She started softly laughing. How could she help it? And how could she say no? “All right,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, “but just one, and we had better pray Lydia Trevlyn doesn’t have eyes in the back of her head.”
With an intake of breath, he clasped her body tightly to his, one hand exploring the hollow of her back. “You don’t know how much I’ve been wanting to do this,” he murmured.
She gave herself up to him completely, savoring the heady sensation of his lips pressing against the pulsing hollow of her throat, then her cheek, across her forehead, down to her nose, then at last, urgently demanding, her mouth.
The feel of his lips against hers caused a delicious, warming sensation. She kissed him in return, lingering, savoring every moment. She forgot Timothy Murphy—Montague—Lydia Trevlyn. There was no outside world. Nothing existed beyond this hot, tight space within this gently swaying carriage and this witty, charming man who was passionately embracing her.
“Almost there, sir,” called the coachman.
Thomas lifted his lips and murmured, “Damme. We’ve got to stop. God knows, I don’t want to, but we must.” His voice was hoarse, his breath was coming hard.
She had felt transported on a soft, wispy cloud, but came down to earth in a hurry. Though his kiss left her dazed and breathless, she managed, “Indeed we must. This was not in my plans. I—”
“I want you, Evleen,” he said in a ragged whisper. Tenderly, he brought his trembling fingers to her cheek. “I have wanted you from that minute I first saw you, Ah, how beautiful you are. I think of you night and day, my Evleen.”
Totally undone by his words, she was searching for an answer when the bright lights from Lady Fanshawe’s mansion suddenly illuminated the carriage. They broke apart and slid to sit circumspectly in opposite corners. Thomas’s usual charming smile reappeared, yet his eyes drilled into hers with a burning intensity. “It won’t end here, Evleen.”
“It must,” she managed to say before he swung from the coach and reached to help her down. The Trevlyns were upon them as she stepped into another milieu of horses, carriages, and a swarming crowd.
Lydia flashed an artificial smile at Thomas. “How kind of you to take our little Irish princess under your wing. We’re all aware how difficult it must be for her to suddenly find herself in an enlightened society such as this.” She shook her head in mock sympathy. “So very, different from the simple life she knew at home.”
How dare she. Evleen was about to speak her mind when Thomas intervened.
“How kind of you to be concerned over Evleen’s welfare. From what I’ve seen, though, she’s more than a match for any young lady of the ton.”
If Lydia caught the underlying reproach in Thomas’s remark, she did not let on. Instead, she wagged a finger under his nose. “You tell Montague he’s been a naughty boy tonight, running off to White’s. Tell him we expect his presence at Lady Claremont’s ball this coming Friday.”
Thomas bowed. “I shall convey your message, although I cannot guarantee—”
“You tell him our patience is running short and he had best be there.” Lydia’s smile had disappeared.
I understand,” Thomas said quietly. He turned to Evleen. “A most delightful ride, Miss O’Fallon. I most thoroughly enjoyed our discussion of the poets.” He bid a goodnight to everyone and disappeared into the crowd.
“Such a charming man,” remarked Lydia. “It’s a pity Montague did not inherit more of his virtuous deportment and high moral character.”
Evleen was still so wrought-up from the interlude in Thomas’s coach, she had to suppress a peal of near-hysterical laughter. What would Lydia and her daughters think if they knew that from Waverton Street to Berkeley Square she had nestled in the arms of that charming young man with the “virtuous deportment and strong character”? Willingly, too. Perhaps even wantonly, she admitted, as she thought of their kiss and a delicious shiver ran through her.
Ah, if they only knew.
Chapter 13
When Thomas arrived at his family’s London townhouse, he found Penelope awake and waiting up for him.
“I cannot believe you, of all people, went to all those silly routs tonight,” she said as he joined her in the drawing room.
Thomas slung himself into a chair. “And where were you?”
“Need I remind you this is my third Season? I’m no longer thrilled with milling about in a mob to no purpose other than it’s the thing