Page 30 of The Lady’s No Angel

His hand slid about her waist as she swayed, steadying her, which was just as well as her bones were as substantial as butter. His other hand cupped her cheek, playing with her mouth with the skill of one who had perfected the art with years of dedicated practice.

Oh, he was good, and this was delicious. He was delicious. A sound escaped her, a faint little moan of pleasure that only underlined how far gone she was. Angel leaned into him and he pulled her close, and oh, his body was as warm and vigorous and solid as she had imagined. His arms tightened, her breasts pressing against his hard body. Her palms flattened upon his chest, and she felt the reassuring thud of his heart beneath the layers of fine linen and wool. His scent, the scent of a man still hot and damp from exertion—from a fight for his life—filled her mind and made her giddy with longing. She wanted to tear all that expensive fabric aside and slide her hands over his sweat-damp skin, to taste the salt tang of it upon her tongue.

Somewhere in the distance there was a faint knocking sound. Perhaps it was her moral fibre trying to gain her attention. She ignored it.

What was the word he’d told her, she thought in some distant part of her brain. Stop? Why on earth would she say such a foolish thing?

His mouth nipped at her ear, trailed wicked kisses down her throat as she inclined her head, allowing it, encouraging it.

“Miss Baxter?”

She didn’t want him to stop. She wanted him to kiss her like this forever. She wanted to coil herself about his big body and hold on tight and—

“Miss!”

Mr Cleaver leapt away, dropping her as if she’d scalded him as Milly’s voice, taut with anxiety, sounded through the door.

“Devil take you!” Mr Cleaver cursed, glaring at her. “You’re supposed to stop me. I told you to say stop. How difficult is it to remember one word? Stop!”

Angel just blinked at him, too dazed to speak. “St-Stop?”

“Well, it’s too late now!” he exclaimed crossly, striding to the door and snatching it open.

Milly, who had clearly had her ear pressed to the wood, fell into the room.

Mr Cleaver turned his scalding gazed upon her next. “A fine chaperone you are. Here I am, a wicked seducer, and you let her go with me without so much as a murmur. What is wrong with you both?”

Milly opened her mouth.

“Don’t you dare apologise,” Angel said crossly, finally having salvaged some shreds of intelligence from the wreckage he’d made of her brain. Good heavens. She’d known he was dangerous, but really. The government ought to stamp a warning on his forehead to caution unsuspecting females. “I didn’t give Milly the chance to stop me, and she shouldn’t have had the slightest success if she’d tried. Good night, Mr Cleaver. Sleep well.”

With that, she grasped Milly’s hand and sailed from the room with her head held high.

Sleep well? Was she insane? As if he could sleep now!

Hart watched her go. He was still vibrating, energy surging through him with nowhere to go.

Well, there was one place for it to go and it had done just that.

He’d been all riled up by the fight, by the sight of her standing backlit in the doorway, pistol in hand. By the time he’d realised the villain had got away and there was no point in searching, he’d been in such a frenzy he’d not known which way was up.

Seeing as how he was in such an unreasonable state, he ought to have known better than to confront her the moment he got back. He ought to have taken a moment to calm down. He ought to have cleaned himself up and had a drink and gathered his wits instead of storming to her bedroom door and towing her to his own like a lunatic. At least he’d stopped short of knocking her over the head and dragging her by the hair like the caveman he apparently was.

Hart groaned and sat down on the bed, raking a hand through his hair. He might have ravished her, and all with Toby asleep before the fire. What if the boy had woken? That would have been an education for the lad, and no mistake. What was wrong with him?

Miss Baxter was an innocent… probably. Though an innocent girl would not have responded like she had, surely? She hadn’t been shocked, hadn’t slapped him, and she’d known how to kiss too. Good Lord, had she known. He could still feel the touch of her mouth burning against his lips, still taste her on his tongue.

Pack it in, he told himself severely.

Yes, Miss Baxter was an unholy temptation. Yes, she was undoubtedly responsible for nearly getting him killed. If he had the least bit of sense, he would get as far from her as he possibly could. He did not doubt she would try to ditch him eventually. Yet, she needed him whether or not she wished to admit it.

He would simply have to endure it. He must grit his teeth, remind himself he was a gentleman and endeavour to help her do whatever it was she was set on doing without getting any of them killed. Presuming she wasn’t planning to blow up Parliament. At this point, he wouldn’t put it past her.

Chapter 10

Not Talking About Last Night

The Chequers, Sevenoaks, Kent, 9th April 1816