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“My word,” she breathed, a glowing stare rising to his.
“You’re next, never fear,” Valentine growled and squeezed his still-hard cock, ignoring the wetness that seeped into his pants. “Last chance to change your mind because I am going to ruin you, Bronwyn, for any lover you’ll ever know.”
Her throat worked at the dark promise, but she didn’t tell him no.
Twenty-one
Oh dear God, she was a sodden, sopping mess under her skirts! Just from watching him take himself in hand. It had been beyond erotic, beyond anything Bronwyn had imagined. His staff had been thick and turgid, almost angry in its appearance as he’d throttled the full, impressive length. Her own core had clenched on air with every wicked stroke…the memory of his thrusts deeply visceral, coded into her body like a special cipher made for her.
And when he’d found his release, the expression on his face—that moment of utter bliss softening those hard, rugged features—had been mesmerizing. Plush lips had parted on a moan, and she’d wanted to crash into them. Swallow those sounds for herself. Even now, his passion-glazed amber eyes sought hers, promising nothing but sweet, sinful retribution.
An overheated Bronwyn watched as he put himself to rights, fastening his soiled trousers—thank goodness they were dark—and scowling as his hands brushed the wet fabric.
She let out a wry laugh. “Seems fair that I’m not the only wet one in this carriage.”
Those golden eyes flared, lust gathering anew. “You are a tease, Lady Bronwyn.”
“If I’m not direct with you, Your Grace, you tend to miss much subtler cues,” she said with a coquettish flutter of her lashes. “And besides you like when I’m unspeakably blunt, don’t you?”
“I do.” The soft growl made her thighs quiver with anticipation.
The coach rolled to a stop and Bronwyn peered out the window, squinting into the darkness. They were not on a well-lit front street. Instead, they seemed to be in the mews behind the residence. That didn’t mean that eyes weren’t watching. In the last year, she’d learned that someone wasalwayslooking. She pulled her cloak over her head so that her face was hidden by the cowl. Thornbury descended and offered her his hand along the uneven cobblestones before ushering her inside the manse to a dark hallway.
She frowned. “Where are your servants?”
“Out or abed,” he said, discarding his hat, greatcoat, and gloves on a table before moving to take hers. “When there is a ball and I am in residence, I give them the rest of the night off, once they’ve finished their duties.”
“That’s generous of you,” she said.
“It would be an excruciatingly dreadful measure of a man if he could not open the door to his own home himself.”
“Isn’t that what they are paid for? I don’t mean that in a haughty way,” she said quickly. “Butlers are supposed to stand at the door and greet their master or guests.”
He winked. “Not my butler. At least not when I need him in another capacity.”
Bronwyn’s pink mouth fell open as his intent became clear. “Your servants are informants?”
“I know you are pretending to be shocked right now, Lady Kestrel. There is an extraordinary network of information and secrets out there. I would be a fool if I didn’t take advantage of it with loyal servants under my employ. In our world, information is gold bullion.”
Valentine didn’t blink at the fact that he’d saidourworld, but she heard it and a strange warmth filled her breast. The sooner he stopped treating her like a child who had wandered into her father’s cigar room, the better it would be for everyone. He peered down at her. “Would you like a tour or shall we get straight to the main event, considering the whole of Scotland Yard might come looking for you once you’re not discovered sick at home?”
It would be so like her mother to send the entire Metropolitan Police force after her. Bronwyn stifled a giggle and glanced around, eyes wide with interest at the muted but beautiful details of the foyer. “A tour, of course! I’ve always wondered where you lived, and now getting to see it is…like a glimpse into who you are.” The look on the duke’s face was priceless! She’d never seen someone look so dejected and try to shore it up with false energy. She snorted. “Good Lord, your face! The main event, you silly man. I don’t care about any of the rooms in your house unless it contains a very sturdy bed.”
With a laughing oath, Valentine scooped her up into his arms and tossed her over his shoulder, filling his palm with a handful of skirts, petticoats, and feminine charms. God, he was strong. “Put me down this instant, you overbearing ogre!”
He was already up the staircase and onto the landing by the time he replied. “Ogre? Ouch! That deserves retaliation.” Her sinful tormentor yanked up her skirts, baring her silk-covered posterior, turned her body slightly and took a bite.
“You brute!” she nearly screeched.
He smacked his lips. “Tastes like apples.”
“It’s my soap as you very well know,” she muttered inanely, her buttock on fire where he’d put his mouth and the rest of her aching to be licked, sucked, and bitten. Her sex was practically throbbing against his shoulder, until he kicked open a door to a very large bedchamber and deposited her next to an enormous bed. A fire danced in the grate, illuminating him in shades of flickering golden light.
For a moment, they just stared at each other. It was odd since they had coupled twice before, but this felt monumental. This felt more intimate than either of the other two incidents. Toeing off her slippers, Bronwyn spread her hand over the dark silk of the counterpane. The bed was massive, to accommodate his large frame, but the rest of the room was sparsely decorated. A mantel on one end and an armoire on the other, a pair of stuffed armchairs near the fireplace, and a potted plant. How many women did he bring back here? She forced that thought away. None of them were here now.Shewas. “I like your bed.”
“Bronwyn,” he began, and she held up a finger.
“I don’t want to talk, Valentine,” she whispered. “It ruins everything with us. We both know what we’re doing here and the consequences of our decisions. If you are in agreement, then let us pretend whatever we need to for the sake of it. I don’t wish to argue or defend my choices because I’m a lady and you’re a lord, and neither of us is married.”
