tension slid from her frame like melting honey. She parted her lips and whispered his name, drawing him into her. He forgot himself, sank into the warm, sweet haven of her mouth, inhaled the essence of her skin. She thrust her fingers into his hair, angling her head so their mouths locked together seamlessly.
Mine. The word burst through him again, but it wasn’t just a word. It was a vow, an assertion, a command.
A truth.
“Sir? Sir.” A rap thumped the cab from above.
Sebastian surfaced from the haze of passion, aware the vehicle had ceased moving. He cursed on a breath of frustration and shoved to his feet, blocking Clara from sight in case the driver had descended from the bench.
Shoving open the door, Sebastian sucked in a lungful of cold air and fought for control. Light smeared the dirty windows of the Eagle Tavern. Patrons lurched outside, voices thick with drink, laughter gathering like rain clouds.
Clara’s voice came from behind him, clear and steady. He turned as she spoke to the driver and held out a pouch weighty with coin. The driver doffed his cap and clambered back to the bench. He opened the box and withdrew a scroll of papers, which he extended to Clara as if it were a sword, both fearsome and precious.
She nodded her gratitude and approached Sebastian. He tried, and failed, to smother revived anger. His fist crushed the scroll as he took it from her.
“Wait in the cab,” he said, then added through the pain of a clenched jaw, “Please.”
Clara shook her head, the folds of her cloak rippling like a stream. She pivoted and started toward the tavern.
Sebastian grabbed her arm too hard in his haste to delay her. Her soft skin yielded under his grasp, but her spine straightened with determination. Her eyes flashed as she met his thundering glare.
“All right then,” Sebastian snapped. “But keep silent and do as I say.”
Still holding her arm, he strode into the tavern. Noise swelled through the hot, smoke-drenched interior—shouting, arguments about card games, the shrill whistle of a pipe. A fire blazed in the hearth, logs shifting and crackling.
One sweeping glance told Sebastian that Darius had not yet arrived. He shoved two chairs away from a table strewn with smudged, empty cups and spills of drink. After seating Clara with a firm hand to her shoulder, he gestured to the barman for two ales. A serving girl came to clear the table and plunked down the foaming tankards.
Sebastian downed half the ale in three swallows and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I do enjoy your maidenly blushes.”
Clara’s eyebrows rose, a mixture of surprise and unexpected pleasure flashing blue-violet in her eyes. She parted her lips to speak just as the lanky figure of Darius approached, weaving like a needle through the tapestry of jumbled tables.
“I wasn’t certain you’d come.” Darius slid into the opposite chair, his gaze arcing from Sebastian to Clara. “Mrs. Winter, isn’t it? I certainly did not expect you, but find your presence most agreeable. I welcome the opportunity to thank you in person for your assistance with my request.”
“You are welcome.” Her brows pulled together, caution evident in the corded lines of her neck. “Mr. Hall.”
“Darius, please.”
“Darius.”
Darius smiled, clearly pleased by the way his name swam through her voice. He took her hand in greeting. Jealousy rustled in Sebastian’s gut. He rose to his feet, wrenching his brother’s hand away from Clara.
“Why here?” he asked Darius bluntly.
“Away from the possibility of Rushton’s discovery,” his brother replied.
“Why are you so goddamned intent on avoiding Rushton?” Sebastian snapped. “What are you hiding?”
Clara cupped her hand beneath Sebastian’s elbow, silently urging him to sit. He did, fighting the burn still crawling across his chest.
“You have the plans?” Darius asked.
Sebastian tossed the scroll onto the table. The pages scattered like leaves, absorbing puddles of spilled ale before Darius rescued them from damage with a sweep of his hand.
“We’ll pay a visit to the bank tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll transfer funds into your account.”
Sebastian no longer cared about the funds. He restrained the urge to grasp Darius’s arm again. “Tell me what’s going on or I’ll tell Rushton you’re here.”
Darius sat back. Behind his glasses, his gaze was unflinching. “Catherine Leskovna.”
“Catherine…”
“Our mother. She wants to see you again.”
Sebastian couldn’t have been more surprised if the roof had fallen in. Past the sudden shock, he heard Clara’s intake of breath.