that hung in the air, unfinished? Or the cooperation she expected he’d give?
“You won’t renege,” she whispered, the tremble of her voice a product not of the cold, but of her body’s unexplainable response.
His smile deepened, revealing a lone dimple in his otherwise impossibly hard cheek, that slight indentation an incongruity of softness against the harsh planes. “You seem awfully confident, Mrs. X.”
Actually, she was. She just didn’t know why. Nothing about what the world had written of or the crimes that had landed Mr. Wylie in jail should inspire any sense of confidence that he’d prove honorable.
And yet…
Faye moved her gaze over his face, lingering upon the faint white scars at the left corner of his mouth that gave the appearance of a perpetual scowl.
He might proclaim to have no intention of honoring any request she’d put to him in exchange for his rescue. But he was also a man who’d, one, not left her. Yes, he’d walked briskly and forced her to keep up, but he could have very easily outpaced her. And two, he’d intervened on her behalf with the drunken man who’d attempted to accost her.
“You’ll do it,” she finally said. “We shall meet tomorrow to discuss the terms. Where?”
“Tsk, tsk, madam.” He tweaked her nose. “And here, given all the efforts you’d put into my release and your intentions for me…” He paused. “You’re certain they aren’t of the carnal nature?” he purred once more.
“Q-quite,” she said quickly. Too quickly. Her assurance for herself, as much as for him, felt like a lie, as she wasn’t altogether certain of much when he stood near. “Where?” she repeated, refusing to let him distract her or unnerve her any more than he already had.
“The corner of Mile Lane Road.”
She filed away that location.
“We meet tomorrow at dawn,” she said. London was already quiet for the winter. At that hour, it would be even more so.
“And will there be pistols?” he asked in husked tones.
Faye cocked her head, intrigued all the more. “For one rumored to be the ruthless Beast of Newgate, you certainly do always have a jest at the ready.”
A frown puckered the place between the dark, bold slashes of his eyebrows. “Tell yourself that to keep yourself from fear, love,” he whispered, and he resumed that search with his fingers, following the same path it had traversed along her jaw and up her cheek. Only this time, while her pulse pounded, he cupped her nape with a firmness that left her wondering for a fraction of a moment whether that deep touch would remain a quixotic massage, or whether he’d apply the pressure required to snap her neck.
That devil’s grin found its way upon his lips once more.
As he angled his head lower, she knew he intended to shock her, that he sought her fear, and she anticipated the feel of his mouth even as he slanted his mouth over hers, the flesh of his lips as harsh and unyielding as the man himself. Harsh, hard, and nothing like she’d ever imagined for her first kiss as she stilled.
For that matter, she’d not imagined there’d be any kiss, that the extent of her knowledge would forever exist only in an erotic book she’d pilfered from her brother’s office years earlier and commandeered for her own. For there were no suitors or courtships or potential beaus. But in this moment, there was a stolen passion, unexpected and, if she were a proper lady, shameful. But she wasn’t a proper lady. Her family had ordained it, and she relished in the descent that allowed her to turn herself freely over to the drumbeat of need pounding within her.
His mouth was like fire upon her, and she curled her fingers into the surprisingly soft fabric of his wool jacket and drew herself closer, pressing herself against his hard, muscled frame. As he cupped her buttocks and brought her against him, she felt his length probe through her skirts. Oh, goodness. That was his erect shaft, as she’d read in that wicked book.
No book, however, could capture the steely feel of that flesh. And through their garments, no less. It only fueled questions about the size and texture of him without any barriers.
Faye moaned against his mouth.
A cry somewhere in the night’s distance slashed across the moment of passion-fueled insanity, and she wrenched away, dazed, befuddled, registering the thick blanket of fog rolling eerily along the grime-slicked cobblestones.
All the while, Mr. Wylie remained as coolly unaffected as he had