Page 34 of The Lady’s No Angel

It was another half hour before Mr Cleaver returned, humming to himself.

He came in and swept a rather haphazard bow. “The prodigal returns,” he announced, beaming at them.

Angel folded her arms and regarded him dubiously. “How much did you have to drink?”

Leo lifted his hand, estimating a small amount between his fingers and thumb.

Milly snorted. “Pull the other one, it’s got bells on,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I’ll order some coffee, miss.”

Angel nodded her approval and hurried to Mr Cleaver, who was smiling at her beatifically. “Damned good ale here,” he said, swaying a little.

“Apparently so. Strong too,” Angel observed, taking his arm and steering him back to the sturdy oak chair he’d sat in during their meal. “Sit down before you fall down,” she said sternly, giving him a little push.

He did as she told him, sitting heavily, but reaching for her as he went.

Angel gave a little squeal as he pulled her onto his lap, his arms snaking about her waist. “Let me go, you big ox!” she complained as he nuzzled her hair, his warm lips pressing against her neck. She wriggled in his lap, telling herself she was cross with him, and opened her mouth to give him a scold.

“You smell delicious,” he said, sighing, as his warm breath gusted over the back of her neck. “I want to eat you up.”

Angel shivered with delight and then reminded herself severely that she was not to come out of this adventure ruined and with a babe in her belly. No matter how much she liked him, he was a man, and men were unreliable. No one was going to take care of her but herself so she must be sensible.

But being sensible is so boring, complained the wicked little voice that never failed to lead her into trouble.

And his arms were so strong, and his chest was warm, and she could feel… Oh. Oh, good heavens!

Angel froze, suddenly rivetingly aware of his arousal, hard and insistent and pressed against the cleft of her bottom.

“You’re driving me distracted,” he grumbled, his arms tightening about her middle.

“You’re doing an admirable job yourself,” Angel remarked, aware she sounded a little hysterical. She must tell him to let her go, and get up, and get away from him before she did something she would undoubtedly regret. She must.

In a minute.

Instead, she leaned back and sighed, revelling in the feel of his arms about her. He was so warm and solid; he made her feel safe. An illusion, she knew, but all the same, it was a lovely one. He pressed gentle kisses along her neck and nipped at her earlobe.

“You don’t trust me,” he grumbled mournfully, as one hand crept towards her breast.

Angel snorted and pushed it away, which was a deal harder to do than she liked to admit. “I wonder why,” she muttered ruefully as his hand crept back again. This time she let it, sighing and closing her eyes as it closed around her breast and gently squeezed. His thumb moved to her nipple, circling it as it grew taut beneath her gown. Her breath caught, the secret place between her thighs giving an insistent throb of excitement.

“Because you don’t know me. If you knew me, you’d know you could trust me. I’d not—not—”

“—not seduce me into your bed and then wave me goodbye?” Angel suggested, turning to look at him.

To her surprise, he gazed at her, his eyes a trifle hazy, but his expression entirely sincere. “I’m not that sort of fellow,” he said gruffly.

Angel stiffened as she heard Milly’s voice outside the door, no doubt to give her fair warning. She pushed out of his arms and stood, smoothing down her skirts as she tried not to notice the regretful look he sent her.

Milly opened the door and shooting her a glare of exasperation which told Angel all she needed about just how guilty she looked. Ruth came in behind Milly, carrying a tray with a coffee pot, milk, and sugar.

“I warned him it weren’t like the usual stuff,” Ruth said with a laugh, setting the tray down. “But the locals took a liking to him, seeing as how he bought them all drinks, and they determined to get him drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” Mr Cleaver grumbled indignantly. “Just a trifle fatigued. It’s been a long day.”

“Oh, aye,” the girl said wryly, winking at them before she swept out again.

Milly hurried over to Angel, reaching up to rearrange her hair, which Mr Cleaver had disordered during their little tussle. “I can’t leave you along for a moment,” she scolded, shaking her head.

“Not with him,” Angel replied crossly. “He’s like catnip.”