“Ginny,” he growled. “I am not a patient man, as you well know.” He strolled over and gently took her left hand, smoothed his thumb over the hitch in the bone he’d been forced to help set. “I am your only hope, my dear.”
The tension in her shoulders gave way and she extracted her hand. He didn’t miss its tremor. Her head tilted, then dipped in a short acquiescence. “I shall think it over. Thank you.”
He wanted to howl to the moon. Why did she have to be so obstinate? Aggravation sprinted through him. “Think it over, my arse. I’ll see you when I return.” He took her by the shoulders, raising her to her feet, and touched his lips to hers, then lowered her back to sitting and let go.
She reached for her tea with trembling fingers he longed to caress and reassure. She deserted the effort, her gaze falling away, a frown marring her brow.
His words meant nothing to her at this juncture. That ship had sailed. “What is it?” He spoke softly. Fillies were less easily spooked.
She shook her head, opened her mouth to speak—no, to share, he thought—then shut it again.
He waited, hoping for a sliver of the trust he’d long ago lost that he didn’t merit, but desperately craved.
“I have nightmares of racing to the nursery and finding Irene and Celia missing from their beds. I search and search, but they aren’t in the house.” She crooked a small smile, her eyes distant. “Of course, it’s snowing profusely, no carriages are available. Apparently, I’ve forgotten that I have my own.”
“Oh, darling.” He reached toward her, and the spell broke. She leaned quickly away, out of his reach. His heart clenched, his jaw steeled. It appeared he’d outstayed his welcome.
He leaned over her and, unable to resist, planted another kiss on her surprised lips, this one hard and possessive. “I shall see you in a couple of days. I’m with Kimpton for a short quest. In the meantime, I would advise you to keep this scheme of ours to yourself. It will not be received as proper.”
That fired her up, he was gratified to see. She opened her mouth to respond—rake him over a bed of coals, more like—then her mouth snapped shut.
How disappointing. And ridiculous.
Brock let her go and strode to the door, wishing he could stay. He glanced back over his shoulder. “I’ll see you when I return.”
She lifted her chin, which did not bode well. “I won’t be here.”
That brought him up. “What are you talking about?”
She smoothed her elegant fingers over her skirt. “I-I’ve been invited to Griston’s house party. I-in the country.”
He eyed her speculatively. She was a widow now, and as long as they were discreet, no eyebrows would raise at an amorous liaison between them. “I see. Well, I shall meet you there then. I’ve been invited as well.”
A frown creased her brow.
The sight sent a jolt of lust to ignite his blood. He tamped it back. Such action would be completely short-sighted, as he had every intention of showing her exactly to whom she belonged at the first opportunity.
“Fine,” she snapped.
He’d never get out of the house if he kept thinking with his cock. Besides, they were in the morning room with guests in the house. He let himself out before she read his mind and decided to shred his backside into strips of leather for his impetuous and salacious thoughts. Griston’s house party would be perfect.
Kipling had his hat and walking stick in hand. The man was efficient. Brock snatched them away. “What do you think of Lady Maudsley’s idea, Kipling?”
“What idea is that, sir?”
He stared at the man, gauging his benign response. Perhaps Kipling hadn’t been listening at the door. But then not everyone was as tenacious as Brock when it came to securing the knowledge he needed for a goal he had every intention of obtaining. Brock had learned years ago that it paid to be informed. A lesson he’d learned the hard way. Talk about scars.
He shook his head, unable to put the words to voice. They were too preposterous to be believed. “Never mind.” He stalked out the door the man held open and ran smack into Griston. “What the devil are you doing here?” he demanded.
The man had the gall to grin, tempting Brock to near violence. “Calling on Lady Maudsley, of course. We’ve plans for a drive through the park.”
Oh, for God’s sake.Brock jammed his hat on his head and stormed down the street without a backward glance.
Ginny touched her swollen her lips, irritated that Brock had managed to rattle her with that quick brush of passion—again. Breathing deep was supposed to be healing. She couldn’t remember where she’d heard such a strange notion, but she tried it anyway. Several times, until she wasn’t obsessing on his kisses and began thinking past his warm mouth and strong hands.
Still, his visit hadn’t been a complete waste. Satisfaction surged through her at his offer to help her in teaching Irene and Celia safe lessons, a relief beyond words. She didn’t know why she hadn’t accepted his help at the onset. Probably because the marquis had a way of twisting every little turn to his advantage. Her secrets belonged to no one but her.
Lorelei stepped through the open door. “What was his rush?”
