Page 82 of One Night with an Earl

“Your carriage awaits.”

Startled, she whirled to see Oliver. Dressed in a black shirt, black cravat, and black breeches and Hessians, he looked like a raiding pirate.

She pressed a hand to her heart. “You scared me half to death.”

“I was the lookout.”

“And am I safe?”

He flashed a grin. “From others. Not from me.”

A thrill raced down her spine. “Wicked pirate.”

His lips twitched. “Shall I toss you over my shoulder like booty?”

Trying to calm her racing heart, she released a slow breath. “Perhaps. I may like it.”

A gleam lit his eyes, something shockingly possessive crossing his dark features. “Then who am I to keep a lady waiting?” He opened the carriage door. “Enter if you dare.”

Holding her skirts in one hand, she stepped inside.

Chapter Thirty

While the carriage maneuvered through the abandoned London streets, Ana was highly conscious of Oliver seated beside her on the bench.

“I thought of little else but you all day. I couldn’t focus on any of my duties, and I could barely follow along with the play. All I wanted to watch was you,” Oliver said.

“Oh?” The idea that she had pulled him from his work and consumed his thoughts in the theatre was thrilling.

He placed an arm around her shoulders. “Are you surprised?”

She leaned into his strong embrace, and warmth rushed through her at his heat and the steady rise and fall of his chest. “Would it please you if I admit to thinking of you on occasion?” she said, her tone light.

He chuckled. “Only on occasion? I see I have work to do then.” He kissed her neck, nibbled at her ear. She sighed and tilted her head to give him better access.

At last the carriage rumbled to a stop. She glanced outside, but it was too dark to see clearly.

“Have we arrived at your home?”

“We will enter at the back. I’ve dismissed most of my servants for the evening. The two remaining are discreet.”

It meant a great deal to her that he was taking efforts to ensure her privacy. Still, another question sprang to her mind.

“Do you sneak women into your home often?” she asked, hoping her tone appeared light.

“Never. Does that please you?”

It did. More than he could ever know.

He helped her out of the carriage, her skin tingling beneath her glove. She pulled her hood down and followed him into his home.

A lit lamp was waiting by a table. They had entered into the kitchens, and her eyes were drawn to the long shadows of pots hanging from hooks above a wooden worktable.

“Come.” He took her hand and led her into a corridor. Holding the lamp high, she glanced into empty rooms as they passed…a drawing room, a study, a dining room. Even in the dim lighting, she sensed the vastness of the mansion.

They made their way up a winding staircase. His profile was half lit from the lamp he held high, and she felt the coiled tension in his lean frame. He wanted her, desired her, and she experienced a thrill of anticipation.

Then she was in his bedchamber.