Page 22

FIFTEEN

H er mouth was incredibly warm, soft and sensual.

It was the stuff of a lonely man’s dreams. He was half afraid that he would awake to discover that he was hallucinating.

But her response acted like a catalyst, ripping him out of the remote dimension from where he watched the world.

It plunged him into the hot storms of passion.

He heard a harsh, reverberating groan and realized with a sense of shock that it came from somewhere deep inside him.

Kissing Ursula was like opening a door in a maze, like walking out of a dark place into the sunlight.

He was alive. He was free. Sensations cascaded through him so quickly and so intensely that he could hardly catch his breath. His blood roared in his veins.

He released her face and slid his hands down her elegant, tightly laced rib cage to the gentle curve of her hip.

Layers of fabric and the stiff stays of the gown’s bodice kept him from the intimate contact he longed for but he was nevertheless thrilled just to know that he was so close, just to know that he was touching her, holding her at last—thrilled to know that she seemed to want him.

He was afraid of pushing too far, too fast but when she put her hands around his neck he got a little light-headed.

The next thing he knew she was up against a bookcase and he had one booted foot between her legs. The ankle-length skirts and petticoats of her dress rode up over his knee.

He caged her there, his hands planted on either side of her head, and wrenched his mouth away from hers with an effort.

She gripped his shoulders as though afraid she might collapse beneath the onslaught.

He found the sweet, silken skin of her throat.

Her womanly scent aroused his senses and tightened every muscle. He was so hard he ached.

“Slater.” Ursula spoke into his ear, her voice softer and huskier than ever. “I was not expecting this.”

“Is that so?” He raised his head and looked into her sultry, rather dazed eyes. “How odd. I have been waiting for this to happen since the day I met you.”

“I understand.” She was breathless and flustered.

“Do you?”

“You said that during your time on Fever Island you lived a monastic existence and if the gossip is correct you have not formed a romantic liaison with anyone here in London. That is not a normal condition for a man of your obviously virile nature.”

Reality washed over him in an icy wave.

“Let me be sure I comprehend you,” he said evenly. “You think this is happening because I’ve been without a woman for too long?”

She flinched, obviously alarmed, and tried to retreat but she was already up against the barrier of the bookcase.

“It is just that I want you to be certain that your feelings for me are not inspired by your somewhat extended periods of, uh, celibacy.”

He stared at her for a long moment, unable to tell if she was joking.

“You’re forgetting the exotic sexual rituals in the forbidden chamber,” he said finally. “The rites I practice on unsuspecting females.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re teasing me.”

“Am I?”

She made a visible effort to compose herself. “I don’t place any credence in those outlandish stories in the press.”

“Perhaps you should,” he said, making his tone deliberately ominous.

“Nonsense.”

Her stylish little black cap had fallen down over one eye. He took his hands away from the wall, freeing her. Straightening, he angled the cap into its proper position. The process gave him a chance to touch her coppery hair.

She nipped smartly away from the bookcase and turned to face him.

“I am not rebuffing your advances,” she said quickly.

“Thank you for clarifying the matter. So, as a matter of curiosity, how do you act when you actually do rebuff a man’s advances?”

“That is not amusing. I am trying to explain things here.”

“Excellent,” he said. “While we’re on the subject, please do me the courtesy of telling me whether or not you will welcome further advances of an intimate nature from me. Because if you are not interested in that sort of connection I’d rather know now.”

“I am not entirely averse to the possibility of a romantic connection with you, sir,” she said.

He was starting to become amused by her flustered condition and her contradictory statements. He was still as frustrated as hell, nevertheless, there was something rather charming about Ursula Unnerved.

“You give me hope,” he said gravely.

“It is just that I want both of us to be very sure of what we are about,” Ursula said, more earnest than ever.

He held up one hand, palm out. “Don’t say another word, I beg you. You’ll ruin the moment. Small as it was, I wish to treasure it.”

She angled her chin. “You call that embrace we just shared a small moment , sir?”

“I’m assuming you want the truth?”

“Of course.”

“Very well, then, that kiss was not nearly enough to satisfy me, madam. Indeed, it merely whetted my appetite. But apparently it will have to suffice for now.”

“I see.” She looked as if she wanted to say something more but could not summon the words.

“Your turn, Ursula,” he said quietly. “Will a few stolen kisses be enough for you or do you think you will want more at some point in the future?”

To his astonishment her air of alarm increased dramatically.

“Mr. Roxton,” she sputtered. “Must you be so... so direct?”

“Forgive me. I believe I explained that in my time away from London I lost some of my conversational skills.”

“I doubt that you forgot anything at all, sir,” she shot back. “You are simply impatient with the polite ways of Society.”

He nodded soberly. “Very true. The thing is, Ursula, you were a married woman. I assumed you understood the nature of intimate relations between two people.”

“Of course I do,” she snapped. “I understand that sort of thing very well. But you are obviously a man of strong passions, sir. If you are sincerely interested in an intimate connection with me—”

“Oh, I am,” he said softly. “I am most definitely interested.”

She cleared her throat. “Then you deserve to know that my own temperament does not run to the extremes.”

He went blank. “The extremes?”

She waved one hand. “I refer to the sort of extreme passions that your mother writes about in her plays.”

“Nobody in his or her right mind acts the way the characters do in my mother’s melodramas. I’m afraid you have gone too deeply into the weeds of polite euphemisms. I am lost. I have no idea what you are talking about.”

She shot him an irritated look.

“I am merely trying to tell you that I may not be the right woman for a man of your passionate nature, sir,” she said. “I’m trying to warn you, as it were.”

He was most certainly enjoying himself now, he decided.

“Ah,” he said. “We are back to your concerns about those exotic sexual rites in the forbidden chamber, is that it? Never fear, I won’t expose you to that sort of thing unless you request me to do so.”

“Damn it, Slater, you are deliberately mocking me.”

He grinned. “I do believe I am. I think I rather enjoy teasing you. It’s only fair, given your remarkably ridiculous concerns about your own temperament.”

She sighed. “You are not going to take my warnings seriously, are you?”

“I suggest we examine this situation from my point of view.”

She gave him a wary look. “What do you mean?”

“Given my periods of extended celibacy it seems likely that I am out of practice when it comes to matters of sexual rituals. I have no doubt grown clumsy, or possibly quite inept.”

“Inept?”

“At the very least I’m sure my timing will be off,” he said.

“Timing?”

“If memory serves—and after my experience on Fever Island I cannot be at all certain that it does serve—I believe timing is critical in acts of physical intimacy. Clearly I have moved too quickly today, for example.”

“It is not that you moved too swiftly,” she assured him. “It is just that I was taken somewhat by surprise.”

“My fault, entirely,” he said.

“Well, not exactly.”

“Given my ineptitude, bad timing and lack of practice, it is clear that I need a woman who will be patient with me,” he said. “One who will be understanding. Considerate. Gentle.”

“You are impossible, Mr. Roxton.” She glared.

“What’s more, I have had quite enough of your deliberately provocative conversation.

I strongly suggest that you do not say another word on the subject of your poor timing and inept ways or exotic sexual rites and rituals.

If you do I will terminate our partnership and continue with the investigation on my own. Do you understand me, sir?”

A knock on the door made both of them pause. Slater stifled a groan.

He fished his spectacles out of his pocket and put them on. “Come in.”

The door opened. Webster loomed in the opening.

“Lady Roxton is here, sir. She is asking to see you. Insists that it’s very important.” There was a slight hesitation before he added in his darkest tones, “She brought the children, sir.”

“In that case, whatever you do, don’t send them in here,” Slater said.

“The last time the boys were in my library they made every attempt to destroy my collection.” He glanced out the window and saw that the fog had dispersed.

“Send them out into the garden and show Lady Roxton to the terrace. I’ll join her there. ”

Webster was visibly relieved. “Very good, sir.”

He left, closing the door.

Ursula turned to Slater. “You have guests. You’ll want privacy. I should return to the office.”

“You may as well stay and meet the rest of the family,” Slater said.

Ursula glanced at him with a flash of curiosity and then concentrated on opening her satchel.

“I would not wish to interfere in your private affairs,” she said, taking out a small hand mirror.

She frowned at the glass and raised one hand to remove a long, steel hatpin.

She adjusted the cap and anchored it with the pin.

“I understand that your relationship with your father’s widow and her children is complicated. ”

“My entire life has become complicated of late,” he said. He watched her close the satchel. “But it has also become more interesting.”