He shrugged. “I am sure you will think of something. You are quite skilled at deception as I recall. A consummate actress, you are.”
She made a sound: part grunt, part groan. “My brother will not be so easily fooled. He knows you. He knows that I . . .” She hesitated.
“He knows you stole the voucher from me?” Evidently she still had trouble admitting out loud what she had done.
She looked at him then and nodded stiffly, and suddenly he had a thought that left a sour taste in his mouth. He did not like to think that she had been forced into being with him, but perhaps her brother was an even bigger bastard than he thought.
“Did he put you up to the rest of it?” His voice dipped to a low growl. “Was it his idea? Does he know just how far you went to retrieve his voucher?”
The notion that her brother not only knew, but that he had sent her to Silas with the express purpose of seducing him, burned him up and had him visualizing all kinds of ways he could hurt her brother. The wretch would deserve it, of that he was convinced.
“Of course not! He doesn’t know that. He would not have asked me to do such a thing. He’s not that bad.”
“Isn’t he?” Nothing would convince him that Bede Kittinger was anything less than a cad who would give up his sister in just such a low manner if it gave him advantage and pushed him ahead in life. He knew greedy men, and he knew Kittinger to be one of them. He had seen plenty such men in this world. She might not yet realize her brother was one of them, but he did. It bothered him greatly that she was at his mercy.
“It was all me . . . my idea.”
His relief was swift. Even if she had tricked him. Even if he was still angry about that. It buoyed his ego to know no one had forced her into seducing him. No. It had been all her. All her conniving and manipulation.
“Your idea, hmm?” he mused.
Perhaps it was not only conniving and manipulation. Perhaps a part of her had wanted to be with him? Wishful thinking on his part, but she had certainly seemed to enjoy their time together. She could not have faked her pleasure. He did not believe that her response had been anything other than genuine. No one could act that well. Especially someone as obviously inexperienced as she was.
He took another step that brought their bodies flush, almost touching but not quite. Still . . . he was close enough to enjoy the way her chest, so very near his own, lifted and fell with her rapid breaths.
She was not dressed as she had been that night—not that she had been dressed for very long in his presence—but the blouse and skirt she now wore were the height of modesty. The clothes did nothing to enhance her figure. Hell. They did not even hint that she was in possession of a figure. But he knew.
He knew what existed beneath the starched cotton and thick wool. The image of her was seared into his mind. He knew the give of her flesh. The taste and texture. The softness of her breasts and just how they filled his palms. He knew the way they quivered above him. He knew the tightness of her quim around his cock.
He knew too much, and it was a mistake remembering with her here in his presence. Once he did, he could not help himself. He reached out a hand to touch her, even if barred by a thick layer of woolen skirts. He could not resist. He squeezed a handful of fabric and met the curve of her hip.
“What are you doing?” she rasped.
“Just reacquainting myself of the way you feel, even hidden behind ugly clothes.”
“My clothes are functional,” she hissed. “You can’t expect me to walk about the farm in what I wore in London.”
He considered that for a moment, flexing his fingers on the fabric, brushing the solidness of her hip, making unsatisfactory contact. And yet he smiled. “These garments are even more enticing than that enticing ensemble . . .”
Her eyes flared. “You mock me, sirrah. You just called these garments ugly. They are in no way enticing. No one would ever say that.”
His hand drifted around the voluminous fabrics of her skirts, to her backside, curving his palm over the delicious derriere he remembered with such clarity . . . and fondness.
She gasped, and then the sound turned into a breathy little moan.
“You covering up yourself like this, hiding what only I know is beneath . . .” He added a second hand to her backside, roughly squeezing both her cheeks until she was suddenly thrust forward against him. “It’s damn arousing,” he rasped over her lips, not quite making contact with her mouth but close. “It makes me want to tear these clothes off you and have at you again.”
Her eyes widened and dropped to his mouth. With a whimpering cry, she lunged at him, planting her lips on his.
As unlikely as it seemed in this moment, he had not come here to do this—but the sweet press of her lips over his, the hot slide of her tongue entering his mouth, and he was lost.
He slid both hands into her hair and hauled her in, closer than close to him.
Her mouth mated furiously with his, her hands clawing at his arms and shoulders. Desperate little sounds escaped her around their melded lips, driving him wild.
He growled. They both had on entirely too many clothes.
He tore his hands from her hair and dragged them down the front of her chest, pulling the blouse loose from her belt and waistband. His hands went under the fabric and up her torso, seizing the breasts that were—bloody hell!—shielded in a corset.
“Too many clothes,” he mumbled into her mouth as he cupped her through her corset and dipped his fingers inside to pinch her nipples.
She tossed back her head in a cry, and he went instantly achingly hard.
This was not the plan. He had not intended for this to happen. It had not been his intention, but their mouths stayed fused, devouring each other as though they were a pair of long-lost lovers. Her hands fumbled at his trousers.
He could not stop her.
He could not stop himself.
When her fingers wrapped around his hard cock, he was lost.
He groaned and extricated himself from her grip fleetingly to reach the hem of her skirts, dragging them up her legs, ready to take this to its most natural and obvious conclusion . . . to the reward they both so desperately craved. Whether he meant for this to happen or not, it was happening.
Dimly, he registered the creak and slam of a door.
“Mercy? You in here?”
They flew apart at the sudden voice. His body wept at the loss of her. He groaned, feeling decidedly unkind toward whoever chose this moment to interrupt them.
Her gaze collided with his. “It’s my brother,” she whispered.
They quickly attacked their haphazard clothing. She stuffed her blouse back into her skirt whilst he did up his trousers.
She smoothed back her hair as though that made any difference at all in correcting the mussed strands.
“Yes,” she called out in a voice that was admirably even and calm. “Back here!”
Silas erected a casual pose, and leaned a hip against a table, listening as Bede Kittinger’s footsteps closed in on them. The young man emerged through the rows of trees and stopped hard at the sight of Silas.
“Masters!” he exclaimed, a shaky smile taking form on his face. His gaze darted to his sister searchingly. His bewilderment was evident. “What are you doing here?”
“Me? Oh, I thought I would take a trip to inspect the property that I won from you. Although it does not appear to be my property anymore as the voucher has gone missing. You don’t have any knowledge of that, do you?”