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Hattie’s eyes flashed. “I should like to discuss your being a proper ass.”
Nik coughed her amusement at the words as Nora grinned and said, “If you think she’s going to let you disappear on her, you’re severely misguided . . .” She paused, then said, “What should I call you?”
“Beast,” he said.
Nora tilted her head. “I think I prefer bastard, what with the way you have mistreated my friend.”
This time, Nik turned wide, amused eyes on Nora. “I like you two.”
Nora winked at the Norwegian. “Wait until you get to know us.”
That wouldn’t happen.
And was that a blush on Nik’s cheeks?
He didn’t have time for that. Instead, he scowled at his second and growled, “See her home.”
Nik nodded, no hesitation.
“First, I’m perfectly aware of the location of my home,” Nora said, and Whit gritted his teeth. Deliver him from women who thought they owned the world. “And second, I’m not leaving unless she tells me she wishes to be left.”
He ignored the pleasure that thrummed through him at the woman’s loyalty to Hattie, who deserved it from the wide world. As she couldn’t get it from him.
“I assume you came in one of your carriages?” he asked on a growl.
Nora tilted her head in confusion. “Yes.”
He looked to Nik. “You’ll have to find the gig, too.”
“Someone’s stolen my curricle?” Nora said, outraged.
Nik turned to her, her amusement clear. “You left a hitched carriage in this neighborhood in the dead of night. Yes. Someone’s stolen it.” Nora groaned as the Norwegian added, “No worries. I’ll get the boys on it; they won’t have taken it far.”
“Perhaps I should—” Hattie made to leave him, to go with her friend, and Whit gritted his teeth, wanting to pull her back, to keep her close, but resisting the urge. He wanted her to leave. He wanted her far away. He wanted her safe.
He wanted her.
Nora shook her head and waved Hattie back, her eyes on Nik. “I shall be fine with—” She turned a questioning gaze on Nik.
“Annika.”
“Annika,” Nora said softly. “It is very nice to meet you.”
If it hadn’t been a blush before, it was a blush now.
Nora pulled her gaze away from Nik and said to Hattie, “You came for a purpose.” A knowing smile flashed. “And now you leave with it.”
Hattie looked dead into Whit’s eyes. “I came to tell him what he could do with his attempt at strong-arming my father and reneging on our deal.”
“You should tell him then.” She lowered her voice. “Leave nothing out. He deserves it all.” And more. “And I shall see you in the morning.”
Whit’s mouth went dry at the words. At the vision that came with them. At the gift of them—a whole night, until sunrise. He shouldn’t take it.
But how was he to resist it? A night with her?
Their first night.
Their last.
He couldn’t. They were in his carriage in minutes, Whit taking the seat across from her, setting the ice Devil had delivered to his eye—which would be black for a day or two after the bout.
He let out a long breath once the door was closed, keeping them a secret from the world. Keeping her out of view. Safe.
Safe from all, except him.
She watched him in silence, making him wonder what she was thinking. Making him want to strip her of thought, entirely—while stripping her naked and giving them both what they wanted.
Because the silence was not simply silence.
It was full of her thoughts, wild enough to speed her breath, which he listened to, faster and faster, more and more erratic, reminding him of how she sounded with his hands and mouth on her. He’d tried not to stare at her, tried not to make out her breasts beneath what he had decided was some sort of ancient torture device she’d donned to disappear them—as though the magnificent things could be disappeared.
He tried not to think about removing that device, along with all the other clothes—clothes that seemed to do nothing to diminish his desire for her, beautiful and lush and smelling like almond sweets on the other side of the too-small carriage.
He tried not to think of her touch as she reached forward, halfway through their journey, and lifted the long strip of unmoored linen that dangled from his right fist. Tried to ignore the thrum of anticipation that sizzled through him as she used her teeth to pull the gentleman’s gloves from her hands.
Her fucking teeth.
What else would she use those teeth for? What would they feel like on his skin? Scraping over his shoulder, nipping at his chest? Christ, this woman was undoing him. Did she know? Was that her plan?
He’d give her everything she wanted if she’d put her mouth on him.
She didn’t. Instead, she wrapped the linen around his knuckles, carefully, as though she were preparing him for battle. As though he were a knight, and she the maiden fair, bestowing her favor.
When she was finished, she tied a perfect knot and carefully tucked the end inside the wraps before running her thumb over his knuckles and whispering, so soft he barely heard it, “There.”
But he did hear it. The gentle gift of that little word.
The satisfaction in it.
After an evening of violence, he’d never felt the sting of pleasure more keenly—and he feared he lacked the capacity to endure it.
She took a deep breath and said, “Now, about my business.”
He leaned his head back against the cushion of the coach, letting the cold ice pack do its work. “My business.”
She watched him for a long moment, the clatter of the cobblestones the only sound. “Your betrayal.” She couldn’t know how the words stung. “What will you do with Sedley Shipping?”
Keep you safe. “Whatever I like.”
Silence. Then, “Why?”
The word nearly finished the job of the ring tonight. It was small and perplexed and devastating. And in it, he heard the truth. He’d hurt her.
And it had been his only choice.
When he didn’t reply, she narrowed her gaze on him and said, “You’re a bastard.”
“Yes,” he replied, trying to ignore the disdain in her words.
“What do you want from me?”
“Nothing.” It was true. I want you happy. I want you safe.
“Look at me.”
He obeyed the command without hesitation. Christ, she was stunning, sitting tall and determined, shoulders pressed back like a queen.
“You’re ruining everything.”
Guilt flared. “I know.”
“You told me . . .” She looked out the window, into the darkness of the streets beyond. “You told me you believed in me.” She looked back at him. “I believed you.”
He’d face the O’Malley brothers a thousand times over this.
I do believe in you.
“Is it—” She stopped, then started again. “Is it because you don’t think I can do it?”
“No.” Christ. No.
She looked as though she had something to say—as though she had a thousand somethings to say. And he wanted to pull her across the carriage and onto his lap and tell her all the ways he thought she was remarkable.
