“Her ladyship has not withdrawn the reward, though,” Susannah said. “If you returned her pet to her, she’d have to pay you.” A goodly sum too. Enough that the poorer half of London should have been scouring the streets for the wretched dog.
“Susannah, my dear, if Alexander has been sold to some squire from the Midlands, then we’ll never see him again. Lady March has her sale money, the dog has a good life, the squire is happy. Shall we return downstairs?”
Those beautiful eyes, full of sunset hues and patience, also held shadows.
“You’re giving up, then? Willow, I blush to point out that several dogs of similar description have gone missing, and if a man kisses a lady as if she matters to him, the same man being in want of coin, then that man is likely to confuse the woman who kissed him back as if…”
He stood even nearer, and Susannah’s command of English met the lump in her throat. Will Dorning was the best person to find the dogs and earn the reward. He needed the reward if ever he was to take a wife, and he was giving up?
Anger, bewilderment, and longing crashed through Susannah as more giggling girls went past down the corridor.
“Willow?” Don’t you want me?
His arms came around her, gently but firmly. “I left you with the impression that I am an impecunious younger son, because I believed that to be the case. Worth Kettering has taken over management of my finances, however, and very slowly, my situation should improve to the point where I can afford a…family. My dogs sell for good coin, my investments are prospering, and I thrive on hard work.”
The torrent of self-doubt and indignation in Susannah calmed to a current of hope, albeit turbulent hope.
She linked her arms around his waist and leaned against him. “What are you saying, Will Dorning?”
He kissed her, sweetly, maddeningly, and Susannah cuddled closer in retaliation.
“I can’t ask any woman to wait for my prospects to improve, Susannah. Investments fail, hard work can come to nothing. Better offers come along for a woman of good birth and lively intelligence—”
She wedged a silk-clad leg between his thighs, the better to stop his foolish gallantry. “I can be patient, Will. I’m not feeling patient now.”
Susannah was feeling…giddy, as if her attraction to Will Dorning was a vindication of the good judgment and prudence for which she’d become notorious. She’d developed a towering tendresse for him years ago, and that preoccupation had saved her from the distractions offered by lesser men of greater standing and fortune.
Edward Whatever-his-name had been a faltering of that judgment, a sign of weariness and loneliness, but Will was a good man, and he was her man.
Susannah twined her fingers in Will’s dark locks and pulled him in for a resounding, tongue-tangling kiss. She wanted him in the lush undergrowth of desire, wanted him panting and quivering as she nearly was.
“Susannah, my love, this isn’t—bloody hell.” His mouth came back to hers, ravenous and uncompromising, and Susannah’s back hit a wall.
Good, because she needed leverage if she was to—gracious, Will was aroused, and letting Susannah know he wanted her by pressing himself firmly against her. She pushed back, cursing all evening attire to eternal flames.
“Willow, if you don’t right this very instant—”
He kissed the side of her neck. “Hush. I shall not ruin you.”
Susannah’s knees nearly buckled as Will’s kisses whispered along her shoulder. “I’ve already been ruined, and it was nothing like this.”
She’d endured Edward’s fumblings, recited sonnets in her head while he’d breathed stale pipe breath and staler promises all over her breasts. Will could promise nothing, and the only quote Susannah could pluck from the Bard’s endless verbal riches was something about love being a madness.
Will rested one forearm against the wall and remained in Susannah’s embrace. “You took all the risk and saw none of the reward?” he asked, trailing the backs of his fingers over Susannah’s cheek.
“I don’t know what that means. I expected marriage, and allowed him liberties. It was…mostly bearable, at the time.”
Another caress, a single fingertip drawn along Susannah’s eyebrows. She’d be begging Will to tug on her ears next.
“Bearable. It was bearable, Susannah?”
This was not a Willow she knew. This man could touch her eyebrows and have her body singing in places low and feminine. His voice was cool moonshadows and hot innuendo; his kisses stole reason and words.
“This is not bearable, Willow. I can’t think.”
“Good,” he growled, sliding fabric up over Susannah’s thigh. “Don’t even try. If you can think, I’m failing you. I never want to fail you, Susannah, and I never want you mostly bearing my attentions.”
He drew her skirts high enough to stroke his fingers above her knee, and she half turned, half collapsed along the wall. Will stayed where he was, Susannah’s back to him.