He lowered his hands, had to clear his throat to find his voice. “I’ll leave you then.” Despite his determination, there was the tiniest hint of a question in the words.

She drew a deep breath, breasts rising, and nodded. “Yes. And… thank you for all you’ve done.”

No words could have better convinced him he should go. He turned to the door. She followed. He stood back to let her step over the threshold; as she did, a heavy knock fell on the front door.

They both froze, then he reached forward and moved her to the side. “Let me see who it is.”

She made no demur but stood quietly where he’d set her while he crossed the hall and opened the door.

One of his footmen looked up at him. The man smiled in relief. “My lord.” He bowed and offered a letter. “This came from the Bastion Club with instructions it be delivered to your hand as soon as possible.”

Tony took the missive. “Thank you, Cox.” A quick glance at the seal informed him it was from Jack Warnefleet. “Good work. I’ll take care of this. You may go.”

Cox bowed and retreated. His footsteps faded along the street as Tony shut the door.

“What is it? News?” Alicia came to his side.

“Very likely.” Breaking the seal, Tony spread the single sheet. Took in the single sentence with a glance.

“What? Who is it from?”

“Jack Warnefleet. He’s been digging into Ruskin’s county connections.” Folding the note, Tony slipped it into his pocket. “He’s returned with some news he thinks I should hear immediately.”

Jack had written that he’d uncovered something significant and suggested Tony meet him at the Bastion Club “pdq.” Pretty damn quick. Between such as they, that meant with all speed—urgent.

The possibility that they’d finally got some handle on A. C. sent anticipation, a keen sense of the hunt, rising through him. “He’s at the club—I’ll go there now.”

He glanced at Alicia. His welling excitement had communicated itself to her; eyes wide, she reached for the doorknob. “You will tell me if you learn anything major, won’t you? Like who A. C. is?”

Already speculating on what avenues the new information might open up, he nodded as she opened the door. “Yes, of course.”

The words were vague, the nod absentminded; Alicia stifled an oath. She caught his arm and tugged until he looked at her, actually focused on her. “Promise me you’ll come and tell me the instant you learn anything significant.”

She held his gaze, prepared to be belligerent if he turned evasive.

Instead, he looked into her eyes, then smiled. “I promise.”

He ducked his head, kissed her swiftly, then slipped out of the door she was holding half-open. “Lock it— shoot the bolts. Now.”

Grimacing at him, she shut the door, dutifully reached up, and shot the bolt above her head, then bent and slid home the other near the floor. Straightening, she listened. An instant later, she heard his footsteps descending the steps, then he strode away down the street.

Half an hour later, in the shrouded darkness of her bed, she sat up, pummeled her pillow, then flung herself down on it again.

She hadn’t wanted to take the final step.

She reminded herself of that fact in inwardly strident tones—to no avail. They didn’t impinge on her restless moodiness in the slightest, didn’t alleviate the deflated feeling dragging at her—as if she’d been on the brink of receiving some wonderful gift, but it had been delayed at the last moment.

The feeling was nonsensical. Illogical. But very real.

She’d spent the entire evening on tenterhooks, increasingly sharp ones, worrying over what would unfold between them next, worrying that she knew all too well, that Tony would press ahead, engineer the moment, and…

That she felt so ungrateful for his forebearance was damning indeed.

He’d clearly decided to hold back; she should grasp the time he’d granted her to concentrate on those things that were most important—Adriana and their plan and the boys. Closing her eyes, settling her head on the down-filled pillow, she willed herself to keep her mind on such matters, on the things that had always dominated her life.

Determinedly, she relaxed.

Within seconds her mind had roamed, to a pair of hot black eyes, to the feel of his lips, firm and pliant on hers, to the sensations of his hands stroking, caressing, to the intimate probing of his tongue…

Sleep crept into her mind and swept her into her dreams.

She woke sometime later to a preemptory knock on her bedchamber door. She couldn’t imagine… she stared through the shadows at the door.

It opened. Tony walked—stalked—in. He scanned the room and located her in the bed; even through the dark his gaze pinned her. Then he turned and quietly closed the door.

She struggled up onto her elbows, struggled to shake off the cobwebs of sleep and make her mind work. What? Why? Had something serious occurred?

Tony’s calmly deliberate movements made that last seem unlikely. He’d crossed the room. Without meeting her eyes, he turned and sat on the end of her bed. It bowed beneath his weight.

She stared at his back, then wriggled and sat up, hugging the coverlet to her breasts. She’d caught only a glimpse of his face, but her eyes were adjusted to the darkness; it had seemed somewhat harder than usual, the harsh features sharply delineated, the angular planes set like granite.

He didn’t turn around, but bent forward.

She frowned. “What’s going on?”

Her whisper floated out through the room.

He didn’t immediately answer; instead, she heard a thud.

Realized with a sudden clenching of nerves that he’d pulled off one shoe.

He shifted and reached for the other. “You made me promise to come and tell you the instant I learned anything significant.”

Those had been her exact words. She shifted, wondering…“Yes? So what—” A sudden thought took precedence over everything else. She stared at the back of his head. “How did you get in?”

His second shoe hit the floor. “I slipped the lock on the drawing-room window. But you needn’t worry.” He stood and faced the bed. “I locked it again.”

That wasn’t what was worrying her.

Eyes widening, mouth drying, she watched as he shrugged out of his coat, glanced around, then flung it over her dressing table stool. Then his fingers rose to his cravat, smoothly tugging the ends free.

“Ah…” Good heavens! She had to…had to…she swallowed. “Did you learn something from your friend?”

She had to distract him.

“From Jack?” His tone was flat, his accents clipped. “Yes. As it happened, I learned quite a lot.”

He had the cravat undone; dragging it free, he flung it on his coat, then his fingers went to the buttons of his shirt.

It was getting harder and harder to think, to swallow, even to breathe. Had the moment really come? Just like that, without warning?

Panic inched higher and higher.

She clutched the edge of the coverlet. “So…what did you learn?” She tried to recall what had passed between them earlier—had she inadvertently issued some sexual invitation?

“Jack investigated Ruskin’s background. In Bledington.” Tony followed the line of buttons down, then glanced at her, yanked the tails from his waistband and stripped off the shirt. His eyes had adjusted; he could see how wide hers were. Wondered, cynically, intently, just how far she’d go before she broke.

He tossed the shirt aside, set his hands to his waistband, his fingers on the buttons of the flap. “Ruskin’s estate amounts to little more than a few fields—he inherited his liking for gambling from his father. The income he enjoyed could not in any way derive from his ancestral acres.” He slipped the buttons free. “If anything, the upkeep of the house in which his mother and sister live was a drain on his purse.”

She didn’t shift, made absolutely no sound as he removed his trousers and sent them to join the rest of his clothes. His determination hardened; it was an effort to keep his emotions—the mix of incredulity, anger, and hurt, and so much more he didn’t want to examine—from his face.

Clothed only in shadows, he turned to the bed. Silent-footed, he prowled down its side; it was a large, canopied affair. He was aroused but, apparently stunned, she was following his face; she’d yet to look down.

She moistened her already parted lips. “Ah…so… what does that…” She made a valiant and quite visible attempt to focus her mind. “I mean, why is that important?”

“It’s not.” He heard the harshness in his tone. Watching her closely, primed to smother a shriek, he reached for the covers. “But there were other facts Jack discovered that were far more startling.”

Her knuckles turned white as he grasped the covers, but when, jaw setting, he lifted them, her grip eased; the silky quilt slid through her fingers as he raised the sheets.

“Oh. I see…”

She was looking straight at him, but he would have sworn she wasn’t seeing him. Her tone seemed distant, as if she was thinking of other things.

His temper, held in tight check until then, flared. He slid onto the bed, dropped the covers, and turned to her.

His plan—what plan he had—was to force her into admitting the truth, the truth Jack had uncovered. The truth she’d so artfully kept from him, her protector and would-be husband. He’d intended to shock her, to use that truth itself to chastise her, to embarrass her into admitting all; he’d imagined she’d succumb to virginal fluster long before now.

Still convinced she would, that at any second she’d panic, call a halt, and admit all, he reached for her. Closing his hands about her slender shoulders, feeling the fine silk of her nightgown slide over the soft skin beneath, he drew her to him.

Slowly, steadily, totally deliberately.

He looked into her face.

No hint of fear, of panic—of anything remotely resembling the frantic, embarrassed fluster he expected— showed in her features.

Quite the opposite. She was finally looking at him, studying his eyes, his face; her expression seemed almost serene, almost glowing.

Her eyes searched; her hands slid up to frame his face, then slid farther, her arms twining about his neck.

Abruptly losing patience, he pulled her to him.

Fully against him, body to body with only a fine layer of silk between.

He hadn’t counted on the shock affecting him.

For one instant, the world about them rocked, quaked, then settled not quite as it had been before. His lungs seized; every muscle tensed; every nerve came alive.

Impulses—powerful, primitive, and sure—rose and rushed through him; his head spun.

He heard her breath catch. He looked into her eyes. Saw something like wonder in her expression.

Their gazes touched, held.

For three long heartbeats, time stood still.

Between them, heat welled. Flames ignited, greedily grew.

Her gaze dropped to his lips.

Beyond his control, his dropped to hers.

Who made the first move he didn’t know. She lifted her head as he bent his. Their lips met.

And the fires leapt, then raged.

She pressed against him and he was lost. She opened her mouth to him, and he drowned in her bounty.

He sank against her, into her. In no way passive, she met him, her body firm and supple against his, her hands in his hair, her tongue dueling with his, inciting, inviting.

Wanting.

His control was gone before he even saw the threat. Vaporized by a need the like of which he’d never known. She was with him in want, in desire, in passion; her flagrant encouragement left no room for doubt.

Instinct claimed him, primal and unfettered. Unchained after being so long denied. He had to have her, all of her, had to have her beneath him, claimed and incontrovertibly his. It wasn’t lust that drove him, but something deeper, more powerful, something that dwelled in his heart and his soul and paid scant attention to the dictates of his brain.

Within a minute, the kiss turned ravenous; his hands hardened, fingers kneading possessively.

Alicia sensed the change in him and exulted. Her own needs unleashed for the first time in her life, she wanted all he did, wanted to experience all he and she together could be.

She’d made her decision. Or had had it made for her; she wasn’t sure, but either way she felt certain, confident beyond doubt, that this was meant to be.

The moment he’d turned to her, naked, aroused, yet somehow to her senses still unthreatening, she’d known. To her eyes, he was beautiful, incomparably male yet totally safe; never would she find another man she could trust as she trusted him—never with another would she feel the same certainty that she could go forward without fear, that she could surrender to him yet not lose herself.