Chapter Nineteen

S affron lit a match and held it to the wick of a candle until it flickered to life. Then she placed it in a tarnished pewter candleholder she'd found in the kitchen and held it close to her face, inhaling the scent of beeswax.

Rosemary had been thrilled over Angelica's decision, but Saffron was not yet willing to give up.

Somewhere in the house was a painting that was the star of the auction, and if her brother's face was in it, that might convince her sister not to marry Canterbury.

She wavered between her lightest chemise, for greater freedom of movement in case she had to make a quick retreat, and a dark gown that would better hide her in the shadows. In the end, she slipped on the chemise, tying up the silk ribbons on the bodice into tight bows. Then she rummaged through her trunk and pulled out an old, woolen cloak, wrapping it around herself. At a glance, she might appear to be a member of the staff making their nightly rounds. In the unlikely event she was recognized, she could claim she was fetching a warm glass of milk.

Cupping one hand around the flame, she creaked open the door to her room, glancing either way up and down the hall before stepping out. The hallway was dark and her shadow cast by the candle was a ghostly specter on the wall. She palmed a letter opener from her writing desk and pulled the scratchy, woolen cloak tighter around herself. She could not be too careful. There had, after all, been a thief prowling around the estate, and an unaccompanied woman was a target to men of all social classes, rich and poor alike.

Her stockinged feet were silent on the floor as she ascended the stairs and began a methodical room by room search, skipping the occupied ones. Half of the rooms were lushly appointed, Mrs. Banting's hand at work. The other half were filled with furniture covered in white sheets, like ghosts of the previous inhabitants.

What happened here?

She had never been inside a country house that was such a contradiction. It was as if, in his grief, the viscount had shuttered away the rooms that held memories he did not want to revisit.

She tugged open a heavy door and stepped inside. It was the last of the rooms on the wing. If the painting wasn't hidden within, she would have to return to her bed.

A large bed dominated the space, surrounded by wooden posts and topped with a canopy. She searched for signs of life. The bedspread was smooth, no shape beneath the sheets. The dresser drawers were closed, the writing desk bare.

Nothing.

She sighed, accidentally blowing out her candle and leaving her in complete darkness.

She was searching her pockets for a match when a flickering light around the edge of a door at the far side of the room caught her attention. She took a step forward, then another. Through a small crack in the door, she spotted the frame of a painting.

Triumph rushed through her.

She tiptoed across the plush carpeting until she reached the door. Inch by inch, she pulled it open, each slight movement emitting a low creak. She squeezed through, closing the door behind her as softly as possible. Inside, paintings surrounded her in a world of color. One after another, like an entire museum shoved into a closet.

"Well, this is a surprise."

Her head swiveled around.

Sitting on a low stool in the corner of the room, holding something long and thin in his hand, was Leo. His cheeks unshaven, his golden hair loose around his shoulders, he looked like his namesake, the king of the jungle, the top of the food chain.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

She licked her dry lips. What could she tell him that he would believe?

He shook his head. "I should have expected this. You were searching for the Ravenmore. Well, as you can see, it is not here. These are all mine." He turned away from her, and the words that followed were softer, as if he were unsure of her reaction. "What do you think?"

She reached out and touched the frame of the nearest painting, admiring the bold colors and confident strokes. It was a scene of a forest with a woman lying on the grass in a clearing, wearing a diaphanous gown. Her cheeks heated as she could make out the nipples of the woman in the grass.

Most certainly not a Ravenmore.

She checked another, and with mounting embarrassment, found it was as explicit as the last. Three women were twined together on a bedspread surrounded by cherubs, and what the women were doing to each other…

"T-The colors are lovely," she said.

Leo's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Thank you."

That was the precise moment she realized he was not wearing a robe, or any kind of proper garment, but rather a kind of gray smock splattered with thin streaks of color—and nothing else. Her eyes flitted down over his torso to his bare legs and then back to his face.

He turned around and kneeled over, revealing the firm lines of his back, tapering down to narrow hips and a firm behind. He placed the lids on the various pots of paint on the floor.

"So," she said, keeping her eyes firmly above Leo's waist. Her traitorous mind urged her to drift lower, but she refused. "You paint in the nude?"

Leo laughed. "I prefer the freedom. Clothing is too restrictive. The paint comes off skin easily enough."

"Oh," she said. That seemed reasonable.

He grabbed a handful of sand from a bucket and rubbed his hands together. Then he turned around, reached over his head, and pulled off his apron, throwing it to the side.

Saffron's gaze traveled down his stomach, covered in a fine dusting of blond hair, to the darker curls that surrounded the jutting erection staring up at her. She'd never seen a naked man in the flesh.

He desires me.

A powerful ache shot through her, and all thought of her mission faded.

"You understand that I will not marry you," he said. "I… I simply cannot."

It should have mattered, but it didn't. She wouldn't deny herself any part of him he'd offer. "I know."

"Then touch me, Saffron," he growled.

The use of her name made her mouth dry. Her fingers sought the small buds of his nipples and he groaned.

Strong arms enclosed around her shoulders, and his lips crushed against her own. His tongue thrust forward, and she met it with her own, tangling together until she gasped away, breathing hard.

His hand crept beneath her skirts and squeezed her thigh, making her gasp. His fingers inched closer, pressing into her flesh with soft, crawling motions. She squirmed, wanting to feel him inside her, and he obligingly drew his fingers down and dipped them between her legs. He slid his fingertips back and forth along her slit before gently pressing inside. She arched her back and hissed in pleasure.

"More," she cried. "Faster."

"If I had known this is what I would have found when I bed you, I would have done it the moment I met you," he said, pressing her against the wall.

She wrapped her legs around his hips and ground her pelvis against his. "If you'd have troubled to ask, I would have told you."

She pressed her breasts against him and buried her nose in his neck. The rumbling in his chest reverberated through her body. He dragged his nails along her thighs and she shuddered in pleasure. The sharp pain melted into her liquid center. His teeth grazed along the space where her shoulder met her neck. He bit lightly, then ran his tongue along the spot. The sensation curled her toes, and she tilted her head to the side to give him better access.

"Oh, oh, yes. Right there. Keep doing that." Heat gathered between her thighs as his fingers moved. He rasped his tongue up her neck, nipping and sucking as she moaned against him. His hand left her skin, and she was about to complain when he brought the hand back in a spank that sent a shock of electricity through her and startled a gasp from her lips.

He chuckled deep in his throat as he rubbed and kneaded her sore bottom. "Like that, did you?" He took her earlobe into his mouth and bit down. "Do you want more?"

She was too breathless to respond, but she squeezed her legs around him.

A deep moan rumbled through his chest, and she fell backward through the open door, supported by his arms. They dropped onto the bed, and he thrust her legs apart. Something hot and hard pressed against her inner thigh.

"Are you sure you want this?" he asked, panting. "If you say no , I will walk away."

"What will you do? Tell me."

"I will press my cock deep inside you," he said. "There may be pain, but then there will be pleasure."

"Yes," she breathed.

Inch by careful inch, he pressed into her. It was glorious, like the empty part inside of her was finally being filled. He pushed deeper, anchoring her with a hand on her hip. She remained tense, but the pain never came.

He pressed until he was speared as deeply as he could go. Then, with a guttural growl, he surged forward, and she felt it in her core, burning her from the inside. He was alive inside her. Throbbing and pushing into her so deep, she thought he would touch her heart. Yet somehow, he still went deeper.

He didn't pause long, and soon, he was thrusting. She reached down and touched the bud of her pleasure at the apex of her thighs. She twitched it and the tension grew, getting closer and closer until she could feel it, a piercing sensation that crested into an explosion of fireworks.

When she became aware of her surroundings again, Leo had slipped out of her and pulled the thick coverlet from the bottom of the bed up and over them. She curled against his chest with a soft sigh, and he juggled her until she lay half over him, her hand curled over his heart.

"Wake me before morning," she breathed, her leg curling around his. "I must return to my room before anyone finds me missing."

He kissed the top of her head. "I will."

*

Leo cradled the sleeping bundle of woman against his chest as he struggled to contain the whirlwind of emotions in his chest.

What have I done?

He hadn't intended to let their attraction go so far. He'd counted on his experience and control to guide her through the initial strings of the chorus of their amorous congress, without ever reaching the crescendo. He'd failed to account for how irresistible she was.

He buried his nose in her soft hair and breathed in her unique smell, committing it to memory. She was all soft, warm curves, a perfect complement to the lean, hardness of his own body.

It's more than that, though.

There were plenty of curvy, experienced women who would have leaped into his bed at the crook of his finger. Women who would have bedded him then walked away that same night, sated with their conquest. But he didn't want any of them—ever again. He only wanted Saffron.

He wrapped his arms more securely around the faintly snoring woman in his arms.

What the hell am I going to do?