From the exterior, a satisfied, “Ah!” And then, half a minute later, the rattle of the French door as it slammed shut.
Marietta’s head came up, her lips parted. Slade shook his head and withdrew one arm from around her so he could touch a warning finger to her lips. “Not yet,” he murmured, more air than words. He had long ago learned that in situations like these, patience afforded one much forgiveness.
He had apparently not learned, however, the dangers of touching a woman’s petal-soft lips. It certainly didn’t help that she looked up at him with an intoxicating mix of trust and question, amusement and relief. No woman had any business being quite so alluring. It ought to be illegal.
And he ought to pull away.
He got so far as moving his finger, but then his rebellious thumb took its place, brushing over her bottom lip as it had absolutely no right to do. And then his jealous mouth demanded its turn, and with only a few inches of space to cover, his mind hadn’t the time to halt it. Before he could even call himself a fool, his lips were on hers.
He expected her to push away, slap him into next week, shove him down the stairs, or at the very least blister his ears with her opinion on his forwardness. When she rather held still, he figured he might as well enjoy the single moment. Make it memorable. Push his luck.
What was life without a little risk, anyway? He settled his raised hand against her neck and tilted her head back, used the one still around her waist to press her closer. That put him all in, so from there it was either win, fold, or bust.
Her call, and he had no idea what move she would make, not until her fingers knotted in his waistcoat, her lips moved under his, and she lifted up on her toes to meet him.
A gamble that paid off. Not knowing when or if he’d ever have her in his arms again, he kissed her like there was no tomorrow, until he forgot what in the world he was even doing in this place. Kissed her until his senses swam and he had to shift to compensate.
His foot slipped off the edge of the narrow slab of wood, and it was her turn to catch him. She did so with a laugh, pushing him into the wall at his back to steady them. And with laughter still dancing in her eyes, she didn’t seem too resentful. “That was a bad idea.”
Trying to move or kissing her? A grin won half of his mouth. Either way. “I know.” He glanced down the stairs and then inclined his head. “Curious?”
She glanced toward the door and then crouched down to pick up the lantern, holding it out to him as she straightened. “Lead the way.”
The temperature dropped with each step, making him look back at Marietta, two steps above him. She hadn’t even a shawl over her gray dress, which surely offered little by way of protection. As soon as he reached the small chamber at the bottom, he set the light upon the rough old table and shrugged out of his greatcoat. “Here.”
Marietta paused at the base of the stairs, four steps away. “You needn’t make any sacrifices for me, Mr. Osborne.”
Stubborn woman. “I still have my frock coat. Take it. It can’t be more than forty-five degrees down here.”
Still she hesitated, folding her arms around her middle.
Slade sighed, and his gaze caught on a mound of wool in the corner. The way it sat on top of a pile of crates, folded neatly, made him think Hughes kept it here specifically for when he came down. He motioned to it. “What about that one, then?”
Marietta strode to the corner, picked up the coat, and then tossed it back down with stony anger on her face. “I would rather freeze.”
“Out of fashion?”
“His.”
His. Whether she meant Lucien or Devereaux he didn’t know, and it didn’t much matter. Heaving another sigh, he moved up behind her, dropped his coat over her shoulders, and held it there. “If I let you freeze, my mother will somehow know and box my ears.”
The breath she released sounded amused. She slid her arms through the sleeves. “To appease your mother, then.” She turned, quickly enough that he hadn’t time to back up to allow the proper distance between them. Which he should do now…but didn’t. Her smile small, she gazed first into his left eye and then his right. “I imagine you have questions.”
“A few.” Dozen.
She spread her arms, which she no doubt meant to illustrate something, but which only served to demonstrate how big his coat was on her. “I daresay we shall never find more privacy than this. Ask—though I cannot guarantee I have answers.”
Oh, she had some, if she chose to part with them. He turned to examine the room and allow his senses a respite from her. “What do you know about me?”
“A logical place to start.” He heard her skirts rustle, though he didn’t turn to see what she was doing. “Let’s see. You are one of Pinkterton’s detectives. Ostensibly here to join the KGC, but given the many times I have caught you digging into things you ought not, it’s a safe assumption that you are rather trying to infiltrate them.”