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And then he was hauling her up out of the nest of warm sheets, pushing her onto her back, breath harsh, eyes wild.

And she decided she loved that best of al.

“The death of me,” he said, pulling her off and hauling her up so he could cover her with his big, hard body. He kissed her deep and slow, rubbing his cock against her quim until she was writhing again, wet and swollen and demanding. “Now,” she said, letting her thighs fall open as wide as they could. “Now, Bram.”

“I lied,” he said against her, even as he slid into her warmth, stealing her breath for a moment. She clenched around him deliciously. “That one’s my favorite.”

He pushed deeper, and she rose to meet every thrust, chasing his retreats, inviting his return. The pace matched her heartbeat until she couldn’t feel anything but him. Her thoughts fled and there was only their bodies joining, the rattle of the bed, the panting and gasping. And then the release. It claimed her in waves that arched her back and stole her breath. Her legs stayed wrapped around him, heels digging into his buttocks. His sweaty chest pressed against her. “I’ll crush you, lass.”

“Yes, please.”

“You’re made of glass and moonlight.”

“I won’t break.” She nuzzled him, could not help herself. “You always smell like lime candies.”

“Occupational hazard.”

“How’s that?”

“I spent years at sea eating limes to fend off scurvy,” he explained. “I developed a taste for it. But limes are not readily available in London.”

“Hence lime candies.”

“Hence lime candies,” he confirmed. “You, on the hand, smell like bergamot, like the best cup of tea on a rainy day.” His mouth moved down her throat, over her clavicles. “I could drink you down.” A suck, a nibble at her breast, slow and deliberate. Almost lazy. “I don’t think they’ll miss us for a while yet, do you?”

*

When they returned to Eastbourne Hall it was to find Kitty setting up a table under the grand staircase. Her auburn curls fell out of their pins as she sorted through the contents of a large trunk with leather straps, laying out books over a tablecloth painted with gold griffins.

“Kitty?” Clara stopped in her tracks.

Kitty stopped, turned around. Her eyes widened. “Oh, thank God,” she said fervently. “A friendly face.”

“What are you doing here?”

Kitty smirked. “As the only official purveyor of the Nightingale’s books, the marquis invited me to set up a book corner for her new release. Exclusive before the rest of London. Otherwise it’s mostly Byron’s poetry and the more lascivious books, it has to be said.” She dropped her voice. “I’ve been told there are also dancers and acrobats on their way.”

“I am not surprised. But where are you sleeping?”

“There is a small parlor with a settee. It will do for one night.”

Clara hugged her, dropping her voice. “Lock your door.”

She and Bram crossed the lawn to the dower house next. The sun had come out briefly, and the world outside gleamed prettily.

Selene sat at the table, its lace cloth fluttering in the breeze of the open windows. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I helped myself to your tray. I don’t think Mrs. Meadows likes me as much as she likes your captain. I had only toast and jam before you came.”

“I’m not sure she likes anyone as much as she likes the captain,” Clara replied with a smile. The captain in question was sitting outside again, after having thoroughly checked the house for knife-wielding foes. Martin had remained in Fitcher, trying to avoid the local authorities and the marquis’s men. It was rather frowned upon to try to murder a marquis.

When the rain started a soft patter on the windows, Selene glanced at the door. “Will he not come in?”

“He likes the rain. I suppose it makes sense, after all those years spent outside in various degrees of damp.”

Selene shook her head. “Ghastly.” She ate another decadent macaron. It was flavored with almonds and rosewater and sat next to hard rolls, a bowl of yesterday’s syllabub, and plain scones. It was an odd assortment.

“Did Mrs. Meadows bring this herself?” Clara asked, feeling something niggling in the back of her head.

“One of the footmen,” Selene said with a wrinkle of her nose. “One of the ones that seem a bit menacing for a country footman.”