“Then I will cease being a prig.” Caro rose on her tiptoes. “Thank you.”
She kissed him.
Eamon forgot everything—Rudyard, paintings, debts, even the necklace—and sank into Caro, parting her lips, letting her sear him.
Caro made that delightful noise in her throat which meant she wanted him. Eamon’s longing soared, and he scooped her into him, tasting her joy and need, letting it sustain him.
A draft flowing along the gallery reminded Eamon that they stood in too exposed an area to act on their yearnings. He reluctantly broke the kiss but could not resist leaning down and catching the diamonds in his teeth.
Caro gasped, then her quiet laughter surrounded him. She stepped away, but before the cold of that could slap him, she caught Eamon’s hand and towed him to the staircase.
They ascended to the next floor, which embraced them with its silence. Caro guided Eamon a short way down the hall to the small drawing room where he’d first encountered her, when she struggled with a stubborn window.
Caro led him inside, closed the door, and turned the key in the lock.
Chapter 26
Eamon never wanted this afternoon to end. He braced himself against the back of the armless chair they’d ended up on, buried inside Caro, who was twined around him.
There was no sound in the room but their mingled breath and groaned words.
Caro was bare except for the necklace shimmering on her throat. Eamon held her securely as he rocked against her, unable to thrust much in this position, but it didn’t matter. Caro’s warmth enveloped him, and her soft moans as she squeezed him made this chamber a fine place.
Eamon had imagined this scenario since the first day he’d encountered her here—a quick taste of pleasure on a chair, her skirts around them—but this was so much better. He’d learned that Caro had an even deeper beauty than what he’d first seen, a heart she gave readily, a caring beyond anything he’d ever known.
Caro uttered a cry, descending into the newfound passion she was exploring with him, her face softening in desire and wonder.
“Duchess.” Eamon felt his release coming, and he fought it off to prolong this deep and satisfying pleasure. “You are gloriously beautiful.”
Caro’s answer was a little sob. “You are good to me,” she whispered. “So good.” The word died on another intake of breath.
“I’ll do anything for you, love.”
Eamon heard the words come out of his mouth, including the fateful love, but Caro only smiled at him, which made his world right again.
“Stone?” an incredulous voice rang out a few nights later.
Eamon paused on the steps that led into a hell called the Nines in St. James’s, McCormick and Wolfe on either side of him. Standing before them was a giant of a man with very pale hair and surprised pleasure in his wide blue eyes.
“Hell,” Wolfe muttered behind Eamon.
“It is you,” the blond man went on. “I knew it was. Was telling Monty here it was.”
The Viking, whose real name Eamon recalled was Percival Davison, beamed at them from his six-and-a-half-foot height. Wolfe had said the man was bulging with muscle, and his assessment was correct. The middle-aged gentleman next to him, who must be Monty, nodded at Eamon and his companions and made his relieved escape into the street.
There was nothing for it. “Davison.” Eamon stepped forward, hand out. “Been too long.”
“Call me what you used to—the Viking.” The man boomed a laugh and grabbed Eamon’s hand in a crushing grip. “I like that. No one else dares give me a moniker so friendly.”
Eamon decided not to remind the Viking of the days they’d spent healing from wounds taken in brawls the Viking had started. Eamon realized that the Viking had blurred his memories with nostalgia, until they’d all been friends who’d enjoyed a good tussle.
“Ever see Pebbly?” Eamon asked as the Viking turned to beam at Wolfe and McCormick.
“Eh? Who? Oh, Pollard. No, he absconded to the Continent ahead of his creditors.” The Viking bellowed another laugh. “Married a pretty lady and bankrupted himself trying to keep her in jewels. Wolfe—good to see you again. Wolfe and I ran into each other a few weeks ago. We had a fine reunion, didn’t we?”
Wolfe answered with something noncommittal, pointedly edging toward the entrance of the Nines, but the Viking wasn’t finished.
“And McCormick, still a beacon to ships at sea.” The Viking pointed to Hayden’s very red hair atop his tall body. “Thought you’d bunged off back to Scotland.”
