“I can give you what you need if you tell me what that is.”
She freed her hair from the awful wig. In the glimmer of the carriage lantern, he saw her crowning glory—wild and bushy curls of gold and brown and black. Her tresses were braided and falling upon her shoulder.
She rocked trying to fish her way out of her tailcoat.
He stretched to assist but tugged her to him.
She was kneeling on the carriage floor with her arms tangled in the coat.
He settled a palm to her chin. “Adventure, affection. I’m here for it. Use me, Patience. Test me.”
“I suppose I do like pushing limits.”
Busick lifted her even as she reached for him. He had her up in his arms before he had a chance to talk himself out of kissing her.
And why not? Why shouldn’t he prove to her he meant every inch of his challenge?
Unexpectedly compliant, she molded against him. Sweet, hot, and sticky, his fingers found her beneath her waistcoat.
Her lips were soft. Her mouth tasted of berries. And he schooled and scolded her with lips on her neck mapping the way she moved against him when he stroked here, teased there.
He checked again, tasting the soft flesh of throat hidden beneath the collar of her shirt.
A strategist needed to be sure.
Busick tore at her waistcoat buttons. He wanted Patience LaCroy Jordan out of this disguise, freed from all the pretending.
Lionel cried out.
Her fingers on Busick’s shoulders were weak, a slow, halfhearted push.
What a time for the little fellow not to share.
This crazed connection between them was more than Lionel, more than convenience, or adventure or even jealousy.
“I need to feed him. Did he drink any of the pap?”
“A little, but he’s had the good stuff.” He put a hand again to her waistcoat and finished undoing the final buttons one by one. “I’m a fan of the good stuff, too.”
She hooked his finger on the last button. “This is not as wonderful as you think. I need privacy with my son. Then we need to discuss us, everything.”
Lionel’s cries grew louder. She picked him up and held him against her shirt.
The boy seemed very hungry wiggling against her, his tongue kissing at the wet linen as if he gloated.
Busick reached and stroked Lionel’s cheek. “For you two, I’ll make a stop. Somewhere I never go.” He tapped on the roof.
The carriage stopped, and the compartment door opened.
His driver stood outside. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“Take me to Lady Bodonel’s in Mayfair. It’s not far from here.”
The driver looked stunned but nodded and shut the door.
“Lady Bodonel? Colin’s aunt. Your mother?”
“One in the same.”
