Their tongues tangled, hot, wet, needy. Their breathless groans permeated the air. They fought the duel neither had wanted on that cold November morning near Chalk Farm. But there was nothing calm and ordered about their need for satisfaction. Her fingers slipped into his hair, tugging, urging him to give more, to delve deeper.
“Valentine,” she hummed when his hand slid up over her waistcoat to cup her breast. For once, he was glad she wore gentlemen’s clothes. Unconfined by stays, her nipple hardened beneath his touch. The urge to rip open the waistcoat and lavish the sensitive peak took hold.
But then the carriage jerked and rolled to a sudden halt.
It took a moment to drag his head from the clouds, to realise that the two people atop the box expected Miss Kendall to alight. But he would rather be damned than let her go now.
“Perhaps you should wait here while you send your butler in to warm the house.” His voice was thick and husky.
“Twitchett.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My butler’s name is Twitchett.”
“And he’s called Twitchett because …” Such an unusual name must come with an amusing story.
“Because that’s his name.”
“Of course.” Frustra
tion, coupled with a burning passion to strip Miss Kendall naked, forced him to say, “Send Twitchett inside. I have not finished with you yet.”
Ava’s eyes brightened. “Believe it or not, I like it when you’re masterful.” She pulled down the window, instructed Twitchett to return to the house and slip a warming pan between her bedsheets.
Valentine dismissed all notions of him fulfilling the role of body heater. He could not enter Miss Kendall’s house at night, not with his mother a hundred yards across the street. And he had to try to protect this lady’s reputation—despite working against the odds. Hence the reason they had parked on Mount Street.
“I shall follow along in a few minutes,” she informed Twitchett with some embarrassment.
Valentine considered the soft curves squashed into her brother’s breeches. “A few minutes will not be enough,” he growled. “Tell him you will be an hour.”
Miss Kendall did as he asked—there was another novelty.
“Inform Sprocket he is to circle Green Park twice before returning to Mount Street,” Valentine added. That should give them time to explore their growing relationship.
Miss Kendall pulled her head back in through the window. “But will he not find that a rather odd request?”
“Sprocket doesn’t care.” He considered the fact she might have changed her mind. That matters might be progressing at far too rapid a pace. “Unless you’re having second thoughts. In which case, if you wish to accompany Twitchett, I shall not be offended.”
She studied him for a moment. He recognised the glazed look of longing swimming in her eyes. “You always consider my needs before your own.” She leant forward and kissed him, a quick and rampant mating involving open mouths and eager tongues.
“Well, I think that answers my question,” he said, licking his lips to capture the essence of this beguiling woman.
She thrust her head out of the window, gave Sprocket instructions as if she were the coachman’s mistress. The prospect of her filling the role had crossed Valentine’s mind more than once tonight.
Closing the window, she settled into the seat opposite.
The conveyance bounced on its springs as Twitchett alighted. It lurched forward, but Miss Kendall gripped the edge of her seat rather than use it as an excuse to tumble into his lap.
She stared at him in the dark confines of the carriage. The heat of her gaze scorched his skin. Whilst he was a man of some experience, he wasn’t sure how to approach the current situation.
But then Miss Kendall spoke. “Take off your clothes.”
Whilst his peers considered him a man of intellect, he would never have predicted that comment would fall from her mouth.
“I beg your pardon?” he teased as he wanted to hear her repeat the words.
Miss Kendall swallowed. “Take off your coat, your cravat and waistcoat. Drag your shirt over your head.”