Desire pooled between her legs as his mouth and tongue moved against her own. She wanted to feel him beneath her. Feel his desire pressing against her, but her infernal dress was in the way.
He deepened the kiss, locking his fingers in the back of her hair and tugging ever so much. Not painful, but noticeable, firm, possessive. It only fueled her desire for him. She clamped her fingers into his shoulders and ground herself against him, needing release.
“Esme,” he whispered. He touched his forehead to hers. “We can’t.” Gently, he placed her on the seat next to him.
She looked away from him, hiding her flaming face. “You are a bastard. Always teasing me then withholding your affection.”
His jaw tensed. “You’re right. I am a bastard. I will fight it no longer. If you decide you still want me, tonight you shall have me. I’ve tried to protect you, but if you are not concerned, why should I be?”
She said nothing in response.
“Now, though, I must go back in and look for Waters.
You’ll be safer in here,” he said.
“You’re going to leave me in here alone?”
“Yes, but only for a moment. I’m going to ask a few questions. I shouldn’t be long.”
“Are you quite certain I can’t come with you?” she asked.
“Stay here, Esme.”
She nodded in the darkness, then closed her eyes when she felt his lips brush her cheek. His speech hadn’t been particularly romantic; still, she quivered with desire for him. If she had any sense at all, she’d sequester herself from him until this bloody curse could be broken. But she knew she’d never do that. Part of her questioned whether she’d ever be able to walk away from him.
What, precisely, was he trying to protect her from? Even if she foolishly fancied herself in love with him, which she didn’t, then what harm would that cause? People had their hearts broken all the time and survived.
The carriage door opened.
“That was quick,” she said. “Did you already find him?”
“Hello, Miss Worthington.” A match struck, and an unknown man sat across from her lighting his cigar.
Cold fear spread through Esme’s body, slowing her pulse down so that it felt as if warmed molasses were traveling through her veins. She forced herself to breathe deeply. Fielding would be here soon. She would be safe.
“Who are you, and how do you know who I am?” she asked, hoping she sounded angry rather than terrified.
“They call me the Raven.” He took a drag on his cigar, his lips curling in a devilish smile. Something about that smile looked strangely familiar, and a deep gnawing bit at her stomach. “I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”
“I have.” She crossed her arms over her chest, partly in an attempt at appearing formidable, but more to hide her trembling. “Nothing good, mind you,” she said tartly.
His deep chuckle resonated through the carriage. “What do you want?” she asked.
“I want what you want, Miss Worthington.” He leaned forward. “I want Pandora’s box.”
His presence took up so much space in the small carriage, her very breath felt threatened. She shifted in her seat.
“We can make a deal, you and I,” he said, his smooth voice slicing through the darkness.
Though the dimness prevented her from seeing much in the way of details, Esme could clearly see the Raven was a conventionally handsome man. His chiseled features and silvery-gray hair would certainly make him a desirable companion.
“I’m sure we can find a way that we are both satisfied.” His emphasis on the “s” sounds conjured the image of a slithering serpent. Perhaps this was how Eve felt in the garden before she took that first bite.
“I will make no such deal with you,” she said.
“Are you so certain?”
“I am.”
