He stopped, turning toward her. “That is my part of the job. Complementary skills, remember?”
She couldn’t argue with that. “What about me?”
“When is Shipley’s next soirée?”
“This Saturday—why?”
“Make sure to attend,” he answered. “And find out what he does when he’s not partaking in the merriment he furnishes.”
It was a good plan. A partnership at its finest.
Too bad the rest of their relationship didn’t work as seamlessly.
Bennet hadthe hack drop them two streets from her house. While he suspected her neighbors were used to her coming and going at all hours—she worked society events after all— he hoped she usually left and returned home alone.
The very idea of another man touching her…
He tamped down his jealousy. He didn’t have the right. She’d thought him gone. It wouldn’t be fair to hold her to the same standards he’d held himself.
He passed by her home, heading down the narrow alley that led to the back garden. “Where are we going?” she whispered.
“I don’t want to be seen entering.”
“You’re coming in?” she asked, keeping pace with him.
“You promised,” he answered, entering the garden gate and making his way toward the kitchen door.
“I promised we’d talk. I did not promise a tour.” This time she did resist, stopping on the overgrown path.
“I suppose we can talk out here. The weeds alone should shield us from view.” Even in the dark, he could the garden needed tending.
She pushed his arm. “I can afford a few staff in the house. I have that inheritance from my mother. But a gardener…”
He quirked a brow. “Why buy this place, then? Why not something smaller or less posh or…”
“Your father chose it. Not me.”
He gave a stiff nod. This was exactly the sort of place his father would have chosen. He was a proud man who believed in quality. He’d approved wholeheartedly of Bennet’s match withRebecca, and he was glad to know his father had cared for her in his absence.
But he should have bought something smaller for her. Pride was a sin, after all. But then he grimaced. He had his own ways in which pride had affected his decisions. His conviction to keep Rebecca out of this had been a mistake. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, turning toward her.
“Sorry for what?”
“For not trusting you. I’m sorry.”
He heard her breath hitch. “You’re sorry?”
“I am. You were right when you said we were better together. I should have trusted you back then to help me.”
She danced her hand up to his shoulder, then flitted her fingers down his arm. It was all the invitation he needed as he reached for her, pulling her close.
Her hands twined around his neck as her mouth sought his again. They kissed with the abandon only lost lovers could feel. The anger, the passion, the longing built to such a frenzy that it threatened to explode. He backed her up until her back hit the kitchen door, his body pressing hers against the wood.
But he needed far more than a kiss…
He broke free to bend down and grab the hem of her skirt, lifting it up as he raked his hand up her leg. Her response was to arch her back, thrusting her breasts out.
His other hand cupped one of the clothed globes, his thumb stroking over the nipple as he skimmed past the top of her stocking, his fingers meeting the silky bare skin of her thigh.