Page 41 of His Sinful Touch

“Believe me, the Morelands need no help to get into trouble.”

She frowned, sitting up and moving away a bit. “I think I should leave.”

“What? No!” Alex took both her hands in his. “Listen to me. Don’t worry about the Morelands, least of all me. I’ve gotten into and out of more scrapes than you can imagine. You stay right here at Broughton House. I promise you—whoever the Dearborns are, whatever has happened, whatever will happen, I will not let them hurt you. I won’t let them take you, and neither will anyone else in my family.”

He kissed her lightly on the lips, more promise than passion. “Do you believe me?”

Sabrina smiled up at him. “Yes, I believe you.” She nestled against him, his arm sliding naturally around her shoulders. “I’ll stay.”

Without thought, Alex bent and kissed her again. And this kiss was all passion. Sabrina twined her arms around his neck, pressing her body into his, and for a moment Alex could think of nothing but her mouth and his need. He kissed her deeply, all the desire of the evening flaring up in him again. His hand moved over her, caressing her soft curves, and she let out a quiet moan.

At that sound, all coolness and reason, all thoughts of right and wrong, fled his brain. Alex didn’t care that she might be married, didn’t care that he was not acting the gentleman. All he could think of was carrying Sabrina away somewhere and making love to her. His hand slipped inside her dress, finding and caressing her breast, the nipple prickling beneath his touch. His mouth moved down her neck, and Sabrina’s head fell back, offering her soft throat to him.

Suddenly the cessation of movement and the coachman’s voice calling to the team pierced the fog of Alex’s desire. The carriage had stopped. He felt the coach shift a little under the weight of the coachman climbing down from his seat. In another moment, one of the footmen would reach them and open the door.

Letting out a groan of sheer frustration, Alex released Sabrina. She simply stared at him for a long moment, her eyes wide, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her mouth so rosy and soft from their kisses that it was all Alex could do not to pull her back to him.

“We’re home.” His voice came out a croak, and he cleared his throat. “I... Sabrina, I—”

“No,” she told him breathlessly, breaking from her trance. She turned away and straightened her dress. “Don’t. Please don’t say you’re sorry.” She drew a breath and faced Alex as a footman swung the carriage door open and stepped back. Her eyes were bright, her voice low but fierce as she told him, “Because I’m not. I’m not sorry at all.”

Sabrina scrambled out of the carriage and hurried into the house, leaving Alex behind, watching her.

* * *

ALEX SET OUT to see Tom Quick first thing the next morning. He had had a difficult time sleeping the night before and had finally given up and gotten dressed when the sun crept through the curtains. Downstairs, even before the servants had laid out breakfast in the dining room, he cadged a cup of tea and some biscuits from the cook and headed out to find Quick. Now more than ever, he wanted to learn what Tom had found in the city records, and he had no desire to wait for Con’s employee to call at Broughton House. When he did not find Tom at the agency, Alex went on to the man’s rooms, only a few blocks away. Tom answered the door in his shirtsleeves, hair uncombed, a cup of the strong coffee he favored in his hand.

“Hello, guv,” he greeted Alex cheerfully. “You’re on the march early this morning. Want a cup of coffee?”

“That tar you brew? No, thank you.”

“Come in and sit while I do. I’m no good ’til I’ve had at least one cup.”

“I’m tempted to say you’re no good then, but you left me too easy an opening.”

“Aye, well, I’m off my game this early,” Tom said as he led Alex into his small kitchen. “I’m guessing you want to know what I found out yesterday. I was going to tell you first thing.”

“I know. But I was up early, and I want to know now. To whom does that house belong?”

“Sabrina Lilian Blair, minor,” Tom said, as if quoting. “But under the guardianship of a Niles Dearborn until she reaches majority.”

“Next month.” Alex dropped down into the seat across the table from Tom with the ease of long familiarity.

“I wouldn’t know about that. It was formerly owned by one Hamilton Blair, who died on... Hang on, I’ve got the date jotted down.” He started to rise.

“Never mind. I don’t need the exact date.”

“So, figuring you’d want to know about Hamilton Blair, I went to the probate records and looked up his will. He left a small portion and a life estate in Carmoor—that’s a house in Somerset somewhere—to his wife, Claudia, and the rest of his estate, which appears to be mostly in funds, to his only daughter, Sabrina Lilian Blair.” He cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t seem to be terribly surprised by this news.”

“I was expecting something like this. We ran into Niles Dearborn last night and he claimed to be her guardian.”

“Oh. Problem solved, then.” Tom paused. “Isn’t it?”

“Dearborn and I don’t see eye to eye. He seems less interested in helping Sabrina than in getting her back into his clutches.”

“You think he’s the bloke that hit her?”

“I think it’s probable.” Alex set his jaw. “I don’t mean to let him do so again.”