She might be giving, he might be taking, yet he gave selflessly, too. If she’d harbored any doubts that lovemaking was in essence a sharing, the long, heated moments she spent under his hands, under his mouth, with his tongue stroking, probing, lapping at her softness, burned every shred of doubt away.
The flames built, expertly stoked, until the conflagration simply became too much. Too much for her to resist, to hold back from the beckoning delight. She would have warned him if she’d been able, but he didn’t look up, didn’t pause in his increasingly potent ministrations even when she tugged his hair.
And then she was there, at the heart of the firestorm, and for one blinding moment nothing else mattered but the intense, golden glory. It held her tight, a vise of his making, then she fractured, and the glory shattered, sharp shards streaking down her veins to melt deep within her, beneath her fingertips, under her skin.
Exulting, Tony savored the powerful contractions, savored her release, then licked, lapped. Eventually, he eased back and lifted his head.
Ignoring the fiery pressure in his loins, he looked at her, spent, dazed, gloriously sated. Gloriously exposed. He let his gaze travel slowly down her body, seeing and claiming anew, then he bent and placed a kiss on her damp curls, pushed up her chemise, and dropped a gentle, lingering kiss on her belly.
Next time. He promised himself that.
Lifting away, he shifted higher and lay down once more beside her. Propping on one elbow, he laid a hand on her breast, and settled to watch her return to earth and welcome her back.
An hour later, lying in her bed with the house silent about her, Alicia tried to take in, to understand, all that had happened. Not physically; shocking though that had been, stunning beyond her wildest imaginings—or, apparently, those of the authors of both sexual texts she’d consulted—she knew, to her bones, exactly what had happened, what part of him had touched what part of her, and how.
That was a problem in its own right, but what consumed her, what mystified her, was the connection she sensed, the link that steadily, day by day, interlude by interlude, seemed to be growing, forged in the fires between them.
That was something else. Something beyond the facts she’d considered when she’d decided to adhere to her widow’s role, to pretend to be as experienced as she was not.
He’d agreed to go slowly; by his standards, he probably had. Even though it was now patently clear that they’d all but arrived at their final destination, it wasn’t panic over that that filled her mind.
From the first, she’d responded to his practiced caresses instinctively, had been forced to rely on instinct to guide her. It seemed instinct had, but in a way she hadn’t foreseen, in a direction she hadn’t intended to take.
She hadn’t foreseen the danger. Not at all.
Rolling over on her side, she clutched a pillow to her and tried not to think about him, tried not to feel…tried not to be aware of the compulsion that had grown to give him more than she at any stage had contemplated.
Yet the more she fought it, the more she tried to turn her mind from the prospect, tried to deny it, the more it grew.
Fascination had turned into something more.
Something a great deal more powerful.
At an unusually early hour the next evening, Tony entered Lady Arbuthnot’s ballroom. Without glancing at anyone else, he made his way to Alicia’s side.
Truth be told, he didn’t truly register anyone else’s presence; his mind, all of his awareness, was centered on her.
Not by choice. He felt driven, whipped along at the mercy of emotions he’d never before had to conquer. Mild possessiveness was one thing, but this?
There was so much in her life he wanted to spare her— more, that some part of him felt driven to fix, almost as if his very self—his honor, his name, his self-respect—depended on it. Taking care of her, protecting her, keeping her safe, ensuring her happiness, had become that important.
How, he wasn’t sure, but to his mind reasons were by the b
y. He knew how he felt; he knew what he wanted. He knew how he needed to act.
Reaching her side, he took the hand she smilingly offered, raised it, and placed a kiss on her fingers, then without pause, pressed another to her palm.
Startled, she searched his eyes. “Are you all right?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Perfectly.”
A lie, but he didn’t want her asking questions he couldn’t answer.
Tucking her hand into his elbow, he pretended to survey the other guests. The dancing had not yet commenced. “Has anyone behaved oddly toward you or Adriana today—here, or in the park?”
She glanced at him. “No.” After a moment, she went on, her voice lowered, “Are you expecting rumors about me being taken up by the Watch?”
“Possibly. I want to know if any surface.”