Caro’s heart hammered beneath his mouth, and she began to explore him in return. Hesitantly at first, and then bolder, as though reveling in newfound fascination. Her hands slid under his coat then his waistband, his shirt loosening.
Eamon lifted his head as she wormed her way beneath the fine linen, at last finding his skin under too damned many layers.
“Vixen.” Eamon cupped her face, smiling into their next kiss.
Caro pulled him closer, her warm fingers on his bare back the most exhilarating thing he’d experienced in a long time.
Eamon’s desire, suppressed too long, surged, and he felt the answering need in her kiss. He caressed her cheek as he stepped against her, her body against the length of his.
Caro started at the contact. She must be able to feel how much he wanted her, but she didn’t shy away, didn’t flee.
He had to continue this. Here, now. Eamon was certain his life would be empty and colorless if they didn’t.
Merry was outside the door, and they were in another man’s house. Eamon’s lodgings were close by, but women were forbidden there, and Mrs. Temple was a dragon. The Grosvenor Square house was tall and empty, but the pair of them would never slip past Singleton and the dowager, who were equally dragon-like.
Maddening.
Or they could hide in here, kissing, touching, learning each other. There were plenty of ways to find pleasure besides the most basic act. Caro, opening her lips for his kiss, her hands roving further, indicated she would welcome the simple pleasures, even craved them.
Eamon had just decided that the thick-carpeted floor would do for the next steps, when a noise outside the door penetrated the fog in his brain.
Caro jerked back, quicker to understand what the sound was.
In the corridor, Princess Merry had coughed.
Eamon recognized a cough of warning when he heard one. He had Caro turned around and was re-hooking her bodice before she could express alarm.
“Good evening, your ladyship,” Merry said loudly outside the door. “If you seek a withdrawing room, there is one on the floor below.”
“What are you doing wandering the house, young lady?” came a stentorian voice. “In my day, we shut ourselves into the nursery when our family held a ball and didn’t stray a step.”
“Oh, no,” Caro breathed in dismay. She was enticing, with her hair hanging limply, her fichu askew, the diamonds glittering against a tangle of translucent fabric. “Lady Carmichael. She’s the worst gossip in all of London.”
Chapter 13
No,” Eamon whispered back, his fingertips tingling where he brushed her skin. “I imagine she’s the best gossip.”
Caro glared at him. With her hair mussed and lips reddened, she was angelically beautiful. A naughty angel, perhaps, which made her all the more delectable.
Eamon had met Lady Carmichael in his boyhood days and shared Caro’s concern. Comfortable in the knowledge that she’d never broken a social rule in her life, Lady Carmichael loudly condemned those who even skirted the boundaries. The French regiment that had pinned Eamon and his friends on the ridge in Belgium would have fled from Lady Carmichael’s advance.
“What is behind this door?” Lady Carmichael demanded. “Are you hiding someone in there, child?”
“Oh, Lord, she will burst in here any moment,” Caro hissed.
“Rub your eyes,” Eamon said in a low voice.
“Pardon?” Caro’s glare turned to bafflement.
“Rub your eyes until they’re puffy. Then walk out the door, yawning. Don’t overdo it. Tell her you stepped in here for a rest, because being in society again has exhausted you. Explain that Merry was protecting you.”
Caro regarded him in worry. “What about you?”
“I will slip away once you are downstairs. Never fear, my love.” Eamon touched her lips. “I am an expert at intrigue. Go.”
After another frozen moment, Caro nodded and turned away from him, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes.
Eamon quickly concealed himself behind the large Egyptian-style couch, like a lover in a farce. He stretched out on the floor and observed, around the sofa’s legs, Caro’s pretty ankles and slippers hesitate then move toward the exit.
