Page 91 of Temptress in Disguise
“Aramis.”
“You’re so tight and wet.” He gripped her buttocks, squeezing hard. “Nothing has ever felt so good. I’m at your mercy, love.”
His eyes remained locked with hers as he filled her. The moist sound of their lovemaking heightened her arousal. Erotic words fell from his lips as he drove hard and fast.
“I mean to suck that little pearl tonight. You’re not to touch yourself while I’m gone. I want you wet and aching. I want you dressed in that prim white nightgown, begging me to make you come.”
His words alone had brought her to the brink. One strum of his masterful fingers and she would be lost to the pleasurable sensations.
But a sudden knock on the bedchamber door made him stop mid-stroke. “Yes?” His voice sounded strained, and he was trying not to pant.
“Daventry is here,” Theodore called. “Are you ready?”
“Yes. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
Aramis uttered a curse as he withdrew. He didn’t release her but captured her mouth, his tongue sweeping through her lips.
She threaded her hands in his hair, tugging hard, the intimacy deepening along with the kiss, desire flaring all over again.
He dragged his mouth away. “It’s taking every ounce of strength I have not to say to hell with Jacob Adams. Do you know how hard it is for me to leave you?”
She didn’t want to think about the dangers he might face tonight. “Make sure you fasten your trousers before you do.”
A wicked grin played at the corners of his mouth. “I love you. Keep the bed warm.” He kissed her one last time before fixing his clothing.
“Don’t take any unnecessary risks.” Capturing Jacob Adams was vital to their future happiness—a ghost that needed exorcising. “I love you.”
She loved him more with each passing day.
He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’ll be back soon.”
She watched him leave, the separation killing her. Now she knew how he felt that day at Hartford Hall when he had been powerless to act.
He would meet his nemesis again tonight.
All she could do was pray and leave everything to fate.
* * *
The Black Flagon was a sailors’ den, a tavern crammed between warehouses on Brewhouse Lane near Dowgate, a small wharf on the north bank of the Thames. Daventry instructed Aramis to park his carriage on Upper Thames Street and ensure his coachman was ready to leave at short notice.
They all gathered in a dark alleyway near the tavern entrance. Amidst the drunken peals of laughter and bawdy song, one could hear the water lapping the dock and the creak of weathered timbers.
“Are you sure you can trust your informant?” Aramis had scanned the narrow street, wondering why Adams would rent a room above a ramshackle tavern eighty miles from Dover. “According to the shipping office, they were supposed to sail for Calais yesterday.”
“My man followed Adams and Miss Fontaine here last night.” As Lydia wasn’t legally married, Daventry used her stage name. He glanced behind him, flicked a gold coin to the woman lingering in the shadows and demanded she move away. “They made the mistake of visiting Mrs Boyle, albeit once the shop was closed. I’ve had the emporium under surveillance for days.”
There was no need to ask what they wanted from Mrs Boyle. Adams needed money for his extended trip abroad. “At least Chivers can reclaim his diamond cuff links.”
“Adams threatened Mrs Boyle. She suspected the cuff links were stolen but had no choice but to pay.”
“What’s the plan?” Aaron kept his eyes trained on the men working on the wharf. “If Adams is inside, he won’t get far. I suggest I enter the premises with Aramis and drag the scoundrel out.”
Daventry thought for a moment. “We know Miss Fontaine is inside. My man said Adams left and is yet to return. Christian and Theo will stay with me. Enter the tavern and attempt to apprehend her. See if you can discover why they’re here. I trust you have a weapon.”
Aramis patted his coat pocket and nodded.
“I need nothing other than my fists,” Aaron countered.
