Dreaming of You (The Gamblers #2)(45)

Suddenly she was leaning on him, her small head resting at the center of his chest. The long skeins of her hair draped everywhere, entangling him in a fine russet web. Alarmed, he lifted his hands to ease her away. Instead his arms slid around her until she was pressed against him length to length. “Miss Fielding,” he said with great effort. “Sara…” She nestled deeper against him, muffling her gulping sobs in his shirtfront.

Derek swore and furtively pressed his lips to the top of her head. He concentrated on the chilly night air, but his loins began to throb with an all-too-familiar pain. It was impossible to stay indifferent to the feel of her body molded to his. He was a bloody charlatan…no gentleman, no chivalrous comforter of women, only a scoundrel filled with raw desire. He smoothed his hand over her hair and urged her head into his shoulder until she was in danger of being smothered. “It’s all right,” he said gruffly. “Everything’s fine now. Don’t cry anymore.”

“I sh-should never have gone off with Mr. Jenner, but I was angry with you for…for…”

“Yes, I know.” Derek searched in his coat and found a handkerchief. Clumsily he plastered it against her wet face. “Here. Take this.”

She peeled the linen from her cheeks and used it to blow her nose. “Oh, th-thank you.”

“Did Jenner hurt you?”

“No, but he left me, right in the middle of that m-mess—” Her chin wobbled, heralding fresh tears, and Derek interrupted in alarm.

“Easy. Easy. You’re safe now. And I’m going to wring Ivo Jenner’s neck—after I wring yours for going with him.” His hand slipped under her cloak to her velvet-covered back, kneading the knotted muscles.

Sara gave a last hiccup. She drooped against him, shivering. “You saved me tonight. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

“Don’t thank me. We’re even now.”

“I am grateful,” she insisted.

“Don’t be. I’m responsible for some of this. I should have known it was you behind the mask.” His eyes swept over her luminous, tear-streaked face. “Perhaps I did, somehow.”

Sara was very still, soaking in the warmth that mingled beneath their cloaks. The heel of his hand rested on the side of her breast, while his other spread across the small of her back. “Where did the dress come from?” he asked, his breath a puff of white mist in the air.

“Lady Raiford.”

“Of course,” he said sardonically. “It looks like something she would wear.” He glanced into the open neck of the cloak, where the shadow of her cle**age was visible. His thumb moved high on her breast, lingering at the edge where velvet ended and soft skin began. “Except you fill it out differently.”

Sara pretended not to notice the gentle fondling, even as her blood quickened and her ni**les contracted within the velvet sheath. “Lady Raiford was very kind. You mustn’t blame her. Coming to the assembly ball tonight was my idea. It was all my fault, no one else’s.”

“I suspect Worthy and Lily were damn eager to help you.” His knuckles brushed over the top of her breast and around the side, until a tremor of pleasure went through her. He spoke softly against her hair. “Are you cold?”

“No,” she whispered. Liquid fire raced through her veins. She felt as if she had drunk some heady concoction a hundred times more potent than wine.

Derek eased her head back and stared into her eyes. “I want you to forget everything that happened tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going back to your village tomorrow. You’re going to marry your Kingsfield.”

“Kingswood.”

“Wood,” he repeated impatiently.

Sara moistened her dry lips. “Will you forget, Mr. Craven?”

“Yes.” His gaze flickered to her mouth, and he let go of her.

Momentarily disoriented, Sara swayed and found her balance. She half-expected him to tell her it was time to leave, but he seemed in no particular hurry. Wandering to the wooden fence nearby, he leaned against the highest rail.

“Shouldn’t we return to the club?” Sara asked, following him.

“For what? There’s not much left of the assembly, after the raid your friend Jenner arranged. No more guests, no gambling…and fortunately for you, no more rum punch.”

Sara blushed deeply. “That punch was quite intoxicating,” she admitted.

He laughed, inspecting her flushed cheeks and her uncertain balance. “You’re still flying high as a kite, angel.”

Relieved that he was no longer angry with her, Sara folded her arms and glanced at the quiet streets. The wind seemed to carry the faint howl of the distant mob, though that was only a trick of her imagination. She wondered if their gruesome purpose had been accomplished, if they had reveled in pulling apart the highwayman’s corpse. The thought made her shudder, and she told Craven what Jenner had said about the mob. He listened without surprise. “How can people behave in such a way?” Sara asked. “How can they watch executions for entertainment? I can’t understand it.”

“I did, when I was a boy.”

Her jaw dropped. “You went to hangings, a-and floggings, and disembowlings, and…but you didn’t enjoy it. You couldn’t have.”