Emma narrowed her eyes. She had a most uncomfortable warmth between her legs, and a squirming feeling all over her body, and her heart was still pounding.
“Since I cannot, alas, fulfill your first request,” he said, as politely as if he were unable to serve her a cup of hot tea, “I shall do my best to make your brief stay here in England a pleasant one. I shall show you a place that will kaceof hot tea be of great interest to you.”
The only place of interest that occurred to Emma was his house—nay, his bedchamber—but that seemed unlikely to be their destination.
She settled back into her corner. But she wasn’t going to wrap her arms over her chest and allow him to bask in his morality. Oh no. She may be a beginner at this seduction business, but she had a feeling that she was a natural learner. So she leaned her head back, as if she were exhausted, closed her eyes, and thought about the way he kissed her, and the way his hand had settled on her breast.
A little breathy sound came from her lips. She threw an arm over her head and grabbed the curtain, as if to steady herself when the carriage swayed. The bodice on her dress strained to drop below her nipple. The sensation was unbearably exciting and made her shift in her seat. She didn’t open her eyes. Either he was looking at her, or he wasn’t.
Instead, she concentrated on remembering his kiss. He had run his tongue right into her mouth. If she hadn’t heard gossip about such things, she never would have believed it. Of course, she knew about the mating act. But she’d never…really…in fact, it was rather the same, wasn’t it? When Gil’s tongue ran along her lips, she opened them as if he was the sweetest piece of sugar candy she’d ever been offered. And he tasted so good, the kind of good that made her heart thud against her ribs even to think of it. She squirmed a little in her seat. Because if kissing was like the act of consummating a marriage…The very thought made her feel strange.
She was tired of holding on to the curtain, so she dropped her arm and sat up, running her hands through her hair. It was lovely to have her hair swirling around her shoulders. Normally, her maid pinned it on top of her head with so many pins that she found them strewn all over the studio. It felt better this way, like silk rushing past her fingers. If—if she and Gil were ever—she made that breathy little sound again before she could even finish the thought about where he might like to feel her hair.
She was so curious that she had to look. So she popped open her eyes.
Gil was still leaning back in the corner of the carriage. But he didn’t look so all-fired moralistic and pleased with his smug little self now. No.
I knew I was a natural at this, Emma thought to herself.
She let a smile curl on her mouth that said. I know exactly what you wish you were doing to me, you monk, and then said aloud, “Do tell me where we’re going, Lord Kerr. I find it utterly distracting not to know my destination.”
“I expect you do,” he growled, but then, to her disappointment, he leaned back and closed his eyes. “Since you’ve had a nice nap, though, I must beg your indulgence while I do the same.”
Emma grinned at his supposedly slumbering face. He was a worthy opponent, this fiancé of hers. He just didn’t yet understand that she never gave up.
She tied her mask back on while he pretended to sleep. She was feeling optimistic again.
When one’s opponent doesn’t understand the importance of a contest, it’s mere kindness to allow him time to rethink his strategy.
Chapter Eleven
Two minutes later the carriage swayed to a halt, and a footman opened the door.
“Where are we?” she asked, tak naceofne&ing Gil’s hand as she stepped down, and allowing him to wrap her in her pelisse once more.
“In the alley behind Hyde Park Theatre,” he said.
“Oh! Are they having a performance tonight?”
“Not tonight. But—” He was knocking on the door with his walking stick. “I expect we can enter, and…hello, Jeremy!”
A sturdy man with a walnut-colored head and small round eyes opened the door and peered out. “Who’s that? Oh, me lordship.” He pulled open the door and stepped back. “Would you like to look around, then?” He showed no curiosity; perhaps Gil took women to the darkened theater on a regular basis. “You’d better take my lantern; I’m having a bit of a sleep, and the dark won’t injure me none.”
Gil took the lantern in one hand and held his other out for Emma. She allowed him to draw her past Jeremy’s strong smell of onions, and up a narrow flight of stairs. Behind them, Jeremy flopped into a seat in the stairwell, leaned back against the wall, and lapsed instantly back into snores.