his tongue sliding into her mouth. Bianca moaned, her grip on him slackening. Deliberate, unhurried, flavored of brandy and coffee, he kissed her. His thumbs traced whorls on her jaw, his fingertips subtly tilting her head to the best vantage for his ravishment.
Because it was. He kissed her deeply, one hand cupping her head now. Bianca thought she was falling, but it was him, bearing her backward. When she hit the wall, she instinctively arched her back, and his arm was there, drawing her tightly against him.
And instead of feeling restricted, the pressure of his body on hers only sent her pulse spiraling faster. She went up on her toes, kissing him back, shivering as her tongue slid roughly over his.
When he whispered her name again, Bianca’s sense flickered back to life. What was she doing? His hands were in her hair. Her hands were behind his neck, pulling him closer. His mouth was on her throat, her skin was glowing like live coals, and her blood was racing. Her good sense was nowhere in evidence.
She twisted loose, and he made no effort to restrain her. “Oh,” she said stupidly, putting one hand to her mouth. Her lips were soft and tender, and the touch of her own fingers sent an echoing shock of sensation through her.
Max said nothing. He didn’t have to. Hunger streamed off him, evident in every taut line of his body, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the color in his face. Bianca sensed that at one word, even just a nod, from her, he would carry her off to his large, inviting bed and show her all those pleasures he’d teased her about on their wedding day.
The room seemed to spin and wobble. She wanted to know what those pleasures were—desperately. Her body was throbbing in anticipation. Her thoughts raced in dizzying circles, wondering what he would do and how pleasurable it could be and why was she this indecisive when she had promised herself she wouldn’t let him seduce her because she didn’t want to go to bed with him and yet she couldn’t stop thinking about his hands on her, his mouth on hers, how good he tasted, how heart-stoppingly gorgeous he was when he looked at her that way—
“Good night,” she said thinly, because it was all she could manage to get out, and then she turned and hurried up the stairs, her heart hammering so hard she was sure she would never make it to the safety of her room.
Chapter Eighteen
London had never been so good to Max.
Dalway ordered a complete service the very next day and admitted he’d been wrong to call Max an idiot for pursuing the Perusia connection. “I thought you were mad,” he told Max, “but I see now you spotted a diamond in the rough.”
“Not rough at all,” replied Max easily. “Obscured.”
Dalway laughed. “Is that what you call her?”
“What I call my wife is not for your ears,” returned Max with a look. “Will you have a coffee service as well?”
“Aye, aye, in that bloodred glaze. Never seen anything like it! Serafina begged for it all the way home.” He eyed Max. “She’s pleased for you.”
Max inclined his head as he made a note of the order. “I’m delighted to have her blessing.”
Dalway snorted. “She wants to befriend your wife! Better watch yourself, she’s eager to tell all your secrets . . .”
“She doesn’t know anything I wouldn’t tell Mrs. St. James myself.”
“Wouldn’t.” Dalway caught his mistake. “Ought to hurry home and tell her yourself, if you don’t want Serafina and Louisa Carswell whispering it into her ears.”
Max kept his smile, not betraying the curses streaming through his mind. Between the two of them, those ladies could tell Bianca just enough to make him look like a monster. He didn’t think they would do so maliciously—no, even worse, they would do it while thinking they were helping him. Bianca, though, was too intelligent by half to miss anything. “I will. And inform Lady Dalway, with all civility, that I can conduct my own amours, without any help from her.”
Dalway snickered. He’d always loved a bit of scandal and intrigue, and had since they were young bucks at Oxford, evading the proctors sent to roust them from the local taverns. Max had only been at university for a year, but Dalway had been infamous even before he got there. “I’ll tell her. Don’t expect a great lot of good from it, though. You know how