If it weren’t dark in the carriage, he would see her cheeks glowing bright pink again. She glanced at Penny, practically forgotten, snoozing in the corner, and back at Lord Burnley.
Clearly, something about her maid curled up like a dormouse struck them both as funny, and they grinned at each other and lapsed into silence once more. Adelia could scarcely comprehend how her existence had changed so much in a week. Ever since fainting, it was as if she’d awakened into another woman’s life.
And she rather liked it! More so when Lord Burnley took up one of her hands and held it. Ever so slowly, he drew her forward, putting a finger to his lips as he did. In truth, she needed no warning to stay quiet, not with Penny inches from her side.
Her heart galloping, she waited impatiently for him to lean in and kiss her. He did not disappoint. Softly, almost reverently, he claimed her mouth once more. Closing her eyes, she let the tingling overwhelm her body. He tilted his head sideways, and their mouths sealed perfectly.
Startlingly, the longer his lips were against hers, the more reactions she had. Her breasts felt heavier and her nipples…gracious!…they stiffened against her shift. Low between her hips grew heated and somehow achy, and unmistakably, a pleasant throbbing began in her—
She nearly pulled back, but curiosity as to whether he would do more kept her motionless. His tongue touched the seam of her lips—his tongue!—and instinctively, she opened them. He slid inside and explored her mouth while she sat stunned, wanting to melt back against the seat, feeling her body becoming liquid.
What magic was happening to her?
If he hadn’t been holding her forward with his hands grasping hers, she would, indeed, have leaned back and probably slid to the floor of the carriage.
Ever so carefully, she touched his tongue with hers. He froze, then astonishingly, sucked the end of it.Good Lord!
It was exquisite, and she wanted more. But what more could they do in the confines of the carriage with Penny beside her? Apparently, nothing. For at last, Lord Burnley broke away and stared into her eyes for a long moment, although it was too dark to read his expression. Finally, he released her hands.
The carriage came to a halt, and the best evening of her life was at an end.
Chapter Nine
Owen plowed hisgloved fist into the man in front of him, picturing Sophia’s murderer.
“Easy on, chap,” his opponent urged, backing away. “I’m here for exercise, not to get my ribs broken.”
“Sorry,” Owen muttered. He wanted to purge the guilt he felt for enjoying himself so thoroughly in Lady Adelia’s company the previous night. He had definitely not intended to go out with her again until after he’d found his sister’s murderer, but she had easily enticed him.
No woman had ever invited him in such a straightforward way. Invitations were usually a slightly raised skirt to display a slender ankle or a handkerchief drawn across rouged lips to indicate a meeting or a fan carried in the lady’s right hand and held in front of her face, demanding he follow her to a private place. All those signals, he’d received and responded to.
And still, nothing was quite so exciting as having Lady Adelia plainly ask him to escort her somewhere again.
He threw another punch.
“That’s all,” said the man with whom he’d been sparring for the past ten minutes at Teavey’s. “I have had enough.”
Owen stood up straight and nodded. Next, they touched their boxing gloves together in a pugilist’s handshake, and he looked around for his next challenger. Whitely entered the club and hailed him.
“Shall we go get a drink?” George asked.
Owen rolled his eyes. “I cannot. I need to do something useful.”
Whitely stared at him. “Such as bludgeoning people with your hands?”
Owen frowned. “If I find the right person, yes, that is precisely what I want to do. Anyway, get changed and strap on some gloves.”
“Why?”
“So we can spar, of course. Isn’t that why you came?”
Whitely looked at Owen’s previous opponent, rubbing his gut.
“I want to keep the contents of my stomach where they are, thank you. And what if you were to miss wildly as I cower and direct a flyer at my beak. I’m exceedingly fond of my face. Anyway, I came to find you and wondered if I can help in any way. Except for offering my body to your fists.”
Owen considered. “We could go to Parliament to search for the anvil handkerchief.” He had been thinking of doing so, but it made more sense to go with Whitely. “You can pretend to have a nosebleed through that precious beak of yours, and I’ll hurriedly ask the MPs for an extra handkerchief.”
Whitely shrugged. “It seems as good a plan as any. Just promise me you won’t start pummeling any of our peers.”
