His voice sounded fuzzy. All she could hear was the surge of desire pounding in her ears, like the surf of an azure ocean washing over a tropical shore.
Her hand found the fastening of his trousers and quickly freed it, allowing his shaft to spring free. She curled her fingers around his length, and the feel of him—steel and velvet—took her breath away.
Marco murmured something—she knew not what. All rational thought dissolved in a moan as he eased closer and positioned himself at the entrance to her passage.
He nudged in a fraction, parting the honeyed flesh.
“Yes.” Her need was beyond words. “Yes.”
With a hoarse groan, Marco thrust deep into her, burying himself to the hilt.
Her body clenched.
He moved slowly, gently at first, allowing her passage to adjust to him. Then, unleashing his restraint, he quickened his tempo, filling her with hard, powerful strokes.
Kate felt the muscles of his back harden, and quickly matched his rhythm. The tension was mounting inside her, too. Seeking release, she arched her body, riding the crest of the wave higher and higher. Marco surged into her, and suddenly a shower of stars was washing over her.
Covering her mouth with his, Marco muffled her cry of climax. Dio Madre. The taste was unbearably sweet—spice and sunshine overpowered every last vestige of dissolute darkness from his soul. He felt innocent. An illusion, of course, but for the moment it filled him with joy. With hope.
With…
Lust. That’s all it was—a primal animal attraction. There was no room in a rake’s heart for any softer sentiment.
Kate bit his lip as she bucked beneath his body. Driving deeper, Marco lost himself in the last shivering waves of her pleasure. Her warmth flooded through him, like fire-kissed honey. A shudder spasmed through him, and his own liquid essence spilled into her.
Hell, he had meant to withdraw, but…
A dog’s agitated bark shattered the sultry stillness of the gallery. The sound was close.
Too close, cursed Marco.
Boots thudded on the stone tiles.
He froze, their bodies still joined together, and pressed a palm over Kate’s mouth.
The door latch rattled. “Just as I suspected. It’s locked. The only key is here on my ring.” Tappan’s voice betrayed a note of irritation. “Damnation, silence the bloody hound and take him back to the kennels. He must have scented a fox or a badger.”
Marco heard a sharp slap, followed by a low snarl. “Yes, m’lord.” The retreating steps quickly faded away.
“Let us hope it was not some larger predator.” It was the stranger who spoke up.
“I tell you, there is no cause for alarm,” Tappan assured him. “Everyone, including the Foreign Office, thinks that I’ve left for Vienna. Our secret is quite safe.”
There was a fraction of a pause. “What if the missing plant is noticed by the duke? Are you not worried that its disappearance might cause suspicion to fall on you?”
“No,” replied Tappan. “The duke’s expertise is English wildflowers. He knows nothing about esoteric plants. Miss Woodbridge might be a problem, but even if she noticed its absence, she’s hardly in a position to raise the alarm.” He gave a low laugh. “I tell you, the plan is a perfectly constructed puzzle—no one is capable of putting all the complex pieces together.”
The stranger gave a grunt.
“As for the poison itself, I shall take pains to appear at another venue on the night that you plan to use it. Is the Carousel still scheduled to take place at the Spanish Riding School?”
Silence.
“Oh, come, no need to be coy,” said Tappan. “It is in both of our interests for me to be fully informed. The chances of anyone connecting me to the death are minuscule, and I should like to keep them that way.”
“Very well,” came the curt reply. “The answer is yes.”
“Oh, excellent. And what a delicious irony. The victim will succumb to the prick of a blade while watching a faux medieval joust.”
“Quiet,” snarled the stranger.
“Don’t look so grim,” replied Tappan. “Rest assured that the poison leaves no trace. Everyone will assume the fellow died of natural causes. Then, with the throne empty, you should have no problem controlling your country’s delegation.”
“My God,” whispered Kate, her eyes widening. “They are planning to kill a king.”
Nodding, Marco drew a taut breath and held it in his lungs.
“I trust that you are as diabolically clever as you claim to be,” said the stranger. “If all goes as you say, my countrymen and I will have other work for you.”
“I look forward to a long—and profitable—partnership,” answered Tappan. “My