The Devil in Her Bed (Devil You Know #3) - Kerrigan Byrne Page 0,78

quibbled over the fastest route to take through London to Southwick. He’d insisted the Tower Bridge was likely to be the least populated at this hour, and she stubbornly contended London Bridge would dump them right into the neighborhood of the warehouse.

They’d split up as they shot from the gate of her stables, Chandler seated expertly on a charger named Porthos he’d selected from her fine stock. The sheen of his sandy hair rivaled the brilliance of his arrogant grin as he allowed Porthos to dance on the cobbles, lifting his hand in a salute. “May the best man win!” he called.

“Don’t count on it!”

Experiencing some nominal discomfort in her newly unvirginal nether regions, she’d regretted her decision a mere five streets away. Regardless, she’d flown through the city only to find herself frustrated at Derving Square by an upturned cart. Clearing that, she’d encountered the bridge traffic he’d alluded to, and was stuck for a good ten minutes longer than she’d anticipated.

Finally, she’d clopped up to the warehouse, distressed to find Porthos already hitched, the door lock picked, and a handsome-as-sin spy for the crown standing in the threshold wearing a victorious smirk.

“How kind of you, Lady Francesca, to allow me the time to change my suit.” He gave her an exaggerated bow over a fresh-pressed vest and jacket he must have donned at his Drake residence a few lanes over from her.

Scowling, Francesca kicked her leg over the saddle and hopped to the ground. Reaching for the billfold she’d tucked into the breast pocket of her riding jacket, she extracted the applicable notes and shoved them at his chest. “We’ll rematch on the way home, of course,” she panted. Her mood, color, and spirits were high, despite everything.

“As you wish.” Once divesting her of the money, he kept her gloved hand and lifted it to his lips before pulling her in for a playful but searing kiss.

Her irrepressible smile frustrated the length of the kiss, but he was a sport about it as he motioned for her to lead the way into the dank warehouse.

His breath on the back of her neck had been a warm memory of their previous night as he’d followed her closely down the stairs, his entire body a conduit for scandalous flirtation. “Promise you’ll protect me if we encounter brigands in here?” he asked in an exaggerated whisper, fondling at the pocket in which she kept her pistol.

“You are the only brigand I expect to find in my company.” She swatted at him as he investigated the seam of her split riding skirts from behind before pinching gently at her backside. “I insist you stop that, or we’ll never get anything done.”

“Yes, my lady.” He nibbled at her ear, causing her to hop forward. “You’re a peer of this realm, and I a lowly civic servant. I am, of course, yours to command and dispose of at your leisure.”

“Oh tosh,” she laughed, shooing at him to no avail as his hands continued their delicious wanderings.

“I’ve always found skirts more convenient,” he remarked, shaping his hand to the cup of her bottom. “But I confess I like you in trousers. They display your … assets to great effect.”

“Stop being a bother, you cad!” She elbowed him in the chest, and he let out a melodramatic oof as his hands fell away from her.

She turned to gaze up at him. Even in the dimness of the warehouse, his eyes sparkled with mischief, and Francesca’s heart lurched into her throat.

What fun adventures they might have. What a wonderful coterie of two they made. Generally, after hours in the presence of almost anyone, Francesca longed for the silence of her own company. Even Cecil and Alexander would create a need for space, what with their constant academic musings and infinite emotions. Not so with Chandler. He seemed to have no great need to fill a comfortable silence but if he did, it was endlessly entertaining.

Instead of impatiently hurrying her through her morning ablutions, he’d harassed and “helped” her, which almost led to another bout of lovemaking.

He’d been concerned when she’d shyly expressed her intimate tenderness. Concerned … and not a little conceited. And so, when she’d banished him from her dressing room, he’d made himself useful by assisting the groom in readying the horses.

A useful man. Not idle or irate. It was an indulgence she’d not been prepared to enjoy.

But enjoy him, she had.

“Do let’s hurry.” She tugged at him, pulling him farther into the warehouse stacked