Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The neighbor girl beat me soundly at chess. Somehow, I must better my game. Everyone knows girls mustn’t be allowed to win.

~Crispin Sinclair’s journal entry, 1811

Streeter, Macauley & Company

Limehouse Basin Lock, London

H er plan had almost worked.

Cece frowned, her fingers curling around the cup’s delicate bone handle. Until the reprobate everyone in England called Jasper Noble was nowhere to be found when she returned from escorting Josiah to bed, thereby destroying weeks of effort to gain his attention.

Attention that came with a price. A price she was willing to pay.

It stung to have her offer rejected—and from a man who’d once given her anything she asked for, including her request to let her go years ago. Despite her pleas, she’d searched for him in the shadowy corners of the church the morning of her wedding, only realizing as Edgerly pressed an arid kiss to her cheek that Crispin Sinclair wasn’t stepping in to save her.

Though he’d liked saving her once upon a time, the core strategy of her current plan.

Cece took a sip of tepid tea and considered her dilemma. She’d not imagined government moles or whatever it was Crispin had been to have such high moral standards. She fondly recalled the times he’d agreed to any gambit she suggested, traveling to the ends of the earth when she asked him to.

Her powers of persuasion over that young man had been formidable.

As his had been over her.

The contrast between past and present verified his statement from the previous evening. She’d known the boy, not the man.

The man…

Ah , the pinch to Cece’s heart was brutal. Jasper Noble’s romantic forays were legendary, spilled-ink-across-a-thousand-broadsheets renowned. Actresses, opera singers, bored wives, dispassionate widows, with a stunning mistress thrown in here and there for excitement. She was nothing to him, the unsophisticated chit from Northumberland who’d rejected him in the worst way possible. Fragile male egos often never recovered from such a slight even if the reasons were numerable and unconquerable. She’d had no choice when faced with the threat of her family’s ruin.

The truth was, Crispin didn’t trust her and never would again.

Twisting the conundrum into a knot, around him, she didn’t trust herself.

Nevertheless, she’d waited, communicating her plans to return to the city with a few loose-tongued members of society, thereby ensuring her name was mentioned in the London newspapers. If Crispin had been waiting for her to be free, she was. Edgerly had been dead for almost two years, yet he’d never come to her.

So, she would come to him .

Determined, Cece settled the cup in the saucer with a click . The vision of Crispin ripping off his glove with his teeth flashed through her mind, sending a jolt to every forgotten, lonesome part of her body. What a feral specimen he’d grown into, this rookery business perhaps not simply for show. There was a predatory glimmer about him, elegance with an edge. A menacing persona softened by innate refinement he carried about like his portmanteau. His eyes so blue they’d looked black in the hellish, golden lamplight, his gaze focused solely on her.

Oh , she’d once loved that absorption.

Although he’d changed in a multitude of ways. She’d never had to tilt her head to gaze into his lovely face. Never feared her hands couldn’t span the width of his shoulders if she clasped them during a heated kiss. His adorable sneeze and the hiss when he’d exhaled were the only familiar pieces, perhaps pieces only familiar to her .

When she was much the same: a hoyden who cleaned up well.

Cece snaked her hand in her reticule and fingered the bullet she’d retrieved from the hallway the previous evening. She clamped her thighs together to halt the tremors. She still desired him. One look across Edgerly’s darkened corridor had revealed that not so surprising fact. His gentle shove, pressing her into the wall, had done marvelous things to her. Their friendship was dead, certainly, but the inexplicable yearning she’d always experienced around him was alive. His body had spoken to hers in a silent, sensual whisper, much to his chagrin, she imagined.

The brackish scent of the Thames sat solidly in the steadying breath she took, as the office she inhabited was less than two hundred yards off Dunbar Wharf and the Limehouse mudflats, an area no lady in her right mind ventured to. The space was teeming with aromas both expected and not: rotting fish, tea, freshly sawn wood, and linseed oil. The sound of a working dock outside was an unusual but comforting pulse. This unconventional warehouse, decorated in splashes of crimson and black that looked more gentlemen’s club than rookery business, was part of Crispin’s new life as a member of the Leighton Cluster.

Rugged yet sophisticated, like he was.

With a sigh, Cece tucked the bullet in a secreted nook in her reticule. What if this new existence of his was more enticing than any she could offer? His sea-blue eyes full of secrets, his hair streaked with gray, Crispin had changed more than she had. He was a man, when she’d never escaped being that raggedy, dirt-streaked girl. At least it felt this way to her.

Hell’s teeth, Constance, buck up.

She’d come this far to snag his attention, and she wasn’t stopping now.

“I propose a house party, a solid strategy for introducing you to eligible men, my lady.”

Snatched from her daydreams, Cece glanced into the face of the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. Hildegard Streeter sat behind a massive mahogany desk, her composed smile intimidating and welcoming, a neat trick. She ran a matchmaking enterprise with her partner, the Duchess of Markham, though the pair refused to describe the Duchess Society as such. The daughter of an earl who’d married brilliantly beneath her, Cece had engaged Mrs. Streeter’s services as part two of her plan to step into Jasper Noble’s line of sight and stay there. She and her husband, Tobias, were quite the stunning pair. And gloriously happy, go figure. Cece figured a woman who’d made a wise and courageous choice in her selection of a spouse would agree with Cece’s plan to do the same if given the chance.

Clutching her reticule as Hildy’s words penetrated her consciousness, she edged forward in her chair. “House party?”

Regrettably, this suggestion wasn’t a valid one.

Cece wasn’t a competent hostess. Edgerly hadn’t liked socializing, and they’d spent so little time together after grasping how unsuitable they were that repeat performances as the entertaining countess hadn’t been an issue. Cece rode a horse as well as any man, played exceptional chess and passable billiards, and she could pin an archery target dead-center with her eyes closed. If world affairs or the latest literary goings-on were brought into a conversation, she was ready.

Skills no one in society appreciated in a woman.

Forget even thinking about the forgery business.

She was hopeless with place settings, flower arrangements, and menu planning. Watercolors, needlepoint, and delicate conversations were not a strength. Her mother hadn’t cared to teach her, and frankly, she hadn’t cared to learn. Due to her transgressions with Crispin, she’d never had a Season on the marriage mart, nor had she wanted one. Ballroom conversation wasn’t a talent. “I’m afraid my seclusion in Northumberland means I don’t have experience organizing parties. Or attending them.”

Mrs. Streeter raised her hand with a pained grimace. “Hildy, please.”

“Constance, then.” She smiled, never one to lean on formality herself. “If we’re negotiating.” The only person who called her Cece was the scoundrel she’d run to London to track down. The previous night had been the first time she’d heard the name whispered in years .

Giving her client an inspective glance, Hildy made a notation in her folio. Cece wasn’t sure why she’d been asked to meet in Limehouse instead of the Duchess Society’s Mayfair offices. It was highly suspect, which Cece adored. She loved nothing more than when her curiosity was engaged. “We can get you up to speed easily, Constance. You’re lovely in every way if a bit… novel. You’re a mystery, and society appreciates solving them. Or trying to, because they are, in essence, bored silly. The event will be a superb reintroduction to the ton , and we can truthfully pose it as such since you’ve been away for some time. I’ll handle coordination of the details, including the guest list. We have files on almost every eligible bachelor in London for the past fifteen years. It pays to retain the notes because the knaves often outlive their spouses, then we’re on to round two when they’re back on the market.”

Cece gave her teacup a gentle turn, striving to appear calm about a topic that scared her more than forging documents did. “I’m not acquainted with many families in the city.”

“Leave that to me. I promise, no scoundrels seeking a wealthy widow are receiving this invitation. They will be on display, not you. Parading before us for our consideration.” She smiled in a dazzling show of authority and confidence. “Although they may not realize it, which is the most enjoyable part of my job. I married a self-made man and have come to appreciate hanging the born-into-wealth ones out to dry.”

Cece trailed a gloved finger along the scrolled lip of the desk in mild agitation. Hildy had a flowing style of penmanship that would be easy to replicate. Nothing like her husband’s signature and the crafty curl he added to the S. His had taken a full week and many sheets of foolscap to learn how to reproduce. The loupe in her pocket warmed to the thought of a new adventure. “There may be a misunderstanding. I’m not wealthy.”

Hildy paused, her brow lifting. “How not wealthy? It will help to identify what you require from this union. All you require if you please. Unfortunately, many of the men on the hunt are seeking financial salvation, though not all.”

Cece shrugged, fighting the urge to lift her thumb to her lips and chew on her nail. “I’m living on borrowed time at the London terrace. The earl’s cousin, Archibald, appropriated the entailed properties in short order. I’m surprised it’s taken him this long to reach the city. He signed over the Northumberland estate because, like most, he cares little for visiting that far north, much less living. An agreement reached if I waived plans to reside in the various dowager cottages dotted across England. I live frugally, and I have funds to maintain my home from a modest stipend left me by my grandmother. You see, I come to you not for money but companionship .”

Hildy stilled, her startled gaze meeting Cece’s. Her eyes were a soothing indigo, far from Crispin’s turbulent blue, but second in beauty to her mind. “I admit to not hearing that often.”

Cece flicked her fingers, not wanting to delve too deeply into this topic. “My marriage was a lonely one. Let’s keep it at that.”

Hildy pressed her lips together, perhaps to contain a show of sympathy. “In my experience, most are.”

Cece gazed lazily about the gorgeous space as if this next bit wasn’t the most critical. “One trivial matter.” She glanced at Hildy, nerves dancing beneath her skin. “I would like your brethren to attend.”

Sitting back, Hildy let her grin fly free. A laugh soon followed, delightful to the extreme. In her courting days, she must have beaten suitors off with a parasol. If Cece had friends in the city, if she knew how to make friends, she hoped this woman would become one of them. “Brethren?”

“The, um”—Cece gave her cup another spin in its saucer—“Leighton Cluster. ”

“Oh, my,” Hildy murmured and brought her hand to her mouth to hold back her mirth. “Don’t let my husband hear you call them that. He loathes the moniker.”

Cece straightened the seam of her glove, unsure how to respond. She found the name silly too, of course, but it’s what the ton called the motley group surrounding the Duke of Leighton and had for years. She should know. She’d been searching the scandal rags since the hour she forced Crispin from her life, waiting for news of him. Somewhere along the way, once she connected him to the infamous Jasper Noble, his association with this group began to crop up with regularity. All told, they’d blazed a raucous trail through London.

Her gut told her if they attended this ridiculous event, he would attend.

Seeing the doubtful expression on Hildy’s face, Cece tried another ploy. “It will add legitimacy, won’t it? A duke, a viscount, that celebrated Scottish author tossed in for amusement.”

Hildy’s smile grew, her eyes glowing. “I can secure the Duke and Duchess of Markham because this is Duchess Society business, and if Her Grace asks His Grace to attend a function for one of her clients, he will without question. Lord Remington is at his country estate as his wife is expecting and close to labor.” She sighed, knocking her quill against the folio with hard taps. “That’s too bad because Chance is a marvelous conversation starter. Dashiell Campbell, the author you mentioned, is a dead certainty. He’ll charm the clothing off everyone. All I have to do is tell him he can prepare a short reading from his latest book, and he’s there. The Duke and Duchess of Leighton are in Ireland, so they’re out. This may be for the best because Leighton can be temperamental,” she said, her voice lowering with confidence, “and often starts brawls with his friends when he’s wearied. He and Dash got in a huge row last month over something horribly trivial and ruined a marvelous dinner party in the making. I’ll never get the plum stains out of that carpet. In any case, they made up the following day, the childish fools.”

Beginning to perspire, Cece shifted her legs beneath her skirt. The room was warm, her nerves were racing, and the air snaking through the open window was damp and uncompromising. London in the summer was insufferable when the sea breezes of Northumberland would have soothed. “The others, perhaps they can attend. The Earl of Stanford?”

Who would bring his countess, the woman rumored to have been engaged to Crispin.

Hildy leaned forward on her elbows, her smirk five shades past cheeky. “You realize the remaining Leighton Cluster aren’t going to give this party any shine, my husband, Tobias, among them. In fact, the risk for disruption rises with their attendance. Xander Macauley likes nothing more than bruising highborn cheeks. Although Stanford attending decreases the probability that Xander will get in a muddle.” Sitting back, she clicked her tongue against her teeth. “A calming presence on his brother, that one.”

Cece clenched her fingers in silk and released a hushed breath. This was it. Time to roll the dice. “What about Jasper Noble?”

“Noble?” Hildy glowered. Exhaled softly. Rolled her shoulders. Flattened her hands to the desktop. “I suppose, yes. Apparently, he’s here to stay. Xander heartily approves of him, as does Tobias. Dash worships him, follows him around like a pup, in fact. Showed him those pram designs before anyone, I believe. And there was the telescope affair, a favor for the Countess of Stanford when she was trying to make the biggest apology of her life to the man she loved.” With a huff, she snapped her folio shut. “Although Noble’s horrid on paper, my dear, with a shadowy set of credentials my investigators have been unable to verify. A first in my business. He’s the only unattached member of the brethren, as you called them, but he’s not one to concern yourself with. I can add his name for spice to the stew only.”

He’d be fine on paper if he told the truth about who he is .

Instead of sharing this wisdom, Cece merely nodded. “I understand. A blackguard, when we’re crossing those off your, um, my list. Though he could be a beneficial guest for people who like a little scandal at their house parties. Better entertainment than the author, perchance?”

Hildy’s spine straightened, awareness capturing her porcelain features. She paused a lingering moment before replying, “Blackguard may be too harsh a word, though scoundrel is not. And scandalous describes his brand of charm perfectly. An available female enticement or two to capture his fancy might be a way to keep him out of trouble, otherwise he’ll be a fox in a henhouse with the jaded wives in attendance. It’s vexing, truly. If he gave me half a chance, I’d locate the ideal wife for him, but that’s another struggle. He claims marriage is not for him.” She tapped her quill to the desk like a judge handing down a verdict. “Not that we’re matchmakers, mind you. We introduce, we arrange, but we never solicit.”

Fox in a henhouse. Cece lost her breath but recovered nicely.

Never mind the scandal rags, his friends thought this of him!

She tightened her hands into fists, crumpling her skirt. She could do this. She could play the grieving widow in need of a husband if it allowed her a private conversation with Crispin. Despite the attraction she worried would stay with her until she kicked, perhaps she’d find she didn’t like him anymore.

If their previous encounter was any indication, he didn’t seem to like her.

These were dangerous waters she’d decided to dive into. Aside from her illicit hobby, she wasn’t accustomed to duplicity. Northumberland didn’t offer opportunities for anything more sensational than a gallop across her estate, mounted astride whilst wearing boy’s trousers. Too, she didn’t win every contest she entered, unlike her childhood friend.

She was rather used to losing . Her heart, her hopes, her dreams.

Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to follow Crispin’s example. If he’d successfully pretended to be someone else for years, Cece could certainly manage such a pretense for a few measly days.

Heart thumping, Hildy strode across her bedchamber, her eyes fatigued from reading for hours by dull lamplight. Dawn was announcing itself in the crimson glow edging around the curtains, and the echoes of a waking house were sneaking into the room. Her research project had allowed little time to prepare for the coming morning. Too soon, children, cats, and dogs would be demanding sustenance, attention, love .

Thankfully, she had loads of each to share.

“Darling, wake up,” she whispered, dropping her book on the bedside table and giving her husband’s shoulder a gentle shake. The man who’d once ruled the Limehouse docks and claimed to have enemies on every corner was sleeping deeply, another beautiful thing he’d said their marriage, their life, had given him. Now a self-taught architect, Tobias Streeter obliged clients at every level of society, the most dangerous thing to occur in his day might be a boisterous disagreement over a floor plan.

“Kittens,” Tobias mumbled drowsily. “Crate. Kitchen.” He’d been up half the night himself with a newly adopted cat, Darcy, who’d wandered onto their property months ago and promptly gotten in the family way. Adorably, Toby tended to name them after fictional male characters because he invariably guessed incorrectly about their sex. They’d switched to Austen because everyone had gotten sick of Shakespeare. “Three orange, two black as sin. The mum is fine. Nick Bottom is guarding the door. If he wasn’t so old, I’d guess he was the proud papa.”

“I found him,” Hildy whispered and slipped into bed, curling her body around her husband’s and hugging him tightly. He typically slept in the buff, and her body heated as tenderness thrummed through her. He was still the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen and would ever see. This was fact, as she’d assessed every rascal on the market for years. “It took me months upon months, and heaven knows, someone highly connected hid his identity as well as any soul I’ve come across, but I prevailed. You don’t call me your stubborn missus without reason.”

Tobias took her hand and dragged it beneath the counterpane, pressing her fingers over his rigid shaft. “Ah, luv, you found him, dead certain. You know I fancy the devil out of waking up this way.”

Hildy laughed, tossing a quick glance at the fragile light seeping into the room. If they were swift, perhaps they had time for a quick romp. After she told him. Nudging him to his back, she settled her legs astride his lean hips, her favored position. He was hard and ready beneath her. “News first, lovemaking second. ”

With a sigh, his lashes lifted, a dreamy smile spreading across his face. Stunned, Hildy stared in wonder, amazed he had the power to make her melt after all these years. He was graying at the temple and crown, tiny grooves streaking from his apple-green eyes, his olive skin gently sun-kissed—the color speaking of his Romani heritage—and he was hers . She’d made the best decision of her life forcing his hand and making him accept he was falling for her. She appreciated being a ruffian’s wife much more than she had being an earl’s daughter.

“Luv,” he whispered, shifting his hips to nudge his cock against her folds, “if you keep looking at me like that, this conversation is going to be very, very short. Only, I can see you have a bit between your teeth this morn. Let’s get talk out of the way, so I can soundly tup my delectable wife.”

Provoked, Hildy leaned to dust her lips across his but pulled away when his fingers snaked into her hair and tugged, a potent threat to deepen the kiss. He growled and anchored her hips against his. “Three minutes, Hildy girl, that’s what I’m giving.”

Hildy braced her palm on his chest, knowing he could take control in seconds should he choose to. In fact, she hoped he would. “I’ve found him.”

Tobias released a fatigued breath. “You’ve lost me, luv. Which happens with regularity.”

“Jasper Noble. I’ve found out who he is.”

Tobias rolled his eyes in characteristic masculine disdain. He considered some of the Duchess Society’s investigative work to be a shade on the gossipy side. “So, he comes from Five Points instead of Shoreditch? Has a mistress you didn’t note on the first fact check? Each of us has things we’d not wish snatched from a locked trunk. I bloody well did. Leave it be.”

Hildy felt a nip, rarely suffered, mind you, of annoyance. Her work was as important as his. She had clients by the plenty, a waiting list even! A marquess had come calling last week, she could tell him.

“Oh, no, Gadji , don’t go getting that way,” he said and lunged for her when she leaned away from him. “I didn’t mean it, however it came out and whatever I said.”

Her husband knew when he called her this Romani term endearment, she’d crumble. Giving in, she grasped the book she’d left on the table, laid it on his chest, and began to flip pages.

Tobias glanced down. “You brought Debrett’s to bed?”

His father, Viscount Craven, had an entry—a circumstance they rarely talked about. Tobias, a by-blow who’d only been acknowledged on his sire’s deathbed, had buried those ghosts long ago. “Look,” she said and tapped her finger to the page.

Tobias groaned and held out his hand. Smothering a smile, she reached for his spectacles, watching as he fit a metal arm over each ear.

Yes , she thought, I’ll ask him to leave them on.

Unaware of her lusty planning, he shot a quick glance at the book, then flopped back, thoroughly unimpressed. “Who the hell is Baron Neeley?” He scowled, and she traced her fingertip along his bottom lip until his eyes darkened another degree. “You woke me for this after I’ve been tending a birthing feline for hours?”

“You missed the best part, Toby.” With a huff, she closed the book and dumped it on the bed beside him. “I swear, you’d make a horrible investigator. I’m glad I have a ready stable of them for Duchess Society business.”

He shifted his hips to remind her that her time was up. “You tell me what I missed while I lie here imagining how you’re soon going to make me the happiest man in London. Do you recall what I whispered to you this morning over tea? I’d love to take you that way, luv, fast and furiously.”

Hildy swatted his chest, her cheeks catching fire. She’d been thinking about his naughty suggestion for the better part of the day, exactly his plan. “The baron’s name is Crispin Jasper Sinclair. A man we’ve found hasn’t been heard from since 1815. The title’s in abeyance, in actuality, though the lone property attached to it is being managed through an anonymous benefactor. No one seems to care because the family has about as much clout as, well, a cobbler’s. The maternal grandmother’s surname was Noble, darling. It took quite a lot of digging to come up with that tasty morsel because she was as far from nobility as one can get. The daughter of a butcher, I believe.”

Tobias stilled, a spark of interest finally entering his gaze. Aside from being the most stunning man in England, he was the cleverest. He didn’t welcome being outwitted. “Maybe you got a rubbish report from those fiends you employ. You want me to believe that rookery filcher is a baron ?”

Hildy clicked her tongue against her teeth, a habit she’d been unable to break no matter how hard she tried. “His gutter accent slips when he’s foxed, leaving him sounding like a prince. His bearing speaks of ballrooms, not docksides. We’ve all witnessed the transformation when he lets his guard down. He speaks French, darling. When we had that associate of yours over for dinner, I decided he understood everything the comte said after he laughed at a joke before the translator explained it. Don’t you grasp what I’m saying? He isn’t who anyone thinks he is. No one knows.” Leaning down, she kissed his cheek in delight. “Except her . And me. And now you, you lucky devil.”

Tobias turned her head and whispered against her lips, “Her?”

“The Countess of Edgerly, my new client. Crispin Sinclair’s neighbor in Northumberland.” Hildy giggled, unable to hold it back. She didn’t think of herself as a giggler. “I think she’s the one Jasper told Necessity about when he was busy stealing that telescope. A sad speech about lost loves and such.”

“Here we go again,” Tobias muttered gloomily.

“This isn’t some silly matchmaking foray we’re talking about,” she bit out, struggling to rise. She would sleep in one of the guest chambers tonight and show him but good. Although she’d have to pleasure herself at this rate because, as usual, he’d gotten her worked up by doing almost nothing. “If I’m correct, this is the discovery of the century.”

Laughing, Tobias snaked his arm around her waist and rolled her beneath him, knocking the copy of Debrett’s to the floor. He seized her mouth in a kiss that left her breathless before lifting his head just enough for her to witness his appalling smirk. “Take it easy, Gadji. No one believes in your silly matchmaking more than I do.”

“You should have seen her when I said Jasper would be a fox in a henhouse among so many women.” She nibbled on his jaw until he settled firmly between her thighs and issued one of those rusty groans that drove her mad with want. “I almost felt bad for making the comment when I was merely testing the waters. Her interest in him was masked but apparent. She suggested he be invited to the country party, after all. I had to see if my suspicion was right, didn’t I? I can only do my best for her if I know what the true situation is. And she left out a lot when I demanded everything.”

He sighed, realizing he had to ask. “Such as?”

“There’s a little boy, not her son, but a lad rumored to be a cast-off of her husband’s. This information my runner got from the cousin of a sister of a maid in the late earl’s employ. It says so much about her, wonderful things to my mind, that she took him in. Most women in her position wouldn’t.”

“Certainly, that was my experience. My father’s wife loathed me from the first moment she learned of my existence. It’s likely part of the reason he chooses never to acknowledge me.”

Hildy’s heart squeezed for the scared boy he’d once been. She laid her brow to his, hoping he could feel her heart beating in love against his chest because he would not want her sympathy. “I had to find out, Toby.”

“Your persistence scares me, luv.” He palmed her cheek and shifted her gaze to his. “He won’t like your meddling. If you’ve hit the mark, a fine deduction, I’ll admit, but Noble created another life for a reason. Mac estimates he worked for the Crown at a dangerously high level, and I tend to believe him. I’ve seen the man do things no regular bloke should know how to do. He can shoot the wings off a fly. Dead center, every bullet. There’s skill and then there’s training, a monumental difference. I saw him break a man’s wrist in seconds when he tried to rob him in the street.”

He believed her! “Then—”

Tobias pressed his thumb to her lips. “This information stays with us, do you understand? Until we know what’s going on. Why this countess chit has shown up in London, requesting your services and the attention of a supposed spy. I don’t like walking into traps, and I for damned sure don’t like you walking into them. Truth be bloody told, I won’t allow it.”

She started to argue, but the hard edge in his emerald eyes swayed her. He was a rookery thug beneath his gorgeous polish, she must remember. A fighter first, a lover second. “Fine, but I won’t budge on holding the outing at Leighton’s estate. Invitations are sent, the planning complete. The countess came to me, and I mean to help her. With what, I’m not yet sure. You can stay by my side every second if that’s what it takes. I’m going to tell her to bring the boy to the house party to let the suitable men see the full package they’d be getting.”

“Let Jasper see, you’re meaning. Your schemes don’t fly far past me, luv.”

Hildy didn’t respond, only smiled beneath his caressing fingertip.

Tobias’s chest rose and fell, his keen mind churning in that wonderful way. In the end, he didn’t speak, but merely laid his body across her and gave her pleasure of the wildest kind.

And… he left his spectacles on.