He let his forehead rest against hers, his chest heaving as he tried to make himself let her go. He had to let her go, to ease her away from him. Desire was clouding his brain, so thick and seductive he couldn’t speak, couldn’t think…couldn’t find a single reason why he shouldn’t tumble her onto her back on the carriage seat and let his body cover hers, their legs tangling together.
“Lucy.” He braced his hands on her shoulders and began to ease her back, away from him. “This is…we can’t…we have to—”
“Not yet.” She kissed her way from the corner of his mouth to his cheek, then his jaw, and then—dear God—his earlobe. Her soft lips slid over his throat and the heated skin of his neck, nipping and teasing until she stole every breath from his lungs. He arched against her, his hands sliding over her ribs to drag her closer, urge her harder against him.
She was so close the loose strands of her hair brushed against his neck, the soft tickle driving him mindless with desire. So mindless when her mouth found his again Ciaran closed his eyes with a groan, his head falling back against the seat, his lips opening helplessly under hers.
The kiss seemed to go on forever, and yet it hadn’t gone on nearly long enough when at last she drew away and let her face fall against his chest. Ciaran went still, panting, his chest heaving as he dragged one desperate breath after another into his lungs. He kept his hands firmly wrapped around her waist to keep them from wandering again while Lucy lay motionless against him, her fingers still buried in his hair.
She slid her palm over the sensitive skin of his neck and dragged her fingers down to his chest. She stared down at her own hand resting against him, then looked up into his eyes with a shy smile. “Your heart is beating so quickly.”
“It is.” Ciaran covered her hand with his to keep it pressed to his body. “Is yours?”
Lucy hesitated, then she closed her slender fingers around his wrist and pressed his palm against the pulse beating in the base of her throat. “Yes.”
Long, quiet moments slipped by. Neither of them moved, and everything faded to oblivion around Ciaran except her hand on his chest, her heartbeat fluttering against his palm.
“You have to go, Ciaran,” she whispered at last. “My aunt and Eloisa will be here any moment. They can’t find us alone in the carriage.”
“No. I won’t go without you.” Ciaran brushed a stray wisp of hair back from her face. “You can’t return to Portman Square. It isn’t safe. Please, Lucy. Let me take care of you.”
“I—I want to, Ciaran, but I can’t.” A slow, shaky breath shuddered out of her, but she met his gaze without flinching.
Ciaran’s hands tightened around her waist, helpless anger and fear rolling over him. “Yes, you can. You have to.”
“No, I can’t. Not without my Aunt Jarvis and Eloisa. Call on me tomorrow, won’t you? As early as you can. I’ll be fine until then.”
“You don’t know that, Lucy. By then you could be the Countess of Godfrey.” Ciaran blew out a frustrated breath. “Come with me tonight.Please.”
Lucy was as worried about her uncle and Godfrey as he was—Ciaran could see it by the furrow in her brow, the uneasy way she bit her lip, but she shook her head. “No. I won’t leave them.”
“Damn it, Lucy—”
“Go, Ciaran.” She squirmed free of him and shifted to the other side of the carriage. “Quickly. You’ll only make it worse if my aunt catches you alone with me.”
Ciaran hesitated, but short of tossing her over his shoulder there wasn’t much he could do. He dragged a hand down his face and threw open the carriage door with a curse. “Tomorrow, then. I’ll come early. Be waiting for me, Lucy.”
She nodded. “I promise.”
Ciaran leapt down from the carriage. He took one long, last look at her before closing the door, his heart twisting at how small and alone she looked, huddled in her dark corner.
It was less than a day. She’d be all right for such a short time. That was what Ciaran told himself as he took the stone steps leading into the Weatherbys’ townhouse two at a time. He’d come with Vale and Lady Felicia, but they’d likely left by now—
“Women are a bloody nuisance.”
Ciaran stopped halfway up the steps. That voice—and on occasion that sentiment—belonged to Vale.
“Can’t think why I came to London for the season in the first place. Dozens of silly chits on display, being towed around by their marriage-minded mamas. Well, what do I want with a wife? Wouldn’t know what to do with her if I had one.”
Ciaran turned and bounded back down the steps. He found Vale and Markham a short way down the street, standing under a tree that shielded them from the guests streaming in and out of the Weatherbys’ townhouse. “What are you two doing out here?”
“Waiting for my bloody carriage.” Vale gave the branch hanging over his head a vicious slap with his walking stick. “What do you think, Ramsey?”
Ciaran ignored Vale’s ill-humor. “Where’s Lady Felicia?”
“Went off with Mrs. Jarvis and Eloisa.” Vale scowled. “No doubt they’ve told each other all their darkest secrets by now, too.”
Ciaran raised an eyebrow.Eloisa?Vale referred to Miss Jarvis by her Christian name?
