What a night!
Justin let out a long, slow breath. What an extraordinary encounter. And what an extraordinarywoman.
His blood was still pounding in his veins, his brain swirling as the intoxicating remnants of her perfume lingered in the air.
He reached for the doorknob, then forced his hand back to his side. He shouldn’t follow her. To discover her name, to see her face, would ruin the magic. The illusion.
Perhaps, as she said, she was ugly beneath her mask. Possessed of a bulbous nose, or crossed eyes, or covered in pox scars.
He shook his head. She wasn’t. He knew it in his soul.
Her lips had been perfection: pillowy and soft, and the shy hesitation in her responses, the pretense that she wasn’t as well versed at kissing as he knew she must be, had excited him nonetheless.
If she wasn’t a courtesan, then whatwasshe? The skin of her jaw beneath her mask had been as smooth as velvet, her hands equally soft; she was no dairymaid or washerwoman, with rough, calloused palms from manual labor.
She’d made no attempt to disguise her accent. Had she forgotten? Or was she so certain that her mask was an adequate disguise? Either way, her precise speech and rounded vowels didn’t place her as a member of the working classes. He’d bet a hundred pounds she was a member of the aristocracy, or at least landed gentry.
He’d come here tonight with the lowest of expectations, but had ended up having the most erotic experience he’d had in years.
His cock throbbed again in memory, at the way her breast had fitted so beautifully in his hand, his mouth. The scent of her, some elusive combination of floral fragrance and warm female skin, had made him dizzy with desire.
His body recognized her, even if his mind did not. As if they’d been lovers before, in some long-distant past.
Justin let out a snort at his own uncharacteristic whimsy. He didn’t even know her name, for God’s sake. She’d claimed to be no man’s wife, but people lied. She was probably kissing another man, right now, in another room.
A flash of possessive jealousy, completely irrational and unwarranted, stabbed at him. He had no claim on her. They would probably never meet again, as she said.
But he hated the feeling that they had unfinished business. If she’d been a bored wife or unattached widow, why not allow him to pleasure her in return? Had his hand-induced climax disappointed her? Had she thought he’d be unable to perform? That certainly wasn’t the case; he’d recovered with almost miraculous speed. His cock was as hard as an iron rod again in his breeches.
And even if she hadn’t wanted his cock, he could have pleasured her with his hands, or his mouth, and returned the favor. He would have loved to make her fall apart.
Justin sighed again. She’d left him with more questions than answers. This night was probably best left as a delightful memory, but he suspected he’d still be studying the lips of every woman in London, just in case his mystery woman was there.
Chapter Five
King & Co., Lincoln’s Inn Fields.
“They’ve found him.”
Tess glanced up in surprise, her pen poised above a copy ofThe Times, as Ellie bustled into her office.
“Who? The footman who stole Lady Bressingham’s silver?”
“Not one ofourcases. The new Wansford heir.”
Tess gave a dismissive snort. “How many does this make? Five? Six? I’ve lost count.”
“Seven, I think,” Daisy said, her mop of curls appearing in the open doorway. She sidled into the room and sank in the leather club chair to the right of Tess’s desk. “What are the odds that this one will live long enough to claim the title?”
“Slim,” Tess said. “I’m beginning to think the title’s cursed. The accidents that have befallen the other claimants have been truly unprecedented.”
Ellie shook her head. “I’d put money on this one sticking.”
“Why? What’s different about this one?”
“He’s young. Just turned thirty.”
“Youth isn’t any guarantee. The one who fell off his horse was twenty-two.”
