Page 57 of The Dove
Her scream finally released when she came, her second climax even more violent than the first, making her back bow up off the ground and her toes curl into the rug. Then, he was following her, resting his pelvis in the cradle of her hips and spending inside her yet again, searing her insides with his seed, bathing her inner channel with his essence.
Releasing a sigh, he let go of her wrists and dropped his head, resting it in the crook of her neck. Daphne lay beneath him, her harsh breath ringing out in tandem with his. This would be the second time he’d spilled his seed inside her, and she wondered if it would take, this time … if the first time had already rooted itself inside her.
As she closed her eyes and breathed in the heady mixture of his scent and hers, she cursed herself for a fool for what felt like the hundredth time. Not just because Niall’s words proved truer than she’d been willing to admit, but because the thought of having a part of Adam growing inside her was not as frightening as it should have been.
CHAPTER TWELVE
dam stepped down from the hired hack that had delivered him to the Mint—a Godforsaken slum comprised of abandoned mansions that had fallen into disrepair, ruins of taverns and inns, and timber homes burnt out and scorched by the fires that had claimed it all. Notorious home of beggars, prostitutes, and thieves.
Two days ago, when he had sent word to Bertram that he intended to give in to blackmail, he had been pleased with the other man’s choice of location for their meeting. Set far enough from the West End that he need not worry he’d be spotted and recognized, it also offered the perfect setting for his planned assassination. No one would come running should they hear the gunshot that would take Bertram’s life, nor would his escape be prevented. The city watch never bothered with this side of town. The man who had ruined the people he loved would die as he was meant to … in the darkest and dirtiest of gutters.
Reaching into the pocket of his greatcoat, he found the revolver he’d stashed there—one of the twin set he kept in a cedar chest in his study. He’d brought the set along from Dunnottar, feeling safer on the road with the protection. He’d never had cause to use them beyond target practice, but he was a crack shot. He would not miss.
He made his way toward the gaping entrance to a building that had been obliterated by fire, its caved-in roof allowing the light of the full moon to shine through. The scorched placard outside the building marked it as the address Bertram had sent him that morning—their designated meeting place.
Stepping over a pile of wood that might have once been a piece of furniture, he glanced up and nearly tripped over his own two feet, stunned by what he found.
Waiting for him in the midst of the destroyed vestibule stood Daphne, a black, hooded cloak covering her dark green gown. Lowering the hood to reveal the glow of her auburn hair, she gave him a grim expression.
“Hello, Adam.”
He scowled, coming forward to take her arm. “What the devil are you doing here?”
For that matter, how had she known where they would meet? Why was she not at Fairchild House, waiting with the things she’d insisted she be allowed to go and collect herself?
Raising her chin in that infuriating way of hers, she pulled her arm out of his grasp. “I’ve simply come to tell you I found another way to solve our little problem.”
His jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together until he feared he might obliterate them into dust. He had known better than to trust her out of his sight, to let her insist that if he let Niall accompany her on her errands, she would behave herself. Damn her for making him think she would stay out of his way, when he should have known all along that she would not.
“There is no other way,” he ground out. “You need to leave, now, before—”
“Untwist yer smalls, Hart,” grumbled Niall’s familiar voice from the shadows.
He turned his head to find the butler standing nearby, leaning against the hull of what had once been a hearth, hands deep in the pockets of his coat.
“The lass knows what she’s about.”
Adam scowled at his so-called friend. “You’re in on this, too?”
“Aye,” Niall confirmed. “If ye’d only listen—”
“I do not want to listen, goddamn it,” he bellowed. “I want her out of here, and when I’ve finished my business, I am going to throttle her, then kill you!”
Daphne, not at all cowed by his blustering, simply stepped around him and swept toward the entrance. He ran a hand through his hair and tugged it, his scalp stinging as he fought to get himself under control. Her boldness infuriated him, as much as it stoked admiration. His little dove could be as stubborn as he was.
He turned to find her greeting a man in austere black attire, flanked by two others who proved as large and burly as he and Niall. What the devil was going on?
“Ah, Mr. Cunningham,” Daphne said lightly, as if they were acquaintances encountering one another at a soirée. “Thank you for coming, and arriving just in time. I admire punctuality in a man.”
The man flushed, executing a swift bow. “It was no trouble, my lady. My lord.”
Adam scowled at this Cunningham fellow as he came forward to show him the same deference he had Daphne. “Who the bloody hell are you?”
“Patience, Adam,” Daphne chided with a grin. “When our other guests arrive, we may begin. Oh, here they are now! Winifred, darling, I trust you found your way here without trouble.”
Adam’s mouth fell open as a woman he recognized as Bertram’s former fiancé approached, followed by a procession of several others. There must be at least a dozen other people here, most of them ladies, the rest men acting as their escort.
Winifred held her arms out to Daphne, and the two embraced, bussing one another’s cheeks.
