from the hot cakes to Grayson, a rogue’s grin spreading across his handsome face.
Sebastian’s muscles stiffened at the sight, and he fought to keep his features neutral. “Behave.”
The bastard’s smile grew brighter.
“Grayson, show her into the study. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
The butler bowed. “Yes, sir.”
“Having breakfast with Ashcroft’s widow,” Danforth said. “No wonder you wanted me to rush back to London.” His expression turned serious. “Have you told her yet?”
Sliding back his chair, Sebastian said, “Concentrate on Reeves and Ashcroft’s messages. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” the viscount said, rising.
“Godspeed, Danforth.”
Danforth’s brows rose. “At least introduce me.”
“No.” Sebastian set off for his study, his pulse picking up speed with every step. “Go away.”
“Come now, Chief,” Danforth said. “Not even a quick hello?”
Sebastian grasped the study’s door handle. “There would be nothing quick about your greeting. Now, off with you.” He opened the door, saw the widow leaning against the far side of his desk, and felt a frisson of warmth settle into his chest.
A low whistle sounded from behind him. Sebastian stepped inside and shut the door in Danforth’s face.
The abrupt noise startled her, and she jumped back. “My lord?”
“Forgive me, a draught caught the door.” She looked even lovelier today than yesterday. Wisps of blond hair curled against her flushed cheeks, and her graceful neck rose above a round neckline that hinted at a full bosom any man would admire.
“Good morning.” She walked over to the edge of his desk and tapped her finger against a sheet of a paper. “Here is the schedule.”
He joined her at the desk, his chest inches from her shoulder while he studied her well-organized itinerary. The moment he caught her delicate fragrance, the page blurred and the room dimmed. Heat raced across his flesh, and his muscles contracted with the strength of his need.
He turned his head a fraction. “Did you sleep well, Mrs. Ashcroft?”
She did not look up from the schedule. “W-well—” she cleared her throat. “Well enough.”
“I did not.” Instead of focusing on his task for Reeves and solving the mystery of Ashcroft’s death, he had created inventive ways to entice the fair widow into his bed. When he had finally managed to fall asleep, he awoke not long after, sweating and aching and cock in hand.
She was dangerous—to his peace of mind and to his mission. And he didn’t bloody well care. For the first time since becoming chief of the Nexus, he would put his own selfish needs before England’s and damn the consequences.
He caressed her cheek, needing the contact and yearning for the connection that could only be had while looking into another’s eyes. She met his gaze then with fathomless brown eyes, soft with budding desire and an enchanting trepidation. The need to possess burned through his veins. He wanted this woman like none other.
“Perhaps tonight, I might enjoy a more pleasurable slumber.”
Her eyes flared wide. She might not have a courtesan’s polish, but she was experienced enough in the ways of men to glean his invitation.
A sharp rap at the door shattered the moment. “Chief, I believe you had something you wanted me to deliver.”
Sebastian cursed beneath his breath and thought of the many ways in which he would make Danforth pay for this intrusion.
“Chief?” she asked.
He waved off the viscount’s careless comment. “Lord Danforth’s humor. Ignore it. Or at least, try.” He bent and placed a kiss where his finger had lingered. “I’ll be back in a moment to take you to breakfast. Make yourself comfortable.”
***
Catherine followed the earl’s determined strides, fighting the violent urge to halt his retreat and beg him to continue with his gentle assault on her senses. She released a low, shuddering breath. Like the day before, his touch awakened stirrings that had lain dormant for years. Years where her blood had moved through her veins with boring efficiency.
But not yesterday and not a few minutes ago. She smoothed her hand over her tight chest, recalling their passionate kiss. Never had she been so consumed by the press of a man’s lips. Had he not pulled away, Catherine was ashamed to think of what might have happened in the library. In the light of day. With her daughter playing just outside.
No, Lord Somerton made her blood sing with life. But why? From the moment she had visited him in London, he had treated her with cool reserve. Where had the warmth come from? The passion? The need?