Ease inside. Find the rhythm, the angle, she needed. Sink deep. Deeper.
Pleasure bursting, ripe and fleeting as a summer's day.
That's right. Follow those thoughts to the logical conclusion. You wouldn't be able to offer for her and the guilt would tear you apart.
She was a danger to him because she made him feel. She dulled his edge.
And he was a grave danger to her because anyone close to him would become a target. Alec had been drowned to crush the old duke, punish him for his sins.
If Dalton's secret came to light, the powerful men who hated him for stealing their profits and scaring away their customers would attempt to control him in the same way.
They might try using Thea as a bargaining chip. A weapon to bring him to his knees.
He'd never forgive himself if anything happened to her because of her association with him.
He wanted to be the one to fulfill her every dream. But he wasn't that man.
She moved in his arms, sighing softly and nestling closer, warm curves heating his skin. He recognized her yearning for love, for acceptance. Recognized it, and couldn't do a damn thing about it.
Because he could never be what she needed and he'd have to say goodbye soon.
And he'd have to dream about this moment for the rest of his lonely life.
How she looked all curled up, dark fringe of eyelashes across her cheeks, one smooth shoulder exposed.
Need to leave. Now.
Gingerly, he lifted her off his chest and set her back upon the bed.
He lifted the bedclothes, preparing to leave.
Blunder.
She'd removed her stays and her lovely breasts were clearly visible beneath the thin cambric of her chemise. The garment had ridden up her legs and was twisted between her thighs. He could see her shapely legs, the dark patch between her thighs.
The sight sent a shock of longing down his arms, along his fingertips, and deeper, into his chest, somewhere in the region of where his heart should be.
He leapt off the bed, not caring anymore if she heard him, and grabbed his clothing and boots.
Hand on the door. Push it open. Don't look back.
In the hallway, Dalton slammed his back against the wall, aching to go back into that room.
Peel off her shift to reveal high curving breasts, slender waist and flaring hips.
She'd lift her hair off her shoulders and turn to catch his eye, silver-ringed eyes framed by gold waves.
Shy invitation in that glance. Not yet. Can't touch her yet.
Maybe she needed a wash. She might be sticky still from last night's abandon.
Dip a cloth in warm water. Smooth a cake of rose-scented soap and smooth it over the scrolling lines of her neck, her back, her shoulders.
Use the soap instead of his fingers.
Make her wait . . . make her breathing falter . . . bring the soap around now. Over her nipples, under the swell of her breasts. Down to her belly button, fingers gripping the soap harder now.
Slide the soap lower . . . between her thighs. Where he wanted to be. Where he wanted to slide.
Heavy with need now. So close to losing control.
Take her over the edge until she cried his name and then . . . lift her into his arms and take her to bed.
He banged his head back against the wall. What the hell was he doing standing outside of her room, panting like a lusting fool?
"Mr. Gabrielli?"
He straightened. "Good morning, Betsy," he said gruffly, praying the woman didn't glance below his waistcoat. "Mrs. Gabrielli requires a pot of drinking chocolate for her breakfast."
He strode quickly down the stairs and headed for the stables.
He'd ride the remaining two hours to Bristol outside the carriage.
Separated from Thea by layers of wood and steel.
And impossibility.
"This is the place, my lady." Con handed first Thea, and then Molly, down from the carriage in front of the cheerful green-painted door in the orange brick façade of the Trumpeter Inn on St. Maryport Street in Bristol.
"You'll rest here until the ship sails tonight." Con noticed Thea craning her neck toward the horses. "The duke will be at the docks by now, seeing about the ship."
"Oh." Thea tried to hide her disappointment.
She'd thought maybe they'd have luncheon together. Dalton hadn't spoken to her since he'd slipped away while she was still sleeping. He'd ridden out, beside the carriage, and they hadn't stopped between Bath and Bristol.
Molly had slept most of the journey, still feeling tired. Leaving Thea more than two hours to remember every intimate, shattering detail of last night.
Thea had changed. Become aware of light and sound and taste in a new way.
The chocolate she'd sipped that morning had been impossibly rich. And when a breeze ruffled her bonnet ribbons across her cheek, the soft, silken contact triggered memories of his fingers brushing her cheek.
She shivered slightly.
"Could it be the duke's avoiding you for some reason?" There was a knowing twinkle in Con's blue eyes.
Thea's face heated. "Don't be ridiculous."
They knew, of course. Con and Molly knew she'd shared a room with Dalton.
What must they think of her? Her cheeks were going to burst into flames any second now.
Molly's freckles danced higher as she raised her eyebrows. "The lady doth protest too much, don't you think so, Con?"
Lending Molly the complete works of Mr. Shakespeare maybe hadn't been such a clever idea.
Con chuckled and regarded Thea with an amused smile. "She's turning quite an interesting hue. What would you call that color, Molly, my love?"
Molly pretended to deliberate. "Gooseberry?" She tilted her head. "Scarlet?"
"You know, Molly," Con said, "I've been hoping for a lady to come along and put that man in his place, good and proper like. And Lady Dorothea's the one to achieve it, and make no mistake. Nearly there, I'd say."
Thea opened her mouth to protest and then shut it again. Anything she said now would only be incriminating. "Humph." She tugged her bonnet lower to hide her face. "Are you two quite finished?"
A young porter with shiny brass buttons marching down his red jacket and even shinier red spots around his nose ushered them inside the inn.
Thea and Molly waited while Con made arrangements with a dour-faced innkeeper who had a drooping black moustache.
"Everything's settled," Con said jovially, rejoining them. "We'll be back soon, Mrs. Gabrielli." He winked at Thea. "And young Master Gabrielli." Another wink for Molly. He set his black cap back atop his ginger and gray head and strode away.
Molly glanced at the porter triumphantly, obviously reveling in the fact that no one at the inn seemed to take any notice of the fact that she was a girl garbed in male clothing.
She was tall and slender in the chest, but it wasn't that. Thea regarded her curiously. It was something about the way she held herself. She'd taken to standing with her legs parted and her shoulders thrust back just like the duke.
They followed the spotty-cheeked porter to their temporary chambers.
"So what happened last night after I fainted?" Molly whispered. "Did you and . . . you know who . . . share a room?"
"Don't look at me like that," Thea whispered back. "Nothing happened."
Well . . . not nothing. But Molly didn't need to know that.
"Never took the duke for a coward," Molly said with a sly smile.
Nor me for a wanton, Thea thought.
They reached Molly's chamber first. "I think I'll take another nap," she said.
"Still feeling weak?" Thea asked. There was more color in Molly's cheeks now, which was a good sign.
"I'm fine. Just tired, that's all."
Thea made sure Molly was settled and then ordered hot water for a bath in her own chamber.
When the copper tub was filled, Thea sank gratefully into the steam, eager to wash away the travel grime. When she slid deeper beneath the water he was there, cradling her in his arms, saturating her body with liquid heat. When she shifted, the water sloshed across her body like Dalton's hands caressing her.
Last night had been revelatory. And so wondrously decadent.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. Slid fingers down her arms and across her breasts and then lower, over her belly.
She wanted to learn more about her body. He'd kissed her . . . here. Her fingers found the place, sliding over sensitive flesh.
Her limbs twitched beneath the water. One hand on her breast and the other under the water, inside the slippery opening of her body.
The pleasure that still pulsed.
She didn't have to live by her mother's rules any longer. She could be imprudent. Scandalous.
She could take a lover.
The shocking idea had never occurred to the proper, refined daughter of the Countess of Desmond. But the idea was definitely occurring to runaway Thea. Especially after the taste of pleasure she'd received last night.
Her plan had been to exit society quietly, unobtrusively. But now that she'd sent the letter to her mother claiming she'd been compromised, there was no hope of that.
There would be whispers about her precipitous departure from society.
One of the servants could read her letter and spread the rumor.
Artemisia had taken lovers and been branded promiscuous, her private life overshadowing her art.
Even Aunt Emma had a scandalous past. Thea didn't know all the details, but it was rumored she'd had an affair with a married earl whose wife was an invalid. Which explained why her aunt was never invited to London.
Her finger moved faster now, splashing across the hard button of flesh where all the sensation concentrated. She wanted to discover more on the ship to Ireland tonight, while waves rocked beneath them.