Trial by Desire (Carhart #2)(76)

Ned could be that sort of hero.

She walked into the parlor and sat on the silk-cushioned sofa, her silhouette illuminated by the firelight. She turned to look into it, presenting him with her back.

Her back seemed as good a place as any to start. The thin, tense line of her stance made a miserable curve.

He set his hands on her shoulders. The silk of her gown seemed cool to his touch as he slid his hands down; he could feel the ridges of whalebone beneath, stiff lines against his hand. She was wearing a small corset, one that fit neatly under her br**sts, clasping her ribs. The chances of his being able to remove it seemed as dim as the lighting in the room.

But above that garment, he could still massage away the hard knots of worry that had collected in her shoulders. He took them on, one by one, letting his fingers speak the reassurance that his voice could not. And once her shoulders had loosened, he noticed how tight her lower back seemed, just at the edges of her corset.

There was only one way to defeat Harcroft on the morrow. Oh, it was possible that Harcroft’s information wasn’t sound, that the testimony he’d collected—and the gravity of his charge—would leave the jury unconvinced. But Ned wasn’t willing to accept a mere possibility of her release. After all, she was charged with a crime, and however good her intentions, she had committed it. He’d gambled enough in his youth; Ned was not going to merely toss the metaphorical dice again and pray for the best.

He pressed his palms into the heated curves of her waist and made gentle circles there, over and over, until those muscles, too, had relaxed.

By contrast, he was all on edge. Kate could tell the entire truth of her story—that Louisa had come willingly, that she’d been beaten by her husband—but so long as Louisa was absent, it was Kate’s word against Harcroft’s.

She had relaxed a little more under his touch, but she was still stiff. Her hands were still clenched at her sides, her fingernails biting into the palms of her hand.

There was the possibility of countering Harcroft’s claims with charges of their own. Assault on Kate, assault on Louisa herself. But every charge Ned could imagine would require Kate to explain the circumstances that had brought them about. She would have to admit her guilt. No, there had to be another way out of this. Something that would leave Kate unquestionably free.

He took her hands. They were still cold and trembled slightly. He flattened her delicate fingers between his, and then pressed his thumb along her palm. Trust me. Trust me. He coaxed the tension from every finger, squeezing them in his grip, working his way up the muscles of her forearm.

She had leaned back as he rubbed her arms, her body molding against his. Holding her as closely as he was, he couldn’t help but brush his arms against her chest. And as he did, he couldn’t help but notice that her ni**les had grown hard and tense. And so he massaged them, too.

He made little circles with his fingers about her br**sts, radiating from the center on out. She let out a sound, halfway between a sigh and a sob, as he did so. And when that did not relieve the tension in those tight buds—when she turned around and straddled him, her petticoats covering his legs, her thighs clasping his, her body sweet against his—well. Only a cad would have left her in such a state.

Only a cad would have removed his hands, would have kept his mouth from finding her br**sts beneath that gown. Only a cad would have pushed her hands away as they undid the fall of his breeches. And only a true villain would have ignored the rising tide of lust that came up between them.

She slid on top of him; he clasped her waist tightly. She leaned her forehead against his. Their breath mingled, then their bodies. Ned could have let everything go in that first half a minute. He might have rolled her beneath him and held her tight, until he emptied all his fears inside her. But her hands clenched tight on his shoulders. For her, this was more than release. It was reassurance, proof that even the courts of the land could not make her into a small powerless thing.

She was a heated breath of air about him, a warm clasp around his member. Her hands pinned him in place. Only a cad would have taken that control from her.

Tonight, Ned was determined to be her hero.

And so he was.

CHAPTER TWENTY

RELEASE HAD NEVER SEEMED quite so relieving to Kate. After they had finished, after he’d kissed her and withdrawn from her and rearranged her skirts, he pulled her back onto his lap. She sat there, her cheek pressed against his, his arms clasped about her. Somehow, that act, primal and real, had jolted something loose inside her. She could think again, could face the prospect of an uncertain tomorrow.

“What do we do?” She whispered the words into his hair.

His hands splayed on her backside, caressing her still.

“We need to tell Gareth,” Ned said. “Send for him immediately, in fact. We’ll need to have our marquess here, to press our advantage.” He smiled slightly. “I shall enjoy using my cousin as a figurehead.”

A thousand doubts clamored up in Kate’s mind. “But—”

“Jenny was already suspicious of Harcroft, I think. And after the role they have played in this, they deserve to know. I would like them to hear it from you.”

“They don’t like me,” Kate said in a small voice.

“They don’t know you. They don’t know anything about you. Don’t you think, Kate, that it’s time you told someone besides me?”