“Friends,” she said, amused by that evasion.
“Between good friends, any number of intimacies might take place, never to be mentioned in public or in company.”
Her hand moved under his like a rescued baby robin fallen from a nest. Even so, he bent toward her slowly, allowing her to turn away if she wished.
She did not wish. In fact, Eugenia held her breath until Ward’s lips brushed hers, and her mouth slipped open on a sigh. For a moment, they merely breathed each other’s air, and then his hand curled around her fingers and the other pulled her toward him, and his tongue slid into her mouth.
Chapter Sixteen
Eugenia Snowe was not a reckless woman. She had always lived within clearly defined boundaries, relishing rather than rebelling against the rules of society her father chose to ignore.
But now, in a dark carriage with a man who had abducted her, a rash sense of abandonment welled up in her, spilling to the ends of her fingers.
She wanted Ward Reeve with every fiber of her being. She wanted his burly body, and the burning hunger in his eyes, and the lock of untidy hair that had fallen over his eyes.
He was kissing her with a primal hunger that brought her body to life. And yet she felt like laughing.
That was new; she didn’t remember laughing when Andrew kissed her. Even as she leaned closer, melting against Ward, curling an arm around his neck, she realized why.
This was not making love.
This was making fun.
The delight, exhilaration, whatever it was, went straight to her head. She opened her mouth wider and forgot everything except for the sensual touch of Ward’s tongue, the firm clasp of his hand at the back of her head.
Desire was rougher than she remembered, and yet that unfamiliar joy kept bubbling up along with it.
At length, she couldn’t suppress it any longer, and a gasp of laughter broke from her. He murmured something that she didn’t understand.
She tilted her head so that she could lick the pulsing vein of his neck as her hands moved to his powerful shoulders. “Did you just lick me?” His voice was a surprised growl.
“Mmmm,” she said, licking him again. “I should think that licking is a greeting in some part of the world . . . China, perhaps?”
A warm tongue ran over the curve of her ear. “In a distant part of the world, two people meet each other by . . . this?” His touch sent a wave of heat straight between her legs.
“Perhaps it isn’t all that common,” she murmured.
The carriage swayed and the impetus drove his body against hers. He ran his fingers through her curls and gently tugged her head back. “I reckon kisses are greetings in some part of the world . . . Russia, perhaps.”
She brushed his lips with hers. “This sort of kiss?”
He shook his head. “Deeper, wench.”
“I’m not a wen—” But he crushed her lips between his, raw desire stealing away her words and giving her something else in return.
They kissed until her head was spinning, a warning that her common sense was losing a battle with longing.
“Ward.” It was a gasp, a song, a prayer.
He hummed deep in his throat, and his lips slid across her cheekbone. Under his caress, the planes and angles of her face felt new, as if they were being remade by his touch. By the very way he was exploring her, memorizing her.
Eugenia pulled back; it was that or slide down on the seat and offer her breasts to Ward’s mouth. His face was defined by a strong jaw and eyebrows that peaked in just the right spot to emphasize his cheekbones.
In short, he was devastatingly beautiful. Masculine, but beautiful.
“What may be decent in China or in Russia is not decent in a carriage traveling to Oxfordshire,” she managed. Had she just promised to be indecent with him at a later time . . . out of the carriage?
His wanton grin confirmed that she had.
“Just a minute,” she said hastily.
“I would wait a lifetime for you, Eugenia.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever happens between us, I would rather be spared a flood of empty gallantry.”
“Disturbingly, I didn’t mean it as an empty compliment.”
She put a hand to his chest and gently pushed him away. Her hair had fallen over her shoulders and her lips felt bee-stung. She began bundling up her hair and sticking hairpins in at random.
She didn’t dare look at his face because if that vivid hunger was still in his eyes, she would succumb. Again.
When her hair was more or less secured and her heart had settled back to its normal rhythm, she said, still not meeting his eyes, “Before we reach Fawkes House, I would like to hear how the children are. Were they affected by Miss Midge’s departure?”
Ward’s voice was deep and rough, but he answered. “Otis showed no sign of noticing. He has spent most of the week working on his mousetrap.”