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“Evelyn was a friend of mine as well,” he told her, the sting of Evelyn’s death, the guilt of knowing his brother had been the one to cause it, burning within him. “We grew up on adjoining estates. Jocelyn and Evelyn ran wild with Mortimer and me as children.”
“Why would he kill Evelyn?” Miss Fields cried, her slim body trembling with emotion. “She was the sweetest woman I’ve ever known. I can’t imagine why he’d go after her, given what I know of his other victims. She wasn’t a bad woman. She wasn’t a... whore.”
“That’s what led me to Danbury,” Drake said grimly. “He’d planned to marry Evelyn since childhood, but she never wanted anything to do with him. In fact, she obviously decided she’d rather be a spinster than Danbury’s viscountess. Ness figured out that all the women The Viper has killed were those who’d rejected him in some way, and I knew Evelyn had rejected him.”
“But it must have been nearly a decade since Evelyn rejected your brother. She’d been on the shelf for ages. Why would he decide to kill her now?” she asked numbly, tears now streaking down her lovely face.
He sighed. “Evelyn was a lady, someone who’d be missed, so I think he was afraid to do anything to her before. But all the publicity he’s getting as The Viper, all the newspaper articles, has obviously emboldened him. He is thriving on the attention.”
She simply stared at him for a long time, those tears still tracking down her cheeks, her blue eyes luminous in the candlelight. He was certain she must be blaming him as much as he blamed himself. He bowed his head, staring at the scarred tabletop, wishing the conversation had never turned down this path. Then, to his utter surprise, she stood and rounded the table, bending over to wrap her arms around his shoulders and hug him tightly.
“I’m so sorry. What a terrible burden to bear,” she whispered, her breath warm against his ear.
The scent of lavender filled his senses, wonderful after the stale air of the cellar, and her lovely black hair tickled his cheek.
For the first time in longer than he could remember, his own eyes burned with unshed tears. Had anyone ever given him such unconditional comfort? He’d expected her to hate him, not hug him.
For a few moments, he just remained passive in her embrace, but then he turned and lifted his arms, tentatively wrapping them around her in return. The attraction that had been simmering between them ever since he’d first been thrown down here flared to life again, and he was suddenly very aware that he was holding a beautiful, voluptuous woman.
Slowly, she drew away, her face mere inches from his own. Their gazes caught and held, and he swore he saw an answering attraction in her eyes. Her breathing quickened, and he lifted a hand to gently cup her cheek. “Miss Fields...”
“Call me Heather,” she said quickly, and he couldn’t help but smile.
“You are so lovely, Heather,” he breathed. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you all day.”
She reared back a bit, as though in surprise, but then bit her lip. “I’ve been wanting that too,” she admitted softly.
“Thank God.” He surged to his feet, kicking the chair away and pulling her flush against him. She stared up at him, her expression a strange combination of desire and trepidation that he wasn’t certain how to interpret. But she’d said she wanted him too, and right now that’s all that mattered. Their days—hell, hours—could very well be numbered. Why not spend them engaged in the only pleasurable activity available to them?
Wrapping one arm around her waist, he lifted her onto her tiptoes and lowered his head to hers, catching her luscious lips in a searching kiss that she returned with equal enthusiasm. She still tasted faintly of chocolate cake, a thought that made him smile as his tongue danced with hers. She was every bit as sweet as he’d thought she’d be, and she responded beautifully with soft breathy sounds that went straight to his cock, making him painfully aroused in a matter of seconds.
Lifting her completely off the floor, he walked backward until the back of his calves hit the cot, then sat down, angling her across his lap. As he continued to kiss her, he slid his fingertips over the top of her bodice, glorying in the silky feel of her breast, the hardness of her nipple.
She gasped into his mouth, stiffening a bit, and he broke the kiss, trailing his lips down her throat. “I want to touch you,” he whispered, cupping her breast and lifting it from the restraining fabric. “You’re so damn sweet, Heather.”
As he said her name, he closed his lips over her nipple, biting her ever so gently and then immediately soothing her with his tongue.
“Drake.” She grabbed his hair in her hands, holding on tight, her head falling back as she offered herself up to him.
He loved the sound of his name on her lips. Heart thundering in his chest, he worked on freeing her other breast, then drew back just slightly to look at them, the alabaster skin of her lovely curves so stark against her dark nipples.
Bending her backward over his arm, he laid her back on the cot, her chest heaving, her blue eyes hooded with desire as her black hair fanned out across the shabby white sheets. If he’d ever seen anything so lovely, he couldn’t remember it. He knelt on the floor beside her and bent his head to the lush mounds of her breasts, tonguing one and then the other, giving them the full attention of both his mouth and his hands.
He wasn’t certain how far he would have gone had a rattle at the door not pulled him out of his reverie like a bucket of cold water thrown over his head.
