“Yes.”
He smiled as he lifted a hand to lightly trace the line of her swollen lips. Distracted by his touch, she barely noted his other hand slipping beneath the heavy folds of her skirts. It was not until his fingers brushed the bare skin of her thigh that she gave a sudden jump.
“Hawksley?”
His eyes flared as he cupped the back of her head and drew her head downward to accept his fiercely hungry kiss.
Clara paused before eagerly returning his kiss, her momentary unease forgotten. He obviously knew what he was about, she acknowledged fuzzily. Indeed, he seemed quite an expert. And she was wise enough to always concede to an expert. No matter what the subject.
Running her hands over the hard planes of his chest, she felt his fingers continue their soft journey. Aimlessly tracing patterns on her tingling skin, he moved ever higher. And higher.
And . . . dear heavens.
He easily swallowed her scream as his fingers swept the line of her cleft, pressing between the lips to seek her damp heat.
Her fingers dug into his chest as he gently stroked her, tiny bursts of fire shimmering through her as he brushed over the very source of her pleasure.
Wrenching her lips free she buried her face in the curve of his neck, her breath coming in short gasps.
“Hawksley . . . there is something . . .”
“I know, my sweet,” he murmured, his lips brushing her temple.
“I do not know what to do,” she muttered.
He chuckled softly. “For once you need do nothing. Allow me to pleasure you.”
Unable to help herself, she asked the question trembling on her lips.
“Why?”
He paused in surprise. “Why what?”
“Why me?”
Thankfully, he did not laugh at her absurdity. Instead his lips softly nuzzled her cheek.
“There is no logic to such things, kitten. I desire you because I desire you.” She moaned as his finger resumed its steady caress, his thumb pressing against her tender nub as his finger slid into her with infinite care. “You. Just you.”
“Oh.” A sharp-edged pleasure was spiraling through her, tensing her muscles. She had to move. She could not halt the instinct to tilt her hips forward to meet his steady stroke. There was something awaiting her. Something beckoning just out of reach. “I can bear no more,” she gasped.
“Trust me,” he whispered, his head dipping to capture a straining nipple in his mouth.
Her entire body went rigid as her body posed at the edge of a chasm. The world receded as she arched backward and gasped. Then with an explosive force the tension fragmented into a hundred shards of pleasure.
Utterly stunned by powerful climax, Clara flopped onto Hawksley’s broad chest.
“Oh . . . my.”
“Oh my, indeed.” Gently removing his hand, Hawksley smoothed the skirts over her legs and wrapped his arms about her.
Unable to help herself, Clara snuggled against his warmth. She felt sated. Wondrously sated. But there was more. She felt a connection to this man. As if when she was near him, she was not so terribly alone.
It was something she had not felt in a very long time, and a small ache clutched at her heart.
The sensation would not last, of course. Everyone she had ever been attached to had left her. But for the moment she intended to cling firmly to the illusion that she possessed someone she cared for.
A friend.
A lover.
A man who stirred emotions she had buried years before.
Breathing deeply of his scent, she smiled. “Thank you.”
He became motionless before his chest rumbled with a startled chuckle.
“Good Lord. You never fail to amaze me.”
With an effort she leaned back to meet his amused gaze. “What?”
“Most females would be slapping my face, regardless of whether they had enjoyed my touch or not. They certainly would not be thanking me.”
She grimaced ruefully. “I never seem capable of doing what is expected of me.”
“Which is no doubt why I find you so fascinating,” he murmured. “There is nothing coy or deceptive about you. There is a purity in your soul that is all too rare.”
She laid her head back on his chest with a sigh. Unlike her, he always knew precisely what to say.
“This has been a most unusual trip to London.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Most unusual.”
For the next two days Hawksley barely rested as he scoured London for information on Mr. Chesterfield and ancient papal records.
He spoke to the handful of gentlemen who could claim an acquaintanceship with the reclusive scholar. He approached church officials, renowned scholars, and a number of collectors who specialized in religious artifacts.
He even spent hours rummaging through his brother’s library, all to no avail.
He told himself that his sudden burst of energy was merely the result of having a new path to investigate after weeks of being thwarted at every turn.
In truth, however, he knew at least a portion of his restlessness was due more to the young woman currently seated across the table from him than his conviction that he would learn anything of value.
Damn and blast, but she had him twisted in knots.
The moment he entered the Hawk’s Nest he was aware of her presence. It was in the lingering scent of vanilla in the air, the sound of her graceful footfalls as she directed the newly acquired maids to a flurry of constant cleaning, and the sweet laughter that echoed through the house.
She even haunted his private chambers despite her careful habit not to intrude into his sanctuary.
Lying in his bed at night, he was plagued with the memories as he had held her in his arms and tasted of her sweetness.
Hellfire. It had been bad enough when he could only imagine what she might look like as he coaxed her to her climax. Now that he knew precisely how her face would flush and her eyes darken with pleasure, it was near torture to keep his hands off her.
He wanted her. He wanted to thrust himself deep in her heat and listen to her cry out in fulfillment.
And he very much feared that no matter how noble he might attempt to be, sooner or later temptation would overcome chivalry.
Obviously it was imperative that he bring Lord Doulton to justice without delay.
Only then would Clara be safe from his evil, and Hawksley would be able to return her to her tidy cottage.
And he would be allowed to seek relief from his aching passions.
Please, God, allow him to find relief. He was quite certain that his sanity depended upon it.
Glancing up from the perfectly poached salmon and potatoes in cream, Hawksley met the emerald gaze that was openly regarding him in a speculative manner.
It was not the first time he had caught her gaze upon him during the meal, and he wondered if he was about to be lectured for having abandoned her over the past two days.
It would be what most women would do. Of course, this was Miss Clara Dawson. Which meant he didn’t have a bloody clue what she might say or do.
“I have not grown horns, have I?” he murmured, setting aside his fork.
She frowned at his odd words. “I beg your pardon?”
“You were staring at me in a rather alarming manner. I feared perhaps my cloven hoofs and tail were showing.”
Her lips twitched although her gaze remained steady. “Not as yet.”
“Thank goodness.” He lounged comfortably back in his seat. For all his aching desires, he could not deny there was a distinct pleasure in sharing his meals with Clara. It was a treat he refused to deny himself. “Dare I ask what is upon your mind?”
“I am merely curious.” Placing her elbow on the table, she cupped her chin in her palm. “I know very little about you.”