and it drove him wild, as did the little gasp of pleasure when his fingers slid up and he teased her sex gently.
“Roarke,” she whispered, the broken sound of it like music to his ears.
He pressed his mouth to her as he spread her open and she lifted to meet his tongue. They danced this dance, as they had before, him tasting and teasing, sucking and licking, her rising and falling in time, gripping one hand in his hair and one along the edge of the carriage seat.
He did not waste a moment—he wanted to make her come, to feel her come, taste her come, to reform whatever bonds had been frayed by their disagreement. She seemed to want the same. She held her gaze on him as he worked at her, whispering and whimpering his name, focused on him as he focused on her.
When she came, it was as magnificent as ever. Her sex rippled and flexed, her cries were loud in the quiet of the small space. He reveled in every moment, every sound, every flavor of her. He memorized each one because they meant so much to him. And he never wanted to forget that, no matter what transpired next.
He couldn’t.
* * *
Flora’s body felt weightless as she came down from the high of Roarke pleasuring her. She’d never thought to do something so wicked in a carriage, practically a public place, but it had been arousing and exciting to watch him go down on his knees for her and match the rolling rhythm of the carriage to bring her to the pinnacle of pleasure.
She tugged his hair gently and drew him to lean up her body. He caged either side of her head with the flat of his palms on the carriage wall and smiled before she kissed him. He tasted of her. Of her need, of her pleasure. He tasted of his own need, unslaked at this point.
She wanted to change that.
“I want you,” she whispered against his mouth. “Inside of me.” His eyes went wide and he stared at her as if he weren’t certain. She wanted to make him certain, so she dropped her hand between them and unfastened the fall front of his trousers. When it fell away, his hard cock pushed free into her hand. She stroked him once, twice. “Please.”
He made a garbled sound at that and cupped her backside with both hands beneath her gown. She buried her head into his neck as he aligned their bodies and took her with one long, smooth stroke. She was so sensitive from her earlier orgasm that every slide of him was heaven. She ground up, rubbing her clitoris against his pelvis every time he fully filled her and soon enough she was on the edge again.
She cupped his cheeks and kissed him deeper, harder as she shattered around him. He gasped against her tongue, her name like a plea and a surrender that took her orgasm to new heights.
And then he was gone, pulling from her to spend against his hand as he cursed until she blushed. He dropped his forehead to hers, and for a little while they just panted together, hands still smoothing along the lines of the other, pleasure still flowing between them like a current.
She never wanted to break that connection, she wanted to stay in this fantasy world forever, bound only by pleasure to his remarkable man.
But they would be in London soon. And she couldn’t truly start her future, whatever that might be, until she resolved her past. Even if that meant putting herself in danger to do so.
CHAPTER21
Flora had felt Roarke’s anxiety before. It had been evident when he told her about the lies he’d used against her, about his relationship to her stepchildren. And again after the attack, when he couldn’t hide his terror on her behalf, even when he was injured.
But now, sitting in Theo’s parlor in London just a short time after their party’s arrival in the city, she felt it pulsing through him like a heartbeat. While she sat on the settee, hands folded in her lap, he paced the room, unable to stay still as he watched the door and waited for the arrival of his mother.
Flora didn’t know what to expect. He’d told her about Mrs. Desmond, of course. And he’d reminded Flora that she was not clear of mind even as they arrived. But now the door to the parlor opened and a small, frail woman was led in by a taller lady with a sweet, kind face.
Flora rose and caught her breath. Theo’s bright green gaze had come from his mother. Seeing his eyes on her face immediately made Flora feel warmly toward her, but she held back in her greeting. She didn’t want to confuse Mrs. Desmond any more than she already seemed to be as she looked around the room, her brow furrowing with concern.
“Where are we, Hilde?” she asked, and Flora’s heart broke as she watched Roarke’s smile fall slightly.
“We’re still in the Duke of Lightmorrow’s home, Mrs. Desmond,” Hilde said with an apologetic look for both Roarke and her. “Remember, he’s so kindly let us stay here the last few days.”
