One Night of Passion (11 page)

“Do you want to go back now?” Colin asked, once again towing her along.

“No,” she muttered reluctantly, mourning the loss of Mrs. Taft’s beautiful shoe. At least, she told herself, she still had one of them.

They went across another street and down another alley. When Georgie thought she couldn’t run another step, he suddenly came up short, plunging her straight into his back.

It was like hitting a wall of muscle.

“In here,” he whispered, pulling her into a darkened doorway.

He gathered the blanket around them, hiding them in the shadows, while their pursuers passed by.

Georgie’s hand lay on his chest to steady herself, her trembling legs threatening to give out. As she leaned closer to him, let his body envelop hers, she suddenly understood Lady Finch’s warnings about rakish young men.

For standing in this darkened doorway, pressed against Colin’s all-too-masculine body, Georgie sympathized wholeheartedly with the young ladies who let themselves be led astray.

Right now, she wanted nothing more than to sink into his arms, lay her head on his chest. To feel him pull her hairpins free and whisper tempting offers into her ear while he continued to undress her.

In a blinding flash, the temptation of passions unknown blazed a path from her heart to her quaking knees, and Georgie knew she would never be the same again.

Even after Hinchcliffe and his partners were gone, Colin remained poised and ready, his body protectively covering hers.

She certainly wasn’t going to stray from his shielding warmth. Certainly not from the man who seemed destined to be her savior—in more ways than one, if she had any say in the matter.

Hazarding a glance up at him, she found him staring at her.

Georgie didn’t know what she had expected to find there, but it wasn’t this . . . this mischievous, fiery light glowing in his eyes . . . a devil-may-care smile on his lips . . . his body tense and ready, alight in a fierce energy.

Why, he was enjoying himself! And as much as she shouldn’t admit it, so was she—from the heat of his body enveloping hers, to his arm wound protectively around her. Even the reckless tattoo of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips hammered away as if to awaken some wild creature inside her.

Her rake. Her dangerous, tempting rake.

“I think we’ve eluded them,” she whispered, her mouth suddenly gone dry.

He nodded, his gaze locked on her lips.

Ruin me,
she wanted to urge him.
Take me back to
your rooms and make me a fallen woman.

His mouth moved closer to hers, his head tipped slightly, his gaze dark and penetrating. Georgie thought all her prayers were about to be answered.

She closed her eyes and parted her lips, just as she’d seen in an old painting, and waited.

And waited. And waited.

Her lashes fluttered open. What the devil was wrong with him now?

There on his face passed an odd look. Georgie knew it was a harbinger of bad news, and it was, for he stepped away from her abruptly, leaving her shivering in the cold draft of his wake.

“Come along,” he muttered, turning on one heel and stalking up to the end of the alley.

Disappointed and cursing her continued bad luck with this man, Georgie trailed after him, the cool night air chilling her fevered skin. Whatever was wrong with her?

He had wanted to kiss her—of that she was positive. So why hadn’t he done it?

Damn his moral fortitude,
she thought.
He’s probably
still of an opinion that he is taking me home.

Not if she had anything to say about it.

She caught up with Colin at the corner, where he was cautiously surveying the street beyond.

What she needed was a way to breach his noble intentions, to undermine his solid principles.

For she’d seen that spark of rakish delight in his eyes and knew that the thread of ruination was at hand.

It only needed a little unraveling.

Suddenly there was a shout once again from down the street. “Got you trapped now, Romulus,” Hinchcliffe cried out.

When she glanced in the other direction, she spied Brummit and Paskims steering a single-minded course in their direction.

They were trapped. Not that it seemed to occur to Colin.

He was off and running, hauling Georgie along at a reckless clip straight for Hinchcliffe. She wanted to tell him to stop, but then she spied his intent.

Lord Templeton’s carriage was careening around the corner behind Hinchcliffe, a grinning Elton driving the horses straight at the unwitting man.

Colin barreled along faster and faster, towing Georgie, her feet pedaling almost in the air to keep up with him.

Hinchcliffe stood in their path, his broad chest puffed out, his eyes narrow and mean.

Colin barely even paused. His arm shot out as they passed the man, hitting him squarely in the chest and knocking the commander on his backside and out of Elton’s fierce path.

Right on their heels, Brummit and Paskims were nipping like terriers, and Colin shouted at Elton, “Keep moving.”

Elton nodded and whipped up his reins. Even as the carriage started to lurch forward, Colin caught the door and yanked it open.

He swooped his other arm around Georgie’s waist and pulled her tumbling within.

They crashed in a heap on the floor of the opulent carriage, with Colin calling out a hasty set of instructions. The driver snapped the whip and had the horses dashing away even before Colin finished speaking.

They sped straight for Brummit and Paskims, the two men diving out of their path, their shouts lost in the frantic clippity-clop of the horses and the creaking springs of the carriage.

Georgie found her voluminous skirts tangled with Colin’s long legs, and as she tried to steady herself against the wild rocking of the carriage, one hand came to rest on the muscled length of his thigh, the other wound around his shoulders.

He too caught hold of her, his arms closing in around her waist, giving her the solid anchorage she sought. His hand came to rest under her breast, his fingers brushing along her bodice, sending shivers down her spine. For a moment she lay still in his arms, her heart hammering, her body atingle at the new sensations his intimate touch evoked. Catching her breath, she tipped her head back so she was face-to-face with him—this complete stranger, and yet so very familiar.

There in those deep green eyes glowed the same tempting light she’d spied in the alley.

This time she wasn’t going to give that fire a chance to extinguish. Instead, she intended to fan it until it blazed a life of its own.

And so she pulled herself even closer to him, until her lips met his in an impetuous, passionate kiss.

Chapter 5

T
rue to Aunt Verena’s worries about young ladies loitering about the docks of Penzance, Georgie had been kissed before, but those had been hastily snatched affairs from wayward boys who hadn’t heard the warnings about her right hook.

But this time she had no intention of sending this man toppling backward for his impertinence.

No, she
wanted
this man to kiss her and keep kissing her.

And best of all, his mouth vanquished any opinions she might have held about his honorable nature before their lips touched.

He pulled her closer, impatiently gathering her in his arms, as if possession by his lips was not enough.

She understood his hunger, for the same need had commandeered her very soul.

His tongue edged across her lips, and her mouth opened to welcome him. He groaned, a deep and primal growl, as he teased and taunted her to tangle with him, their tongues caressing each other. If she hadn’t been indecently sprawled across him on the floor of the carriage, she knew her knees would have buckled in the wake of the molten fire growing in her belly. It made her insides quiver; it made parts of her positively melt.

Drowning . . . she was drowning.

And if his kiss could evoke this kind of response, she wondered what would happen when they . . .

Made love . . .

Admittedly, he’d turned down her offer earlier, but now things had changed. He had changed.

He’d come back for her.

And in the alley, when she’d looked up into his eyes, she would have sworn she’d spied more than just lust alight there.

He desired her. Wanted her with the same breathless passion now threatening to consume her.

The very idea sent her arching toward him, her breasts pressing against him, her hips swaying over his breeches. There she felt the hardness that would be her undoing, her salvation.

Yet this man was no longer just the means to solving her most immediate problem; he was offering possibilities of which she had only dreamt.

For one night, this man would love her, cherish her, and give her enough memories to last a lifetime. Memories to keep her warm when Uncle Phineas cast her out on the streets and she was consigned to a life of servitude.

His strong, steady hands, hands that had pulled her close, had gathered her into his warm embrace, now caressed her. His fingers twined in her hair, stroked her cheek, and slid down over her bare shoulder. She shivered as his heated touch grazed her bodice. His fingers dipped inside the neckline of her gown, tenderly exploring her breasts.

And from his sigh and groan, for once she didn’t mind that they were hardly the voluptuous shape that Kit seemed to be sprouting.

As he reverently caressed them, his thumb rolling over nipple until it rose to a hardened peak, she sensed that he found them irresistible, perfect under his passionate tutelage.

His lips pulled away from hers, leaving her gasping for air, lost without the warmth of his mouth, the teasing of his tongue to guide her. But his lips soon found a new refuge as he placed a blazing kiss over the peak of her nipple. She sucked in a deep, shocked breath, her entire body blazing to life with a new fire as the rough surface of his tongue lapped over her.

A deep breathy sigh slipped from her lips, as a languid need spread through her veins.

She arched back, allowing him total access to her, wondering at her own brazenness as she curled her fingers into his dark hair and held his head to her breast.

How could she ask him, nay, beg him to give her the answer to the ragged, trembling need that was overtaking her? How could she find a way to convince him to free her body from the entangled sensations that offered a whispered promise of something . . . of something she didn’t quite understand.

Yet her body seemed to recognize it, her hips swaying and rocking as if they knew the truth of what was to come.

But Georgie’s rising desire tumbled abruptly back to earth as the carriage lurched to a stop.

The jolt broke them apart, breathless and panting. Colin stared at her, his eyes wide and blinking, as if he were seeing her for the first time. Seeing something in her that he just couldn’t fathom.

And as in those magical moments in the alley, Georgie felt their world shifting beneath them once again, changing the rules, changing them.

“Milord,” the coachman called down from his perch. After a few polite moments, he repeated it again. “Milord?”

Colin shook his head, like someone being reluctantly awakened. “Yes, Elton,” he replied, his voice as ragged as her own breathing.

“Beg pardon,” the driver said, “but is there anywhere in particular you want me to go? These town horses don’t take to a good run. Would ye be wantin’ to go to yer room near the Square or to Bridwick House?”

Georgie watched an odd play of emotions cross Colin’s face; his brow furrowed, and whatever passions had claimed him before were suddenly lost.

Bridwick House.
The very words startled him to attention, as if reminding him of some other obligation, some other errand of honor she was keeping him from.

“Not
Bridwick,
Elton,” he said. “Not there.”

He said it with such vehemence, it left her wondering what problems resided at this house.

Suddenly, she thought of something that had never occurred to her. Perhaps he didn’t want to go to his apartments or to this Bridwick House because he kept a mistress ensconced there.

Or, even worse, a wife.

Lady Diana
. . .

The name rocketed out of her memory. Hinchcliffe or Brummit or one of those mullet-heads had taunted Colin about a Lady Diana.

. . .
Perhaps I’ll start calling on Lady Diana. I hear
she’s no longer engaged . . .

Georgie would bet her remaining shoe that this Lady Diana was somehow connected to Bridwick House, and she was just as certain this other woman wasn’t his wife. A fiancée, perhaps.

Truly, what should she care if Colin was married or betrothed and seeking companionship elsewhere? Men were free to keep mistresses or spend their evenings with ladies of the demimonde.

But for some reason, she didn’t want to think that this man would. There was just such an air of knight errant about him.

And right now, her knight was offering her a small smile, an apology of sorts, that filled her once again with dread.

He reached over, and for a moment Georgie thought he was going to renew his kiss, but to her dismay, he gathered her up and deposited her on the well-appointed leather seat. Instead of joining her there on the cozy cushions, he took the opposite bench and pulled the trap door to the roof open even further.

“We are taking the lady to her residence,” When he turned back to Georgie, he was once again the proper gentleman, the rogue seducer gone in an instant. “Where do you live?”

“Aren’t we going to your home? Your driver mentioned a house or your rooms . . . either would do fine.”

Hadn’t Lady Finch explicitly warned her never to go to a man’s private rooms? And for that reason alone she knew his lodgings were exactly where she wanted to be.

Besides, it was no longer for the sole purpose of ending her unwanted betrothal; now there was another problem to contend with . . . the erratic pounding of her heart . . . the begging need this man had awakened in her with his tempestuous kiss and his daring touch.