Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(70)

One untidy lock of hair trailed across a cheek, down her neck, sticking a bit sweatily, and curled at the top of one exposed breast. Round and full, the nipple a soft rose. He touched that nipple, wondering at the velvet texture of her skin, the instant tightening at the tip.

She gasped and his gaze flew toward hers. She looked at him wonderingly as if surprised to find herself here in his bed.

Well, perhaps she was.

“Good morning,” he began. Banal, perhaps, but what the deuce else was he to say?

But she threw back the covers and bounded out of the bed like a startled fawn. “Where is my chemise?”

He crossed his arms behind his head. “I have no idea.”

She turned a glare at him—entirely charming since she was nude. “You took it off me. You must know.”

“I had, er, other matters on my mind.” Pity. He had no need to look at his lap to know that his cock would’ve been more than happy to repeat their activities of last night.

He glanced at her. She was on her knees, her bottom in the air as she searched under a chair, presumably for the missing chemise. The view was astounding, but he had the feeling she wasn’t in the mood.

And, indeed, when she suddenly straightened and caught his stare, she glared. “I need to go home. I told Winter I was coming to see you, but I never expected to spend the night! He’ll be worried.”

“Naturally,” he said in what he hoped was a soothing voice. “But it’s just dawn. Surely you can stay long enough to break your fast?”

“No. I need to get home,” she muttered. “I can’t have my brothers thinking we’re lovers.”

He opened his mouth, but some sense of survival kept him from pointing out that they were lovers.

Instead he said patiently, “I’ll ring for a maid to help you—”

“Oh, no!” She held up the remains of her stays.

He winced. “Ah. Allow me to send one of my maids to purchase you a new one.”

“That will take hours!” She was back to glaring at him again.

He sighed. He’d never particularly enjoyed rising early, but it was quite evident he wouldn’t be allowed to lie abed this morning.

Lazarus threw back the covers and rose, permitting himself only a moment’s satisfaction when she took one look at the tent in his breeches and blushed violently. He crossed to the cord and rang for Small. After a sotto voce conference at the door to his room—Temperance had retired to his bed—the valet acquired a set of stays from a maid, and in half an hour, Mrs. Dews was properly attired again.

Lazarus lounged in a chair, watching as she tied her cloak quite firmly under her chin. Every hair was in place, a white cap sat primly on her head, and she looked every inch the respectable matron of a foundling home.

He hated the look.

“Wait,” he said as she put her hand on the doorknob.

She turned impatiently but looked wary as she saw him prowling near.

“I need to make some investigations tonight,” he said. “I had word of a man I should question when I returned home last night.”

She bit her lip. “Of course.”

He nodded. “Then be ready at eight o’clock.”

“But…”

He bent and kissed her hard, his mouth forcing hers open, thrusting in his tongue as she gave way.

When he raised his head, she was looking at him in alarm. He smiled. “Good morning, Mrs. Dews.”

And he watched as she turned and left his bedroom. Her spine was straight, and she never looked back. Perhaps she’d already decided to put their night together behind her.

If so, he pitied her. For he had every intention of bedding her again.

Chapter Thirteen

Meg spent the rest of the day quite happily combing out the tangles from her long flaxen hair. Early the next morning, she braided her hair and wound it about her head in a golden crown. She’d hardly put the last pin in when the guards came to bring her before the king. This time the throne room was filled with a bevy of lovely ladies. Each was more graceful than the last, their faces painted delicately to highlight their dazzling beauty.

In the midst of this feminine bounty, the king lounged, large and masculine and isolated. His gaze immediately went to Meg.

Without preamble, he asked, “Do you love me, my concubines?”

As one, the ladies turned and, with various simpering expressions, said, “Yes!”…

—from King Lockedheart

What had she done?

Temperance stared blindly out of Caire’s carriage as it rolled through the bright London sunshine. She’d succumbed to the temptations of the flesh, had lain with a man not her husband—for the second time in her life. She should feel guilt and sorrow and perhaps panic, and she did feel all those things. But at the same time, there was a spark of joy deep within her breast that stubbornly refused to be quenched by all her doubts.

She’d lain with Caire and she was happier for it.

Still, she was bracing herself to meet Winter’s disapproval when the carriage stopped near the home. And, indeed, when she descended, she saw that Winter stood outside the home’s front door. Oh, dear.

He watched her approach, his dark brown eyes intent, but when she drew near, he merely said, “Come inside, sister.”

Temperance followed him, subdued. She half expected him to quiz her on her absence the previous night, but he simply led her into the kitchen instead. There, Nell was supervising the cooking of the morning meal, Mary Whitsun in attendance. Nell rolled her eyes at Temperance’s entrance, obviously agog with questions she couldn’t ask at the moment.