“A lottery?”
“Yes,” she said, warming to her idea now. “The prize would be the houses themselves. People would enjoy the idea of possibly winning. With the lottery, they could buy tickets and then potentially end up with, as you say, one of the finest homes in London.”
She looked at him expectantly.
“What do you think?”
“It would certainly bring many people to see my work,” he said thoughtfully. “And then we can finish the development."
“Yes,” she agreed. “And the best part of it is that truly anyone could win.”
“That will also be the greatest issue, Rebecca,” he said, frowning. “There will be some who won’t want just anyone living in a fine London neighborhood. In fact, we will likely require approval.”
“From who?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” he admitted. “But it required approval to demolish the original structures and rebuild. We shall think on it.”
“Well, we have a couple of weeks or so before we return to London,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Which reminds me — we must work hard on these plans if we’d like to have a draft completed before we go.”
“Very well,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Carry on.”
So carry on Rebecca did. Her father had retired early that evening, and once more she was alone in the long gallery. It was interesting, she reflected, how in the dark of night what was an innocent vase or painting during the day was made sinister. All sorts of wild thoughts entered one’s mind after the clock struck midnight and no one was about.
At that thought, she heard a footstep in the distance. There is no such thing as ghosts, she told herself, rolling her eyes at the fact that the thought had even crossed her mind.
She was a practical woman, not given to the fanciful, she reminded herself as she heard the footsteps approaching.
Which was also a reason why she had to stay far from the duke. For if that was him out in the hall…
“Rebecca.”
It was.
She scrambled to her feet, once more shoving her papers underneath one of the few large books she had been consulting.
“Your grace— that is, Valentine. What are you doing here?”
“I must admit that I was actually hoping I would find you here. You must be one of those people who craves the long night hours.”
She would actually prefer to be in bed. It was simply that she didn’t have much choice. If she was to finish this and to do so without the rest of them guessing who was actually designing their homes, then night it was.
Unless Valentine continued to make a habit of interrupting her.
“Sometimes,” was all she said when she realized he was awaiting her reply. “And you?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes,” he repeated her, causing her to smile at him.
“Listen,” he said, taking more steps toward her. “I sought you out to apologize.”
“For what?” she asked, her heart beating ever faster as he stopped before her and took her hand in his.
“For, well, for fainting on you. Archie was quite chagrined with me when I came to.”
“I didn’t know who else to seek out.”
“You were correct, he was the best choice,” Val said, walking over to the sideboard and pouring himself a drink from the one bottle they currently had in the room — whiskey, her father’s favorite.
“How often has that happened to you?” she asked curiously.
“That I’ve been beaten?”
“That you have lost consciousness.”
“Oh. Ah… four or five times now.”
“Why do you look so unconcerned?” she asked, aghast at his nonchalance.
“I am always fine afterward. Though it seems to be happening more often now — nearly every good hit to the head results in it. At any rate, I didn’t want you to think that I had fainted as a result of your touch.”
Despite her concern for him, Rebecca couldn’t help a bit of mirth at his expense. The thought that a man his size, so masculine, so physically obvious, would faint at the mere touch of her lips…
“What?” he said, furrowing his brow.
“Nothing,” she said, but a near-giggle slipped out.
“You’re laughing at me.”
“I am not.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I believe you are.”
“Fine,” she said, the laughter spilling out now. “It’s just the thought that you could go rounds being punched in the face but then think that I would believe that I could fell with you one kiss… why, it is rather humorous.”
He finally broke a grin himself and chuckled slightly. “I see your point.”
“Although,” she swallowed her fear and took a step closer to him, “there is only one way to prove that was not the cause.”
“Oh?” he said, setting his drink down, his eyes becoming quite hooded as he lost all humor and returned her stare. “And just what would that be?”
“To try it again, of course,” she said, and he nodded slowly.
“That, Rebecca, is an excellent idea.”
He reached out and ran his hands along her bare arms until they locked around her hands, and then he slowly began to tug her toward him, until she was but a breath away.
“I think, if we are going to recreate this correctly, it was you who had kissed me,” he said slyly, and Rebecca’s breath caught in her throat. It was one thing to have kissed him when they were already in the midst of passion, but to be the aggressor from the outset…
Well, she best get to it.
She closed her eyes, leaned in, and pressed her lips against his.
Rebecca had thought that their kiss last night was the best she would ever have.
She was wrong.
Last night he had obviously only been semi-lucid. Today, with all of his faculties intact, he was something else entirely.
He kissed like he fought. She may have been the one to initiate the kiss, but he soon took over, thrusting and parrying without restraint. His tongue sought hers, caressing yet also promising what would await her should they go any further than this.
She moaned at the onslaught, her hands coming up to grip his shoulders as though she were drowning and he was her only chance of salvation.
When he tore his lips from hers, she sagged against him, entirely at his mercy.
He tilted her chin up to look at him. “See? Still lucid.”
She nodded jerkily. “I, however, am not.”
“Forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive.”
She looped her arms around his neck, now as desperate as he was. She needed more of him, wanted to be close to him. She was well aware that their time together would be brief. She knew that there was nothing for them in the future. But could she not have this moment in time with him? Being with him brought her close to someone in a way that she had never been before, nor likely ever would again. Why could she not have this with him, however fleeting it might be?
A small voice deep inside told her she shouldn’t allow it, for then she would only want more.
But his lips upon hers silenced that voice completely.
It was Rebecca who pushed his jacket off his shoulders. It was she who slipped the buttons of his shirt from their holes before lifting it over his head. It was also she who unfastened his trousers, though she wasn’t quite brave enough to actually slip them off.