“I’ll give them to you when we arrive at the meeting,” she repeated, turning back to the door. “I’ve told the driver to wait, but we’d best hurry so we’re not late.”
Sebastian swore aloud this time, his fists clenching as he glanced at the clock. Whatever game Clara was playing, he had no time for it, not if he intended to settle the bargain with his brother. And settle it he must, for he hadn’t gone to such drastic lengths—the promise of marriage, for the love of God—to risk the whole thing going to hell now.
He yanked his greatcoat from the rack and stalked after Clara to the carriage. The plans had to be inside. Once he had them, he’d pay the driver a handsome sum to ensure Clara’s safe return to the museum.
He gripped the door and hauled himself into the cab, throwing Clara a dark and fulminating glare. She merely blinked at him.
“Where are the plans?” Sebastian asked through gritted teeth.
“I told you when I would give them to you.” She tilted her head and gave him a look that was both amused and considering. “And I thought I was the one with the hearing loss.”
A growl rumbled in Sebastian’s throat as he leaned out to snap the address at the driver. Then he slammed the door as the cab jolted into motion. Clara looked out the window, her expression impassive as porcelain—the polar opposite of her heated desperation the last time they had shared a carriage.
Sebastian grimaced, shifting as the memory rushed heat through his lower body. What did the infuriating woman hope to accomplish with this? Whatever it was, in any case, he ought to leave her at the museum. Wake Granville and tell him not to let Clara from his sight until Sebastian had settled with his brother.
Except that he couldn’t settle anything with Darius unless he had the goddamned plans.
Right. Everything about the whole affair was a mistake. And he was a bloody fool to have thought any differently.
He folded his arms across his chest and stared at Clara through the shadowed light, thrusting aside the knowledge of what their agreement would entail. If he allowed himself to imagine her as his wife, his brain would flood with intoxicating images of all the acts sanctified by the marriage covenant—and several especially gratifying ones that weren’t.
An unwelcome speculation surfaced regarding her previous marriage. What had been the true nature of her relationship with Richard Winter? Had the man made her happy? Had he satisfied her?
Sebastian’s fingers dug into his palms, anger cording his back at the idea of another man, even a former husband, touching Clara.
Mine.
The word exploded like a star behind his eyes, drenching him in feelings of possession, lust, want, need…
“You look a bit peaked tonight,” Clara remarked.
A hoarse laugh shook his chest. “Do I?”
“Haven’t you slept well?”
“I never sleep well.” Irritated by her implacable calm, especially in the face of the storm foaming and cresting inside him, he shoved across and fell beside her on the bench. “And with thoughts of you invading my mind at every turn, I’m not certain I even want to sleep. Why invite unwanted dreams when I can lie awake and imagine in perfect, crisp detail all the erotic things I want to do to you, all the places I intend to put my hands, my mouth—”
“Sebastian!” Clara’s intake of breath stirred his grim satisfaction. “You speak indecently.”
“I will act even more indecently,” Sebastian assured her, “when you are naked and trembling in my arms with your—”
“Stop.” Clara whirled to face him, her calm dissolving in the violet turbulence of her eyes. Their breath mingled in the heated space between them, energy crackling in the air.
“I gave you the opportunity, did I not?” Clara hissed, her gaze sweeping down to stroke his mouth. “I threw myself at you and acted a perfect wanton. You quickly forestalled the entire incident, so don’t think now you can shock maidenly blushes from me with your lewd remarks.”
Sebastian grabbed the folds of her cloak and pulled with such force that she fell against him with a gasp. His mouth descended on hers with an utter lack of decency, heat firing his nerves. Clara’s body arched back like a strung bow, her hands splaying over his chest to prevent his advance. He deepened the kiss, swiping his tongue across her lower lip, pulling a moan from her that went straight to his blood.