“Maybe I did hit my head.” She gave him a weak smile and came to her feet.
Mrs. Page appeared in a circle of light below, clutching her robe. “My lord. Miss Collins. What has happened? I heard a thud and a scream.” The shadowed light gave her features a stark, menacing look.
Edwina stared down at Mrs. Page, trying to discern whether the housekeeper seemed disappointed not to find her at the base of the stairs in a broken heap.
“I’m sorry you were disturbed, Mrs. Page,” Bascomb answered. “Collins couldn’t sleep and decided to retrieve a book from the library. Her toe caught on the stair.”
Edwina turned to him. “Yes, Mrs. Page. Clumsy of me. My apologies for waking you.”
“You should be more careful, Miss Collins,” Mrs. Page snipped, grabbing her robe tighter to her thin form before retreating back into the darkness from whence she’d come.
Bascomb got to his feet beside Edwina, his hand sliding down her shoulder to her waist. Holding up the lamp to light the stairs, he waved her forward. “Come, Collins. I’ll get you back to your room.”
She trembled at his touch, the fear melting away to be replaced with another, more problematic emotion. Edwina was intimately aware that there was little between them except the thin cotton of her nightgown. Her nipples puckered beneath the material as something delicious twisted deep inside her. The top of his shirt was unbuttoned, leaving that tiny space of skin exposed. Edwina couldn’t take her eyes off the small triangle, wanting to press her lips to the spot.
Bascomb frowned at her. “Are you sure you haven’t hit your head? Because you’re staring, Collins. A bit rudely, I might add,” he said.
Her hand hovered between them, then she tentatively brushed her fingertips along the line of his jaw before retreating. “You really do have the most beautiful eyes. Seems wasted on a man.”
“You did hit your head if you are spouting nonsense like that again.” The words were quiet. Soft. He led her up the stairs, arm wrapped firmly around her waist, only stopping when they arrived before the open door of her room.
“I was nearly betrothed. Once.” She looked down at her bare feet peeking out from beneath her nightgown. “He was a barrister. Incredibly tedious. He became even more so upon realizing that marriage to me did not include a dowry.”
Bascomb inhaled softly. “A great fool, for a barrister.” His fingers took her chin, looking down at Edwina. “I was once nearly wed myself. But she didn’t care for the scar.”
“An even greater fool than my barrister,” she whispered. “I find the scar gives you character.”
A small grin crossed his lips before his mouth lowered to hers.
Oh.
A soft sound left Edwina at the light pressure. She stood on tiptoe, a wordless plea for him to claim her mouth more fully. Bascomb ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, coaxing her mouth to open beneath his. She darted out her tongue, stroking his, sucking lightly at the tip.
He groaned and pushed Edwina against the wall. Cupping her breast through the thin cotton of her nightgown, he caressed her nipple, teasing and stroking while she pushed herself against him. His hips rocked against hers, the hard length of him pressing between her thighs.
Edwina kissed him harder, her legs parting beneath the onslaught of his bigger body. There was so little between them. Two minuscule layers of clothing. She groaned, rubbing herself against him, feeding the flame burning between them.
He tore his mouth from hers. “I don’t believe I’ll send you back to Hampshire, Collins.” Bascomb pressed his forehead against hers.
“No?” Edwina pressed herself more fully along the muscled length of his body.
“No.” He stared down at her, one large blunt finger tracing the line of her jaw. “You are like a peach.” A big hand palmed her breast through the nightgown. “You’ll be bruised if you are bounced back down to Portsmith.”
They stumbled backward into her room, Bascomb kicking the door shut and reaching behind him to throw the lock. She fell through the bed-curtains to the coverlet.
“Ouch.” She sat up, pulling out the ledger poking into her side.
“Edwina.” He nipped at the skin of her neck before raising his chin to survey the bed. “What is all this?”
“Later.” She would tell him all her suspicions later. Her mouth and body pulsed as she lay back on the bed.
“Are you sure, Edwina?” Bascomb started to unbutton his shirt, watching her with hooded eyes. “The impropriety of the situation doesn’t escape me.”
“I’m not a maid. I—well, there isn’t any need to be gentle or spare me the sight of your body.”
Oh please, dear God, don’t let him spare me.
He tossed his shirt to the floor to reveal a delicious swath of male torso; every muscle carved in exquisite detail rippled as his fingers moved to his trousers. “Damn. My boots.” After walking over to a chair, he sat and tugged them off.
