Tears?
Voss moved closer, reaching for her. Without warning she gasped and her eyes shot open. She scrambled into a sitting position, a cloud of hair tangling over the bodice of her night rail and spilling onto the blankets.
“You’re not dead,” she said.
“You have the ability to focus on the most inane things,” Voss said, reeling a bit from her sudden wakefulness, along with the enticing vision of her rumpled and sleepy. “Not, ‘Why are you here, Voss?’ ‘How did you get in?’ Or, even, as you so bluntly said last time, ‘Get out.’”
“I believe it was ‘Get away.’” Her lips curved a bit. Just a bit. “I am surprised to see you. Does that help?” The low timbre of her voice could have been from sleepiness or some other emotion.
Just then he noticed something glinting at her throat, high lighted by the moonlight. Surely it wasn’t… “Is that the neck lace I gave you?” When he shifted, he could see the dark leaves of fresh hyssop intertwined with the gold. He faltered. What did it mean that she was still wearing the necklace to ward him off…especially if she thought he could be dead?
“Yes. I had to replace the hyssop because the original leaves dried up.” Her fingers plucked at it gently. It was too dark to tell for sure, but he thought they might have trembled a bit.
Then his attention was caught by the shadow between her breasts, a deep valley that he’d explored only once before… and not nearly well enough. Blood surged through him. He wanted nothing more than to slide into that warm bed with her and line his body along her soft, warm one.
“Why were you crying?” he asked, easing himself to sit at the edge of the bed. If she screamed or called out, it would be that much more difficult to make a getaway this time. Her chamber window was rather high off the ground.
And Corvindale would likely be in no mood to listen to any explanation from Voss.
Angelica looked away. She wiped at what was now a dried rivulet on her cheek. “What are you doing here? If Chas finds out…”
“Your brother,” Voss said, his voice steely, “isn’t going to find out unless you tell him. He’s entirely too involved with Moldavi’s sister to pay proper attention to his own. Or hadn’t you noticed?” Then he smiled ruefully, although she probably couldn’t see it anyway. He sat in shadow while she basked in moonlight. “Not that I should complain, because if he had been paying closer attention, I don’t think I’d be here now.”
“Please,” Angelica said. “Why are you here? If someone finds you, I’ll be ruined. And tomorrow—” She stopped and he saw her bite her lip.
“What’s happening tomorrow?” he asked lightly. “A ride in the park with Lord Harrington? A picnic with Mr. Revelsworth? Or is it a fete on the arm of Sir Brittonsby?”
“I’m going to become engaged.”
Just in time. Just in time.
“Indeed,” was all he could say. Surprising how his mouth dried and his brain emptied. “But,” he said, forcing his signature smile. “You love me. Or was that just a lie, to keep your brother from assassinating me with you as witness? I know you don’t care for the sight of blood.”
“It wasn’t a lie. It…isn’t,” she said.
“Truly?” he asked, something inside him easing. He moved toward her. The first touch of her warm skin, his fingers over her arm, sent a shaft of rightness shuttling through him. Yes.
“Truly,” she whispered. In the low light, their eyes met and he shifted a bit closer, still taking care not to move too quickly. Women could be skittish, even if they claimed they were in love. “I never thought I’d see you again,” she added.
“But…you’re wearing that,” he said, gesturing to the necklace.
She tipped her head down. “It’s the only thing I have from you…except the ruby earbobs. And those weren’t really for me, were they?”
He gave a shameful laugh. “No. I was being an ass.”
“That is exactly what Chas said. Although I think he used a more vulgar term.” She looked back up, still toying with the chain. “And I thought that if a miracle happened, and you ever came to me again, I could do this…” She gave a sharp yank, breaking the chain and scattering hyssop leaves. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the necklace flying through the window. “So that you would know.”
Voss thought he’d been broken before, lying on that sunny ledge…but now, looking into her sultry, exotic eyes, he knew that had only been the beginning. His insides shifted, unfurled, and the last bit of reticence cracked.
“Angelica,” he said, sliding toward her.
She welcomed him, her arms moving around him as he gathered her warm body to his. Sweet, soft, silky. Her scent enveloped him…and that of another, as well.
He pulled away to look into her eyes. “You’ve been near another. A man.”
She tensed a bit. “Lord Harrington and I took a turn about the Stubblefields’ garden tonight.”
“Am I to presume he is the fortunate gentleman to claim your hand?” Voss reached up to touch her head, unable to resist sliding his hand down her thick hair. Gorgeous, heavy, warm. He wanted to see her standing, dressed in only these tresses.
“He’s calling on Corvindale tomorrow at noon.”
“And he kissed you as well, I think, no?”
“He did.”
“Was he able to make you forget this?” And he moved in.
Their lips met, hers so soft and sweet that he had to restrain himself from devouring hers. But the little moan, the little clutch of her fingers into his hair, the arch of her body from beneath the coverlet ruined that.
He could think of nothing like restraint—only her, of the smooth slide of lips and the gentle click of teeth, the sleek dance of tongue and the gentle nibbling on top and bottom. His breath gone, his body ready, ready, after waiting for her for so long…her shoulders, delicate and soft and her breasts pushing into him. He felt her legs shifting beneath, pulled aside the strap of her night rail, kissed along her neck, felt her shudder beneath his mouth.
She tensed a bit then, and he pulled back to look down at her, knowing she was waiting for him to thrust into her….
“Was he?” Voss asked.
Angelica had to pull herself free from the sensual fog that came with him, and at first she didn’t understand. She looked up at the man looming above her, outlined by moonlight that tipped the waves of his hair silver, but shadowed his face…and then she remembered his question.
“No,” she replied softly, reaching up to touch his jaw. “No, he wasn’t. I don’t believe anyone could.”
“Angelica…I love you. I want…you.” He’d shifted and now she could see his eyes in the silvery light. They were dark and hungry and her breath caught.
“I’m going to be engaged tomorrow,” she said, trying to keep her voice low and steady. “I—”
“Angelica,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of everything tomorrow. With Corvindale. If…if you’ll have me. If you’ll trust me.”
She didn’t know how he would, knew that Chas would never allow it short of them eloping…but she didn’t care. Not at this moment, this moment she didn’t think she’d ever have, with the deepest part of her craving him. “I’ll have you.” Any way I can. “I’ve trusted you all along, haven’t I?”
On the little gust of a groan, he gathered her up again, crushing his mouth to hers as a hand slipped to curve around her breast. Her nipples had tightened as they’d kissed, but now, as his fingers found the hard, sensitive tip, she flushed warm everywhere. That surge between her legs, hot and sudden, made her arch up and slide herself against him. This…this.
She wanted to touch his skin, had regretted not doing it enough in Paris. Never kissing him on that smooth, golden expanse, not ruffling her fingers through that fascinating patch of hair. He pulled back and tore off his coat and then his shirt, and she rose up to flatten her hands against his torso, riding them up over the smooth slabs of muscle dusted with rough hair, the flat nipples and curve of square shoulders.
He was so solid and firm next to her softness, and before she knew it, he’d tugged the blankets away and was pulling her night rail up and over her head. It might even have torn, but she didn’t care.
Angelica was naked, silvery moonlight striping over her belly as he knelt up, looking down at her. It occurred to her, absurdly, that she’d never sprawled on her bed in this condition before—nude and uncovered and bathed in natural light, a little breeze filtering over her sensitive, waiting skin. It felt delicious.
“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” he murmured, “in all my one hundred forty-eight years.”
She wouldn’t think about that now…not that he was so old, that he had this affliction, that at any moment, he could tear into her and draw all of her blood out. He’d proven over and over that he wouldn’t do that to her, and tonight…there was something different. A restraint. That wild glow was gone from his eyes, the heaving, gasping breaths were nowhere in evidence.
“But,” she said, later wondering from where such bold words came, “you’re still clothed and I am quite curious to see what a hundred-forty-eight-year-old man looks like without them.”
He gave a choked sort of gasp. “I do hope,” he said, unbuttoning the flap of his trousers with practiced, unhurried motions, “that doesn’t mean you know what a twenty-eight-year-old man looks like and want to compare us.”
She gave a nervous giggle that stopped in a short gasp when he slid his trousers and drawers down over lean hips. Angelica wasn’t naive or innocent about the workings of coitus—she and Maia had traded many conversations with the chambermaids about that very subject. But being confronted with the actual implement was enough to steal her breath.
