He said it with such conviction, she had no choice except to believe him. And she was much more interested in discovering things about him than continuing to discuss Hollie’s upcoming nuptials. “You mentioned that things don’t always have to start with a kiss.”
“Did Hollingsworth teach you that they were required?”
“He has his own way of doing things, and he doesn’t stray from them.”
His fingers went into her hair, and she felt a little tug. In what would be darkness without the moonlight, she couldn’t see what he held but it appearedhe tossed it aside. And then a few tendrils of her hair fell down to her shoulders.
“Hence, with him, it’s always the same,” he said, his voice low, speculative as though he was striving to envision what her life in London might entail.
Another tug, more tresses falling.
“When he comes to me, and we stay in, we never stray into uncharted territory. You, my lord, are uncharted territory.”
“Does that frighten you?”
Terrifies me. Excites me.
“I think it’s important for you to know that while the law does not require that I remain faithful to Hollie—after all, we took no marriage vows, signed no church registry—I have never strayed. However, of late, there has been a discontentment in me”—she squeezed her eyes shut. A discontentment that had only grown since the night at the Twin Dragons—“that I think Hollie has recognized. It may be the reason he made that atrocious wager with you.”
She felt his pull on the hairpin, was aware of him tossing it aside. More strands falling. Suddenly she was finding it difficult to breathe. Her body was growing warm.
“I wouldn’t have bedded you that night. Although I may have indulged enough to kiss you silly. I like Hollingsworth. But I like you more.” Another hairpin was tossed aside, and the rest of her hair tumbled down around her shoulders. Placing his hand between the wayward strands and her neck, he moved the tresses aside and lowered his head. “I wouldn’t want to do anything to make you feel... tawdry.”
Then his mouth, heated and open, was covering her skin, just below her jaw, near her ear. Her knees went weak, and she found herself clutching his upper arms as his hands clamped around her waist and drew her near. “I’m a mistress. I’m supposed to be tawdry.”
He growled. “You smell so good. You feel so good. You taste so good. I want to taste more of you.”
“I want to taste you.”
“Christ.” He pulled back and studied her. The moonlight captured the silver of his eyes and turned them molten. They were smoldering with desire.
Hollie had never looked at her that way. It created a burning low in her belly and between her thighs. She knew what Langdon could give her, desperately wanted it. “Although he and I have not yet officially parted ways, I don’t see that Hollie could fault me for wanting this, for taking it.”
“I would if you were mine.” He looked toward the residence, where only a few windows revealed the glow of lamps.
“They were all retiring for the night. I came out here to let you know... and got distracted.”
“Mother gave you a chamber in the family wing.”
“Beside Poppy’s room. We’d have to be very quiet.”
“The other wing has bedchambers.” He lifted her into his arms. “You have until we’re nearer the residence to let me know if I turn to the left to deliver you to your bedchamber in the family wing, where you’ll sleep alone. Or if I turn to the right,toward the guest wing, where you’ll be mine until just before dawn.”
As he began striding forward, she circled her tongue around the shell of his ear before whispering, “Turn right. For the love of God, turn right.”
Chapter 22
Langdon was not a thief. He’d never taken what belonged to another. If he hadn’t learned about Hollingsworth’s betrothal, his steps wouldn’t be quickening, and he wouldn’t now be on the verge of taking this woman as though she belonged to him.
They reached the door that led into the other wing. Without hesitation, she reached down, released the latch, and shoved open the door. He carried her into the entryway that wasn’t quite as grand as the one leading into the main portion of the residence. If he continued down the hallway, he’d pass a number of small parlors, reading rooms, and libraries that were available so guests could make themselves at home and have a bit of privacy. He considered going into one and grabbing a bottle of spirits to take with them up the stairs but nothing he drank was going to be as intoxicating as Marlowe.
He crossed over to a table where a lit lamp threw their shadows onto the walls. “Grab that,” he ordered her, surprised by the raspiness and fervor he heard in his voice.
She did as he bade. “Wouldn’t it be easier if you set me down, so I could walk?”
“I’ve thought about carrying you like this since the night of the storm.” He started up the stairs.
“You did carry me. How else would I have gotten to your bedchamber?”
