Page 40 of Lady Gambit
What made her jump to her feet and fall into his arms?
Why had their mouths clashed with a force that defied logic?
They were kissing so rampantly they could barely catch their breath. He was perched on Daventry’s desk, Miss Chance’s hips wedged between his open legs. She gripped his thighs, her dainty hands mere inches from his throbbing cock.
Touch me!
The words echoed in his mind. Words that would shock any man who had built an impenetrable barricade. He didn’t need affection. He didn’t need love. He didn’t need a tender touch or the warmth of a woman’s lips.
But by God, he needed her.
A growl rumbled in his throat as he drank from her like a dying nomad at an oasis. He couldn’t drink deeply enough to quench his thirst. His blood pumped too quickly through hisveins. He ached to cover her body and plunge long and hard into her wetness.
Saints and demons!
He was a master at guarding his emotions.
So what in the devil’s name was this?
If they didn’t rein in their lust, they’d be making love on Daventry’s desk, Themis, the goddess of justice, looking over them.
“This is madness,” she breathed when he found the strength to break contact. “The most exquisite form of torture.” She slid her hands into his hair, her mouth finding his again.
He was lost.
Lost in the softness of her lips.
Lost in her natural scent, as potent as any aphrodisiac.
He’d likely pay with his life for this. Even the prospect of death by Aaron Chance’s powerful hands proved a feeble deterrent.
Then the front door opened and slammed shut.
Daventry called to his housekeeper.
Dorian dragged his mouth from hers. In a frantic few seconds, they straightened their clothes and tried to calm their ragged breathing. Even then, they kissed briefly, like it might be their last.
When Daventry entered the room, Miss Chance was sitting demurely in the chair before the desk. She held the empty sherry glass as if they’d not moved a muscle since Daventry had left.
But the skilled investigator spotted every insignificant detail, and perhaps the sweet scent of arousal still clung to the air.
“I see the sherry hasn’t helped to calm your pulse, Miss Chance.” Daventry gestured to the lady’s trembling hands. “It’s only natural you would feel the cold chill of fear after visiting Mrs Haggert.”
“I’m not afraid of Mrs Haggert.” Miss Chance looked up from her glass, though the uncertainty in her eyes said she was afraid of something.
Perhaps of how quickly they’d devoured each other’s mouths. Perhaps the power of their mutual attraction was a thing to fear. Next time, there might be no one to stop them succumbing to their desires.
“Good, as we may need to question Mrs Haggert again.” Daventry straightened the ink well and the pile of papers on his desk but did not ask how they came to be askew. “Did you make a list of suspects?”
Dorian cleared his throat. “Not yet. We were busy discussing Mrs Haggert’s revelations.” That much was true. “What did you need from Bow Street?”
“On your advice, I asked Sir Malcolm to provide me with a list of foreign guests staying at the Pulteney Hotel during the summer of 1814. It’s unlikely the hotel keeps records dating back seventeen years, but it was the Jubilee, and the long-serving staff might recall something important.”
Miss Chance sat bolt upright in the seat. “You think I may have fled from the hotel? That my parents weren’t English?”
Mrs Haggert had mentioned Miss Chance’s faint accent.
Or had she meant to throw them off the scent?
