He splayed a hand over his face to muffle a groan. “Not like that.”
“What is it, then?” she asked sharply.
He had intended to approach the matter more delicately, but her stiff posture made him fear she might flee, so he blurted out the words, “Someone tried to steal the Ravenmore.”
She gasped. “What? When did this happen?”
“Shortly before I met you in the storm. I tried to follow but lost the trail.”
In a way, he was thankful for the thief. If the crash had not woken him, he might not have met her in the forest. He did not want to imagine what fate she might have met otherwise.
She chewed her bottom lip. “Could it have been the driver who abandoned us by the crossing?”
That would explain the evidence he’d seen of a horse outside his window. “Perhaps.” The man could’ve intended to use the Summersby family as an excuse to approach the house and then used the carriage to transport the painting back to whoever had hired him.
Her shoulders slumped. “Then I brought a thief to your door.”
The guilt in her voice bothered him. “You were not the one who invited them here. I am certain one of my guests is behind the attempt.”
As she considered his words, he felt as if his nerves were stretched taut. He could manage without her, he was sure, but a part of him wanted to keep her close.
She sighed. “What do you need me to do?”
A powerful sense of relief washed over him. “I can trail the men, but I need someone to watch the women while I do so. I could use your help. Discreetly, of course.”
Surprise flashed across her face. “Then we are agreed. I will help you find your thief, and I will assist you in organizing this auction. But I have a condition of my own.”
He remembered their encounter in Percy’s office. It was easy to guess her goal. “You want to talk to Ravenmore?”
Saffron smiled. “Precisely.”
He buried his hands in his hair. Was it worth it? As long as his sister’s paintings remained in museums, Sabrina’s legacy was secure. No one would forget the anonymous painter who had taken the London art scene by storm. Then there was the fact that Saffron had her own motives. Ones she refused to reveal. Left to her own, her attempts to uncover Ravenmore might hinder his plans. She would be furious when he told her the truth, but he would deal with that when the time came. Life was much easier when one focused only on the present.
“I accept your terms,” Leo said. “After the auction, I will introduce you to Ravenmore. I will tell my butler, Sinclair, to give you access to everything you need. In exchange, I need you to tell me why this is so important.” He stepped closer. “Why are you so damned determined to talk to Ravenmore?”
Chapter Nine
Saffron backed awayfrom Leo, hitting a chair in the process and nearly tumbling over. She wanted to tell him about Basil and the painting, but every time she tried to get the words out, they wouldn’t come. If he knew the truth, would he still agree to help her? Or would he, like Aunt Rosemary, insist that she was wrong, and Basil was dead?
She couldn’t take the chance. Not when Angelica’s future was at risk.
“So quiet, suddenly,” Leo said, closing the space between them with frightening speed. “That’s okay. I have my own ways of getting information I want.”
He wrapped his arms around her. “Stop thinking,” he breathed, touching his nose to hers. “I can see the fight in you. Just give in and do what feels right.” He tilted his face and met her lips with his in a gentle kiss. It lasted only a moment before he pulled away, then kissed her again.
“Take what you want,” he said, brushing his palm over her breast. “Take it.”
She sank into Leo’s deepening kisses, opening her mouth to him. He murmured his enjoyment into her lips, but it wasn’t enough. She needed to feel more of him, needed his hands on her skin. She pulled at the strings behind her dress, but he stopped her. Then his face came down on her neck and his tongue swirled in the whorl of her throat, making her gasp.
“So lovely,” he said. He tucked his hand beneath her bodice and fondled her breast, tucking his fingers under her corset and tweaking her nipple with his fingers. Then he moved his attention from her neck to her earlobe, taking it into his mouth and sucking gently.
She bumped into his desk and fell onto it. The desk screeched as it slid under the force of her weight. His hand crept beneath the many layers of her gown and underthings, rubbing small circles on her bare flesh. He ripped her stockings free from their garters in one swift tug. Then he trailed his palms along the inside of her thighs, up and down.
“Leo, please.” She didn’t know what she was asking for, but her pelvis throbbed, and she ached with the need for his touch.
A guttural growl and his mouth was on hers again. Then he slid one finger inside her sheath, rubbing in a way that made her back arch like a cat. Pleasure ebbed and flowed, building up to a crescendo, then slipping out of her grasp.
“That’s it,” he coaxed, moving his fingers faster while kneading her breast. “Come apart for me.”
