A Wicked Liaison. Christine Merrill

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СКАЧАТЬ of bearing her weight. She tilted her head slightly, and he adjusted, tasting her lips and her tongue as though he wanted to have every last bit of sweetness from them before letting her go.

      She relaxed and gave it up to him. And was shocked to find herself willing to give him more. It had been a long time since she had felt so well and truly kissed. Her husband’s kisses, in recent years, had been warm and comfortable, but not particularly passionate. The kisses she’d received from suitors since his death were more ardent, but could not seem to melt the frozen places in her heart, or ease the loneliness.

      But this man kissed as if he were savouring a fine wine. He was dallying with her, barely touching her lips and then sealing their mouths to steal the breath from her lungs.

      His hands were gentle on her body, taking no further liberty than to support her as he kissed, and she knew she had but to offer the slightest resistance and he would set her free.

      But she was so tired of being free, if freedom meant loneliness and worry. And suddenly, the kiss could not be long enough or deep enough to satisfy the craving inside of her. His hands stayed still on her body, but she wished to feel them do more than just hold her. She wanted to be touched.

      Her own hands were clenched in fists on his shirtfront, and she realised that she’d planned to push him away before now. Instead she opened them, palms flat and fingers spread on his chest, before running them up his body to wrap her arms around his neck. The hair at the back of his head was soft, and curled around her fingers as she tangled them in it, pulling herself closer to kiss him back. He smelled of wood smoke and soap, and he tasted like whisky. And when she moved her tongue against his, he tensed and his hands went hard against her body, his thumb massaging circles deep into the flesh of her shoulder. His other hand tightened on the soft flesh of her hip to hold her tight to him. She could feel his smile, tingling against her lips.

      And then, as quickly the kiss had begun, it was over. He set her back on her feet again and for a moment they leaned against each other, as though neither were steady enough to stand without support of the other. When he pulled away from her, he shook his head and sighed in satisfaction. He was breathless, as he said, ‘That is quite the richest reward I’ve taken in ages. So much more valuable than mere jewels. I will live on the memory of it for a very long time.’ He traced the outline of her lips with the tip of his finger. ‘I am sorry for frightening you and I thank you for not crying out. Know that your secrets are as safe with me as mine are with you. And now, if you will excuse me?’ He bowed. ‘Do not light the candle just yet. Count ten and I will be gone.’

      And he turned from her and went to the window, stepping over the sill and out into the darkness.

      She rushed to the window after him, and looked out to see him climb down the side of the house and slip across the garden as noiselessly as a shadow, before scaling the stone wall that surrounded it.

      He paused as he reached the top and turned back to look towards her. Could he see her there, watching him go, or did he merely suspect?

      But she could see him, silhouetted on the top of the garden wall. He was neither dark nor fair. Brown hair, she thought, although it was hard to tell in the moonlight, and dark clothes. A nice build, but she’d felt that when he’d held her. Not a person she recognised.

      He blew a kiss in the direction of her open window, swung his legs over the side and dropped from view.

      She hurried back into the room and fumbled with a lucifer and a taper, trying to still the beating of her heart. She might not know him, but he knew her. He knew the house and had called her by her title.

      And now he knew her secret: she was helpless and alone and nearing the end of her resources. She found this not nearly as threatening as if Lord Barton had known the depth of her poverty. If he had, he’d have used that to his advantage against her.

      But the thief had apologised, and taken his leave. And the kiss, of course. But he’d left everything of value, so it was a fair trade. She knelt to pick up the contents of the spilled jewel box, and her foot brushed a black velvet bag on the floor at the side of the dresser.

      He must have brought it, meaning to hold the things he took. And it was not empty. As she picked it up, she felt the weight of it shift in her hands.

      Dear God, what was she to do now? She could not very well call the man back. He was no longer in the street and she did not know his address.

      She did not want to know his address, she reminded herself. He was a criminal. She would look more than forward to seek him out, after the way she had responded to the kiss. And the contents were not his, anyway, so why should they be returned? If the bag contained jewellery, perhaps she could put an ad in The Times, describing the pieces. The rightful owners would step forward, and she might never have to explain how she got them.

      She poured the contents of the bag out into her hand. Gold. Guineas filled her hand, and spilled on to the floor.

      She tried to imagine the ad she must post, to account for that. ‘Will the person who lost a large sum of money on my bedroom floor please identify it…?’

      It was madness. There was no way she could return it.

      She gathered the money into stacks, counting as she went. This was enough to pay the servants what she owed them, and settle the grocer’s bill and next month’s expenses as well.

      If she kept her tongue and kept the money, she could hold off the inevitable for another month.

      But what if the thief came back and demanded to know what had become of his money? She shivered. Then she must hope that he was as understanding as he had been this evening. It would not be so terrible if she must part with another kiss.

      Tony arrived at his townhouse in fine spirits, ignored the door before him and smiled at the façade. He rubbed his palms together once, and took a running start at it, jumping to catch the first handhold above the window of the front room. He climbed the next flight easily, his fingers and toes fitting into the familiar places worn into the bricks, then leaned to grasp the edge of the balcony, chinning himself, swinging a leg up and rolling his body lightly over the railing to land on his feet in front of the open doors to his bedroom. He parted the curtains and stepped through. ‘Good evening, Patrick.’

      His valet had responded with an oath and seized the fireplace poker to defend himself, before recognising his master and trying to turn his movement into an innocuous attempt to adjust the logs in the grate. ‘Sir. I believe we have discussed this before. It is a very bad habit, and you have promised to use the front door in the future, just as I have promised to leave it unlocked on nights when you are working.’

      Tony grinned back at him. ‘I am sorry. I could not help myself. I am—’

      Deliriously happy.

      ‘—full of the devil, after this evening’s outing. You will never guess who Stanton sent me out to spy on.’

      Patrick said nothing, waiting expectantly.

      ‘The Dowager Duchess of Wellford.’

      This was worthy of another oath from Patrick. ‘And you informed him that you could not.’

      ‘I did no such thing. He was under the impression that she was consorting with Lord John Barton, that they were in league in some sort of nefarious doings involving stolen printing plates. If he had not sent me, it would be someone else. I went post-haste to her rooms for a search. The climb СКАЧАТЬ