“I have something for you, my dear.” Gabriella pulled out the black pouch and pressed it in her hand.
Miss Clark slowly opened the bag and gasped. “’Tis a fortune.”
“Not quite, my dear, but it will go far in giving you choices for the rest of your life.”
Her eyes filled with tears and trekked down her face. She was overwhelmed, as was he, at his wife’s generosity. How had she accomplished it?
He shook his head, and the change in the atmosphere was instant. He’d been spotted. He clasped his hands at his lower back, inclining his head as if she were of equal standing to his countess. “Miss Clark. I’m privileged to make your acquaintance.”
“S-sir,” she whispered.
“Don’t let him frighten you, Mabel. He’s nothing but a pussycat.” Gabriella ran her gaze over him. “A big cat, granted.”
James kept his expression bland but looked forward to a delectable retribution.
Twenty-Eight
“You never answered my question.” Huntley, indeed, looked like a large jungle cat, lounging in Gabby’s bed with an arm folded behind his head, his bare chest tempting her beyond reason.
She rose from the bed, wishing she was as comfortable with her nudity as he appeared to be. She snatched up her wrap and slipped it on. “What question is that?”
“The house on Hope Street. What is its purpose?”
“Rebecca and I prefer to think of it as a shelter for young women who do not wish to make a living on their backs.” She plopped down at the vanity and looked in the mirror. Dear heavens. If Huntley hadn’t been in her bed and seeming to watch her every motion, she would have let out a heartfelt scream at her appearance. Her hair was a disaster. She couldn’t possibly meet Vella looking like such a harridan.
“… you do to find these women—”
“What?” She tossed her brush on the table and spun around. “They find us, Huntley. It’s women looking after women.” She jumped up, panic infusing her. “I hate to rush you, but you need to leave. Vella is bringing the cerulean gown by tonight, and I can’t possibly meet her looking as if I were hammered by a windstorm.” She went over to the bed and tugged on his arm.
He turned on her, flipping her to her back, and yanking her wrap open. He licked her breast, sending a shot of heat through her already spent body. Her squeal morphed to a moan, her arms stealing around his head instead of pushing him away, let him work his evil way down her body, nipping and tasting his way down her entire length. Her skin tingled with exhilaration, then shock as his mouth found its way to her core and settled there. He wielded his tongue like a wand touched with magic, this was a thrilling happy ending she could relish.
She writhed beneath his hold, or tried. His hands were firm on her hips, yielding no give. Seconds later, she flew apart. He crawled up her body, the hair on his chest scraping her belly, her nipples, her sternum. “No,” she whispered, certain further stimulation would kill her.
“Yes,” he countered, entering her to the hilt. He moved fast and hard.
Shocking sensation overtook her sensitized body, reigniting then building. She focused on a brilliance she could see at the end of a long dark tunnel. She swam towards it. Much as she had in the moonlight of her midnight swim in the pond at Miss Greensley’s all those years ago. But that swim had nothing on this mischief. Her climax exploded, her chest heaving in the aftermath.
Huntley buried his roar against her damp neck. She clung to him as they floated back down together. The sense of unity in the moment would never leave her.
Ever.
“By the bye,” Huntley growled. “The Liverpools will be dining with us tonight.” He nipped her shoulder, punctuating his statement.
“I thought Lady Liverpool was to contact me.” Her voice quivered under his ministrations.
“Her husband opted not to wait on something that might never come to pass,” he told her with a knowing grin.
“And just when were you planning on informing me…”
“I believe I just did, my dear.” He took a nipple in his mouth and gave it a firm suck.
She closed her eyes to another sudden bout of exhilaration, robbing her of the fight. She rolled on top of this irresistible and aggravating husband that belonged to her, slanted her lips over his just, as he’d taught her and took his tongue, mimicking his attack on her breasts. It was delicious and daring.
His hand cupped her head, and he took over and deepened the kiss. He left her wanting and whirling in a whimsical land.
She lifted her head, breaking their contact. She glanced at his dampened lips.
“I shall never get a thing done,” he told her in a low husky tone.
