“I-I suppose not.”
He tipped her chin up, forcing her eyes to his. “I’ve a confession, however. I’ve learned some things regarding your brother.”
“What kinds of things?” she whispered.
“That he is not the tarrying fool I believed.”
Indignation flashed in her eyes, and she snapped her chin from his fingers. “Of course he’s not. He’s a very talented artist.”
Thorne thought of the various works that he and Brock had seen, both in London and now at Kimpton: the discreetly placed scythes, the odd variation in subject matter. The longing on the face of one lovestruck model. “Yes, I’m inclined to agree.”
Surprise registered on her face just before her eyes once again narrowed in suspicion. “What prompted this sudden change?”
Confessing he thought her brother a spy for the crown did not strike him as a particularly wise move. But likely he could confide some of his findings. “When Brock and I were searching your brother’s various haunts around town, I found his interests a bit more diverse than I’d previously suspected.” A slight hedge.
She sniffed. “I should think so.” She paused, then asked softly, “Like what?”
“Like—” He flung out his hand. “Like his interest in politics.”
Her bottom lip puffed out. “I didn’t realize he’d gained an interest in matters of the crown.”That made two of them.
Thorne was riveted by that plump lip. His mouth watered for the taste of it. How long had it been since he’d kissed her? Thoroughly kissed her? Certainly longer than a week, he’d wager. His fingers tingled for want of touching her. He could feel the blood pulsing through his veins, heating up. He felt weak with need.
Her eyes caught his, and he found he couldn’t look away.
“And you?” Thorne asked.
“What about me?” Her hand slipped from his.
Disappointment filled him—then surprise, as those slender fingers grazed his jaw.
“What interests you?” Terrified at the answer she might hurl in his face, he kept his tone light. But there was a sensuous huskiness he was unable to disguise too.
She leaned forward, and her lips touched his. A guttural sound filled the room. His. She pulled away, and surprised him with a small curl of her lips. “My interest?” she asked.
He lifted his hand and traced her lips with the tip of his index finger. Her eyes drifted shut, and her face leaned into his touch. His belly tightened in anticipation. He cupped the nape of her neck and tugged her into him. “Yes, you,” he whispered against her ear. Thrills tingled across his skin at her shuddered tremble.
Though he suspected she strived to hide it, she drew a quick breath, releasing it slowly against his cheek. All hot and moist. His cock stiffened. She was contemplating her answer, and the wait would likely kill him. So much to show her. Share with her, but to enlighten her with such lasciviousness would be to cut his nose off to spite his face.
“Well, shocking you, for one.” Her hand settled over the one resting in his lap.
His breath hitched.
She turned his hand palm up and feathered her fingers on the jumping pulse at his wrist.
“In what possible way couldyoushock me?” The countless ways filed through his mind, much like a deck of cards being shuffled. Despite having never turning him away, she’d never, in all their years of marriage, initiated their love-making.
“I might… lift your hand to my lips.” She did. Her tongue teased the center of his palm.
He swallowed. Hard.
She shifted away and faced him. He had divested himself of his waistcoat earlier, thank God. Her hands tugged at his cravat. It unraveled like an unknotted thread. Before he could catch his breath, her fingers started on the strings that fastened his shirt. She’d never been so forward, and he’d never been so excited. Cool hands slid beneath to his bare skin. Her nails scraped a blazing path along his ribs.
“Perhaps I would savor the stretch of taut skin over…”
He groaned.
“What if I—”
