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“I don’t have enough information to make a deal yet.” It was exceedingly challenging to sound or appear formidable when the slightest contact set her on fire. “I will need a day to consider and draw up my own terms. I will call on you when I’m ready.”
“The offer will expire if I don’t hear from you tomorrow.” Cora could only stare when her companion rose elegantly and gathered her reticule from the chair. “I’m afraid I must go.” She sent a pitying look to the uneaten oysters before winking at Cora. “I am to pick up my dress on Rue de la Paix for an outing this evening. It’s a shame, really,” she lamented, extending a hand to Cora. “I’ve always wanted to seal a deal with a kiss...”
Cora almost laughed at how genuinely affronted she looked. Felt slightly hysterical at the irony of meticulously devising a plan only to see it demolished by a frilly princess. And it was her own fault for thinking too little of the heiress because she was beautiful and young. Maybe her stepson was right, and she had been spending too much time with rich old men. One thing was certain: Cora had been had today.
And even in defeat, she wanted her. “If you keep talking about my kisses, I might have to oblige.”
Manuela froze in front of the door, the glove in her hand fluttering to the ground. Cora picked it up before taking a step forward. She should let her walk away. This was over. The deal was on the table. She should call the footman. Walk Manuela to the street and send her on her way. But it seemed today she couldn’t keep from running into burning buildings.
Muddying the waters here was the worst thing she could do. But the need to taste that mouth again was driving her mad. She was shaking from it. She took another step so that Manuela was caught between Cora and the closed door.
“Déjà vu,” Manuela whispered.
Cora’s fingers traced the edge of the heiress’s face, her skin tightening with every needy sound she made. “Such a gorgeous girl,” she told her, and Manuela melted. She was so expressive, so mercurial. One minute she was a hellion making scandalous proposals, and the next she was all molten need. “I should’ve kissed you longer last night.”
“You should kiss me now,” Manuela protested, surprising a laugh from Cora. Resisting all this incandescent energy was going to be hell.
She caught that stubborn chin between her fingers and lifted that mouth to hers, coaxing a deliciously frustrated whimper from the intrepid beauty. This Cora was good at. The seduction. The unplucking. It had been years since she’d properly done it. Since the disaster with Sally, she much preferred cursory encounters involving no kind of emotional investment. Her passion went into her business and the people she cared about. She didn’t trust herself with it anywhere else. And she didn’t want to think about Sally Fraser and her deceit now.
Manuela grunted, circling her arms around Cora’s neck. “You are very frustrating,” she complained.
“So impatient, princess.” She didn’t make her wait for long.
Cora realized the magnitude of her mistake the moment their mouths met. She didn’t stop, she didn’t think she could if she tried. She licked into that hot mouth. Deepened the kiss with her tongue until she could taste the saltiness of the oysters, the sharpness of the champagne and something altogether more intoxicating.
A hand cupped the back of her neck, bringing her in, and then she was the one being kissed. She kissed like a gale, sweeping Cora right off her feet. Her hands skating over those wonderful curves. That sweet, clever tongue insinuating itself with unbridled enthusiasm.
To Cora’s eternal shame, it was Manuela who broke away. She slid out of the embrace flushed. Her eyes glassy and her mouth so red and puffy Cora had to look away.
“For the record,” she began, breathless and gloriously beautiful. “This is my definition ofenjoyable.” That was the splash of cold water Cora needed to get back in control. This could not be some six-week-long romp, this was business. Business that she would not endanger over a few kisses.
“This can’t happen again,” Cora declared and saw a flash of regret in the heiress’s gaze, but it was quickly replaced with the bravado that Cora now recognized as armor.
“That’s a pity,” she said breezily, without looking at Cora. “You’ll have to introduce me to some other ladies who will be open to engaging in that type of enjoyment with me, then.”
Cora did not like that suggestion and found the reasons for her irritation even less appealing. She had to get her out of there. “I will come to you, and we will discuss the terms of this agreement, Manuela. Tomorrow.”
“I’ll be ready for you, Your Grace.”
Only after she’d watched the heiress get in a carriage and disappear into the bustling Rue Montorgueil did she notice the heiress’s glove was still in her hand.
Six
“Has the young heiressbeen properly decimated?” Cora’s stepson Alfie asked as she walked into the study.
“Not quite,” she responded shakily, making a beeline to the decanter by the fireplace and pouring herself a healthy serving of whisky. She needed fortification before delving into what had just occurred at that blasted luncheon.
“I had the mate ready for you,” Alfie told her, pointing to the tea service on the low table by the hearth. The round, squat gourd sat with the bombilla, a silver straw, protruding from it. One of their family rituals was drinking the tea together in the afternoons. But today yerba mate would just not do.
“I need something stronger,” she huffed, before tossing back a gulp of the scorching spirit.
“Imbibing before sundown,” her stepson observed, unhelpfully. “I take it Miss Caceres was not as malleable as you hoped.”
Cora made an unhappy sound as she sat on the armchair across from Alfie, one finger massaging her temple. She was still reeling from that lunch—from that kiss—and wished she’d had a moment to digest what happened before having to explain it to anyone. But Cora kept her days full, every minute she was awake accounted for, and she’d foolishly assumed she’d make quick work of Miss Caceres Galvan and had agreed to tea with Alfred, Cassandra and Frederica. Her stepson and her two best friends were the last people she wanted to talk to right now.
“I thought you’d be delayed. Weren’t you meeting with Grayson about the renovations?” she asked in an effort to divert his attention, but he knew all of Cora’s tells.
“Good try, Mother,” he retorted, seemingly delighted at her sad attempt to sway him in another direction. “Renovations are in order, and the house in Belgravia will be ready for us in six weeks. Now, tell me what has brought up this thirst for my single malt at barely half past two.”
