Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

WHERE A WOMAN ARGUES HER CASE

N ot a surprise, Nigel Streeter was a brooder.

Bella studied him from the shadowy corner of the brougham he’d relegated her to, trying to figure him out. At least, he was stunning in his angst. He’d yanked on a greatcoat that fit his body to perfection, highlighting shoulders she’d clung to during their wild ride. His hair was in gross disorder, the black-as-sin strands curling about his jaw and brow. His thigh was flexing as he angrily tapped his boot. Helplessly, her gaze traveled between his legs, although the show wasn’t what it had been when she’d been sitting in his lap.

He’d been aroused, more than she’d ever known a man to be aroused, when, like a bolt of lightning, he’d backed away. He would have tripped in his urgency to remove himself from the situation—and her—if he’d been standing.

Her cheeks burned, but it wasn’t in embarrassment.

It was pure delight . And audacity.

Because she’d been right .

Nigel was the one. The man she wanted, desired, needed . He was intelligent, compassionate, so handsome he made her burn, and oh , incredibly, humbly vulnerable. His horrid childhood and his scars, inside and out, were wounds she wanted to soothe for the rest of her life.

Like her mother going after her father—she’d heard the story herself no fewer than a thousand times from her mother—Bella had persistence in matters of love racing through her blood .

She truly hoped Nigel wasn’t going to waste his time fighting her on this.

When Bella’s mind was made up, it was made up .

“Quit plotting,” he growled without turning to her. His gaze had been locked on the passing scenery since the moment he settled his long body across from her. The velvet squabs could barely contain him. Truly, he was mouthwateringly handsome in every way.

Making her wonder, What else could we do in this carriage?

He cursed and thumped the windowpane with his knuckle. “That isn’t going to happen, imp.”

“Not possible?”

“It’s possible,” he whispered, his voice seven shades of ragged.

Bella swallowed her laughter. You gorgeous, sweet man. “I have no idea what you’re referring to, Streeter. I’m merely observing you brood from your gloomy corner of our transport.”

He finally looked at her. And his shaft may have wilted like a blossom plucked from the bush, but desire spilled from his eyes, coloring them a searing gold. “Conversely, I’m sitting here watching you submerge yourself in your customary cloud of happiness. When we’ve gotten ourselves in a blind mess, imp. I hope like hell no one sees me getting out of this carriage with you, no chaperone in sight.”

Flames of fury started to bubble in her belly. “You think our kiss was a mess ?”

He gave the glass pane a hard enough knock to crack it. “It was glorious. Earth-shattering. The clouds opened up, and angels wept. If it had gone on, I would have embarrassed myself as I haven’t since I was fourteen years old. In ways you can’t understand, ways I’m not about to tell you.”

She slumped against the seat. “Oh…”

“What you don’t grasp is, a kiss like that doesn’t end when the kiss ends, darling girl. We’ll be unsatisfied until we receive more, receive everything . You can look forward to nights filled with dreams—scorching, sweaty dreams—while we struggle to find relief. My cock in my hand, yours dallying between your legs.” His eyes were blazing, glowing hotter than the carriage lamp’s flame. “Have you ever done that?”

She nodded, recrossing her legs beneath her skirt to keep the pulse between her thighs under control.

He swore and glanced out the window.

“I never said I wanted it to end,” she stated in the clearest voice she could muster.

He gave the windowpane another pop.

Stubborn oaf . Well, she could be stubborn, too. “The Duke of Markham is holding a winter ball next week before society leaves Town for Christmas. I know you’re invited. How are we going to handle that?”

He fiddled with the beaver hat at his side, avoiding her gaze. “I have to work, so I won’t be there. Friday nights at the Lair are hectic. We had a prince from some minute kingdom there last week, and he nearly lost his crown at the hazard table.”

She huffed a sigh. “So, you’re going to avoid me forever. Is that the plan?”

“Yes, I think it is. We’ll talk again after you’re married with two, no, three , children running around.” With a groan, he dropped his head back against the seat. “You’ll be too busy to remember a toe-curling kiss with a boy from the docks.”

Seeing they were close to the mews running alongside her home, she rapped on the carriage roof before he could. She could take care of herself, the arrogant cur. “Don’t you dare use the social disparity argument with me, Nigel Streeter! My father grew up in Limehouse, as you well know. With your father. They were and are rookery toughs through and through.”

He reached for her when she went to climb out of the conveyance before it had made a full stop, his hand dusting off her hip. “One fathered by a viscount, the other by an earl, or have you forgotten? Bastards… but high-reaching ones.”

“Oh, you ,” she seethed and wrenched the door open. It was a short hop to the cobblestones, but they were slippery with slush, and she almost went down on her bottom.

He clamored down behind her, cursing when his polished boot met an ankle-deep puddle. “Wait, before you hurt yourself.”

“I have it, Streeter.”

“You’ve not thought this out, whatever it is you’re scheming. Infatuations fade, imp, like fog on a sunny morning. Not to mention my being eleven years older than you. That’s a lifetime of experience I have and you don’t.”

Bella detested nothing more than suspecting she wasn’t going to get something she genuinely desired. And desired for good reasons, with a full heart. Nigel’s terrace would be lovely if only someone (her) was allowed to turn a bachelor’s residence into a home. It made her queasy to imagine another woman eventually—because of course, he would someday marry—starting a family with him.

And how those children would come to be, nearly dropped her heart to her feet.

She sniffled and wiped her nose on the edge of her cloak.

Nigel caught up to her, hat in hand, his hair damp and curling at the edges. “Blimey, don’t weep. No man can battle tears. If I said I was sorry that I’m too old and too low-born, would it help?”

She sniffed but felt a little better to hear a hint of cockney in his speech. “Sorry you kissed me?”

He stopped before they reached the side garden and the back entrance she used when she snuck in. When she glanced back, it was to find a bewildered man muttering to himself. Tossing her a fiery glance, he laughed and shoved his hat on his head at a crooked angle. “I’m not sorry. How about that?”

She dragged the toe of her sodden half boot through the slush. “I’m not, either.”

Holding his greatcoat closed at the neck, he shivered. “Go on now, get inside before we freeze to death,” he instructed as he strode past her, in the direction of the Devil’s Lair. She prayed he wasn’t heading to one of the scores of women begging for his attention after she’d riled him up and left him in a dotty state .

“Streeter,” she called, shoving that horrid thought from her mind, “take my carriage.”

He flicked his hand over his shoulder, unconcerned. “I’ll get there. I have a knife in my boot that I’m utterly willing to use. In this mood, they’d better not test me.”

She couldn’t help but ask, “Will you at least think of me when you kiss someone else?”

Nigel halted, his shoulders dropping with his fierce exhalation. His coattails fluttered in the gust that ripped down the lane. “I’m going to try not to, imp.” Then he disappeared into the winter tempest, he and his blasted cockeyed hat, her heart going with him.

When Bella reached her bedchamber, she let the tears flow.