She laced her fingers at his nape and drew him deeper into the kiss, then, driven to communicate how much she approved, she opened her hands, speared her fingers through his thick, silky hair, and clutched tight.
Tight.
For a second, his breathing hitched, but he obliged and continued his attentions, concentrating first on one breast, then, when that was swollen, aching, and heavy, shifting his ministrations to the other.
She was riding the crest of a sensual wave when footsteps, beyond the curtain and nearing, broke through the haze and jerked her—and him—back to the world.
Their lips parted a fraction, and they both froze, listening, waiting.
The footsteps—two pairs—moved past, then a door nearby opened. A second later, they heard a heavy sigh, and Sally said, “I don’t know where she is, but I daresay she’ll be along shortly.”
“All right, then,” Rory replied. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
The pair exchanged goodnights, then the door to Addie’s room closed, and Rory’s footsteps continued along the corridor until they heard him climbing the stairs to the next floor.
Addie exhaled and focused on Nicholas’s face. His expression, what she could see of it in the dimness, was unreadable, all hard angles and etched planes, but his lips were faintly swollen; hers, she felt sure, were more so.
Freeing a hand from his hair, she traced his lower lip with one fingertip. “That was…”Wonderful. Glorious.“Amazing.”
His eyes held hers, then he parted his lips, caught her finger between his white teeth, and nipped the tip. Then he soothed the tiny hurt with a soft, gentle, lingering kiss. He released her finger and, in a voice impossibly deep, murmured, “Try ‘eye-opening.’”
She managed a breathless nod. “That, too.”
Her head was still whirling, her senses giddily spinning.
He lowered his arms and eased back from her. “You’d better go. Before Sally decides to come searching.”
She studied his eyes for a second more, then dipped her head and turned. He held the curtain for her, and she ducked through.
On legs that were not quite steady, she walked to her door.
She grasped the knob and looked back. Nicholas was standing outside the curtain, watching her.
She smiled—a smile reflecting all the effervescent joy surging through her—then she opened the door, went inside, and quietly shut the door behind her.
CHAPTER8
Nicholas could only be grateful that they’d planned to leave the Turk’s Head at dawn and ride directly to Leadenham. Consequently, since they’d come downstairs, he and Adriana had spent no time alone, and the pace they adopted the instant they passed Lincoln’s outskirts, a canter alternating with a rapid trot, was an effective barrier to conversation.
After their encounter last night…
He was too well acquainted with the female mind to assume he could make accurate predictions, so he couldn’t be sure where their interaction was heading, yet of one thing he was certain. He wanted to find out.
Given their earlier inquiries along the road, they’d agreed that it was most likely The Barbarian had not been brought north of Leadenham. Once they reached that village, Nicholas insisted on slowing and searching for sightings—doggedly and thoroughly—along every minor lane that gave off the road.
The siblings grumbled under their breath and patently chafed at the bit, but he held firm in insisting that every lane had to be investigated before they rode farther south. He soon realized that, as long as he didn’t waver, the pair would—albeit grudgingly—acquiesce, but if left to their own devices, they would encourage each other to unwisely rush ahead.
Addie curbed her impatience and fell in with Nicholas’s decree, yet as they plodded along the minor lanes, searching for people to ask about The Barbarian, her frustration steadily mounted.
As it was Sunday, there were not so many workers in the fields or around the lanes to ask, so they had to resort to visiting cottages and politely inquiring, often having to chat a little to elicit people’s cooperation, and all those efforts took time!
Nevertheless, mile by mile, they worked their way south past Fulbeck, Caythorpe, Frieston, and Normanton.
With the sun long past its zenith and the afternoon well-advanced, with everyone in their company hungry and rather crotchety with it, by mutual agreement, they halted at the Coach and Horses Inn in the hamlet of Carlton Scroop.
Addie left Nicholas, Dickie, and the grooms and stablemen to deal with the horses and question the inn’s ostlers. She entered the low-ceilinged taproom, with its huge, heavy beams running across the ceiling and horse brasses tacked here and there. The innkeeper stood behind a bar counter that ran the length of the side wall opposite the huge fireplace, which was presently empty. All around the rectangular room, square-paned windows had been set open to let in the summer breeze, which was just as well as, it being Sunday afternoon, the taproom was crowded. Most of the wooden tables were occupied, and a steady hum of conversation blanketed the space.
Inevitably, glances were directed her way. She exchanged nods with three farmers; Aisby Grange wasn’t far away, and she and Dickie were well-known in the area.
