Dreaming of You (The Gamblers #2)(80)

“Derek,” Lily said in a steely voice, “I won’t allow you to force this poor child into something she’s not prepared for—”

“She’s not a child.” His fingers tightened on the back of Sara’s neck. “Tell her what you want, Sara.”

Helplessly Sara raised her head and looked at Lily, her face turning a deep shade of crimson. “I…I’m leaving with Mr. Craven.” She didn’t have to look at Derek to know that he was smiling in satisfaction.

Lily sighed shortly. “This entire situation is indecent!”

“A lecture from Lawless Lily on indecent behavior,” Derek mocked, leaning over to kiss his long-standing friend on the forehead. “Save it for another time, gypsy. I want to leave before everyone wakes up.”

During the carriage ride to London, Derek prompted Sara to tell him about her engagement to Perry. She hedged uncomfortably, not wanting to speak ill of her former fiancé behind his back. “That’s all in the past now. I would rather not talk about Perry.”

“I want to know how it ended between you. For all I know I’m caught in the middle of a lovers’ spat—and you’ll go running back to him when the smoke clears.”

“But you can’t really think that!”

“Can’t I?” His voice was dangerously quiet.

Sara frowned at him, although she was inwardly amused. The big, potently masculine creature sitting opposite her was simmering with jealousy, clearly longing to do battle with his unseen rival. “There isn’t much to tell,” she said evenly. “The trouble began right after Perry proposed. Although we were happy at first, it didn’t take long before we discovered that we didn’t suit. Perry said I wasn’t the same woman he’d known all his life. He said I had changed—and he was right. We’d never argued before, but suddenly it seemed we couldn’t agree on anything. I made him very unhappy, I’m afraid.”

“So you gave him plenty of lip,” Derek commented, looking pleased. His good humor restored, he reached over to pat her familiarly on the thigh. “That’s fine. I like my women saucy.”

“Well, Perry doesn’t.” She pushed away his exploring hand. “He wants a woman who will allow him to dictate to her. He wanted me to stop writing, and fill the house with children, and spend the rest of my life waiting on him—and his mother—hand and foot.”

“Clodhoppers,” Derek said without rancor, exhibiting the typical cockney disdain for simple country folk. He pulled her onto his lap, ignoring her attempts to wriggle free. “Did you tell him about me?”

“Mr. Craven,” she exclaimed, protesting the clasp of his hands on her hips.

He locked his arms around her. Their faces were very close, their noses almost touching. “Did you?”

“No, of course not. I tried not to think about you at all.” Sara’s eyes half-closed as she stared at the tanned hollow at the base of his throat. Disliking the civilized confinement of a cravat, he had removed the starched cloth and unfastened the top button of his white shirt. “I did dream about you,” she confessed.

Derek smoothed his hand over her chestnut hair and brought her head closer to his. “What was I doing in your dreams?” he asked against her lips.

“Chasing me,” she admitted in a mortified whisper.

A delicious grin curved his mouth. “Did I catch you?”

Before she could reply his lips were on hers. His mouth twisted gently, his tongue hunting for an intimate taste of her. Closing her eyes, Sara made no protest as he took her wrists in his hands and twined her arms around his neck. He stretched one of his legs out to rest his foot on the seat. Caught in the lee of his powerful thighs, she had no choice but to let her body rest on the hard length of his. Leisurely he fondled and kissed her, wringing succulent delight from every nerve. As he began to slide his hand into her bodice, the thick wool fabric of her gown resisted his efforts. Foiled in his attempt to reach her br**sts, he pushed a lock of her hair aside and dragged his mouth over her throat. She stiffened, unable to hold back a whimper of pleasure. The carriage swayed and jolted suddenly, forcing their bodies closer with the impact.

Derek felt himself approaching a flashpoint beyond which there was no return. With a tortured groan he pried Sara’s voluptuous body away from his and held her away, while he struggled to emerge from a scarlet fog of desire. “Angel,” he said hoarsely, nudging her toward the opposite seat. “You…you’d better go over there.”

Bemused, Sara nearly toppled to the floor from his gentle push. “But why?”

Derek lowered his head and tunneled his fingers into his black hair. He started as he felt her hand brush the nape of his neck. “Don’t touch me,” he said, more roughly than he intended. Raising his head, he stared into Sara’s perplexed face with a crooked smile. “Sorry,” he muttered. “But if you don’t move away, sweet, you’re going to be lifting your heels for me right here.”

They entered Craven’s discreetly through the side door, being zealously guarded by Gill. “Mr. Craven,” he said respectfully, and glanced away from the female guest with a show of tact. But the gray cloak she wore was vaguely familiar. Suddenly recognizing the visitor, Gill exclaimed with pleasure, “Miss Fielding! I thought we would never see you here again! Back for more research, eh?”