AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Bridget returned to the table and sipped the last of her wine. Slorach dragged his eyes from Lucy and nodded at her. “Where did you learn to dance like that, Miss Murray?”
“My grandmother taught me. It was a long time ago.”
“I wish I could dance with you. It’s a shame for you to have to sit out. I’m sure one of the other agents—”
Bridget realized with a start that if she stayed other men would ask her to dance. That was the last thing she wanted. Her head was still spinning, her heart still racing.
She gathered her coat. “Actually, I’m rather tired. Goodnight, Mr. Slorach.” She walked away, quickly passing the other agents. As she reached the door, she made the mistake of looking over her shoulder. Callahan Kelly held Margaret in the same way he’d held her. There was no reason her heart should drum or her skin feel warm where he’d touched her. She was nothing special to him. Next he’d dance with Lucy and forget all about her.
She slipped out and into the cold, but for once the bitter chill felt good on her hot skin. She moved away from the door and the light spilling from the windows and into the shadows. Leaning back against the building, she pressed her hands to her face, hoping to bring the color down before she returned to the farmhouse. She would be mortified if Baron saw how pink her cheeks were when she returned. She had to at least pretend to be professional.
She wasn’t aware how much time had passed until the door to the hall opened a moment later, music and light tumbling out with it. She shrank further back into the shadows, but it was too late.
“Miss Murray,” Mr. Kelly said, his voice thick with Ireland. “I thought you’d run away.”
Her chin jerked up. “I was ready to retire for the evening. That’s not running away.”
“Sure and you set me straight, as usual.” He came closer, stepping into the shadows with her.
She tried to move back, but she was already pressed against the wall.
“How is your accent coming? Have you been practicing?” he asked.
“I don’t think I can pass for a native, but I believe I’ve mastered the phrases you gave me.”
“I’ve no reason to doubt you. Anyone can see you’re a quick study.” He looked down at her, hands shoved in his pockets. He wasn’t wearing his coat, and she wondered if he was cold. The cold hadn’t chilled her yet. “You’re also a woman of hidden talents. Who would have thought you could dance like that?”
“You dance very well yourself.”
He shrugged. “I’m an Irishman. We learn it in the cradle, but you...” He trailed off, his gaze fixed on her. With a start, she realized his gaze was centered on her lips.
“I should go in now,” she said.
“If you like.” He stepped aside. “But I’d rather you stay a few more minutes.”
The path back to the farmhouse was wide open. He wasn’t blocking her. He obviously didn’t intend to prevent her leaving. “What will happen if I stay a few more minutes?” she asked. Immediately, she regretted the words. Why had she asked that? Why hadn’t she run?
“I’ll discover if you have any other hidden talents.” He moved closer, still not hemming her in. His hand lifted and slid to cup the back of her neck.
She meant to pull away, but his hand was so surprisingly warm and the scent of him so comforting and—she could admit it—arousing. “I’m a secretary. I don’t have the sort of hidden talents you’d be interested in.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, lass. That night at the train station, I saw a woman who was wily and clever. A woman I liked very much.”
“And I saw a man who was perpetually in trouble. A man who couldn’t even board a train without my assistance.”
“You’re a fiery lass. I like that.” His breath tickled her cheek as he bent closer.
“Don’t call me lass.”
His lips brushed over hers, making her heart kick hard in her chest. “You like it when I call you lass. It’s the only time you can forget about being prim Miss Murray, so it is.”
“Why should I forget?” she whispered.
“I’ll show you.”
His mouth brushed hers again, and her knees felt weak. She was thankful for the support of the building behind her. Thankful for the darkness so he couldn’t see her flaming cheeks. He pulled back just enough to look in her eyes, and as soon as their gazes locked, something inside her tore free. She felt something pass between them, something pulling them together like a pirate’s grappling hook on a captured vessel. She didn’t know who kissed whom then, but this kiss was no sweet brush of the lips. His mouth was hot and insistent, and the feel of it flooded her with such yearning and such need.
Her hands came up and she gripped the lapels of his coat, dragging him closer. Holding on for dear life as she was swept away under those skillful, consuming lips. She kissed him back—or at least she tried. She had no experience with kisses, with men, with the emotions swirling inside her. When he coaxed her mouth open to admit his tongue, she felt so dizzy, she feared she would faint. He licked and teased, and—dear God—she reciprocated. This was sin. This was pure, unadulterated debauchery.
