She latched on to the front of his shirt, her nails digging into the smooth fabric when he changed the angle of their kiss, demanding more of her as his tongue slipped boldly between her lips. She responded in kind, her desire driven by all of the angst, and the anger, and the frustration she’d experienced since they’d left London. Since she’d left Boston, really, for that was when it had all started. An untold number of decisions heaved upon disappointments that had served to lead her to this moment, with this man. This arrogant scoundrel who enticed as much as he enraged.
Weston’s short, rough side-whiskers scraped against her sensitive skin as he began to trace a fiery path along the slender line of her throat. On a keening sigh, her head rolled back, liquid heat spilling into the secretive garden of curls nestled between her thighs as he nipped her earlobe and then soothed the bite with his tongue, suckling for what felt like an eternity of sweet anguish before his mouth resumed its wicked path across her flesh.
She gasped when he drew her nipple into the hot, slick cavern of his mouth. The layered texture of the damp fabric of her bodice rubbing against the swollen nub was almost too much to bear. Her knees wobbled, and she might have collapsed in a pool of passionate disbelief if not for the hand splayed across the middle of her back. Weston held her securely as he continued to lavish attention on her breasts, his seduction as slow and unhurried as waves lapping against the shoreline.
Any more, and Evie feared being dragged under the water. But it was a good type of fear. Adelicioustype of fear. The kind that pushed people to do any manner of impossible feats. Like being the first to race across the Arabian desert on horseback. Or bravely setting sail for a new world. Or being ravished senseless on the side of a road by a devilish rogue in earl’s clothing.
True, one of those things wasn’t quite like the others.
But what was abandoning all inhibitions, if not stepping off a cliff into the unknown?
Evie had never given much consideration to beingravishedbefore. She’d assumed she would be, of course. Most likely on the night of her wedding, as she wasn’t about to endanger her chances of marrying up by being caught down with some nameless ne’er-do-well who promised her gold and gave her cheap brass instead. But while Weston was undoubtedly a rogue–thethingshe was doing to her body!–he was also a nobleman. A nobleman she still had every plan to marry.
Surely there was no harm in sampling the goods before buying the product.
In fact, some might call it a sound business decision.
Evie’s lashes stirred, her gaze unfocused as she opened her eyes. She saw the top of Weston’s head as he bent over her breasts, and she started to thread her fingers through all that thick, luxurious hair before something darted across her peripheral vision.
Something white and fluffy.
Something that appeared suspiciously like a–
“Posy!” she cried, wrenching free of the earl’s embrace as the lamb went bounding off across a field of late blooming yarrow. “Oh, you have to get her before she goes too far. I don’t want her to become lost!”
Weston cursed. Yanking off his coat, he threw it on the ground at Evie’s feet before he took after Posy, stomping through the sea of pink and yellow flowers with all the finesse of a bull in the proverbial china shop. At first, Posy seemed to think it was a game, and she ran two circles around him before he managed to grab hold of the lamb and tuck her under his arm.
Hands clasped beneath her chin, Evie anxiously awaited their return.
“At least I know what we’ll be eating at the house party,” Weston grumbled as he emerged from the field and set Posy on the road. Picking up his jacket, he gave it a good shake, releasing a plume of dust into the air.
“What’s that?” Evie asked absently, crouching down to receive the lamb as she bounced happily over, pleased to once again be the center of attention.
Weston glared at Posy. “Mutton.”
Chapter Six
Before darkness couldwrap them in her obsidian embrace, Weston and Evie finally stumbled upon a tavern.
It sat directly on the edge of the road, a jumbled pile of stone and wood with a slate roof that sagged in the middle and front steps that creaked ominously beneath Evie’s feet as she followed Weston inside.
“Are you certain it’s clean?” she asked, her nose wrinkling as she took in a dimly lit interior that smelled of stale meat and sweat. All of the rooms for rent must have been on the second floor. For down below, a narrow hallway led directly into a rectangular pub with a bar on one wall, a stairwell on the other, and tables in the middle, of which more than half were occupied.
“No one is troubled by the fact that you’re holding a farm animal,” Weston replied. “So I am confident in saying it is anythingbutclean. You’re welcome to keep walking if you think you can find something better.”
As she watched a grizzle-faced patron shovel stew into his mouth with his fingers, Evie suppressed a shudder. This place made Lady Privet’s Boarding House look like Kensington Palace, but she wasn’t about to separate herself from Weston. Like it or not (and after their knee-wobbling kiss, she was leaning heavily towards the “like it” category), they were in this together.
Whatever “this” entailed.
“I’m sure the lodgings will be adequate for one night.” Tightening her grip on Posy, she clung to the earl’s coattails as he navigated his way through the tables to the end of the bar where an older man, his stringy white hair tied in a tail at the nape of his neck and a damp rag slung over his shoulder, greeted them with a shuttered expression.
“How can I help ye?” he asked, swinging the rag off his shoulder and onto the bar with enough force that Evie jumped.
Reaching blindly behind him, Weston caught her around the waist and pulled her snug against his side. “My wife and I would like a room for the night.”
Her lips parting, she stared at him in amazement, only to clamp her mouth closed when he gave her a meaningful jab with his elbow.
“Is that right?” the barman said, gazing directly at her.
