The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance

Stolen Emma Wildes

As a partner in crime, Stephen Hammond was an abysmal failure so far.

Lady Sabrina Pearson shot the man crouched next to her a withering look. “Can’t you do this faster?”

He muttered something unintelligible in response, which she had a feeling was not meant for her innocent ears, and his long fingers worked the metal picklock in the door.

Five minutes later, still no success.

“Stephen — ”

“It isn’t as blasted easy as it looks, Sabrina.” He hissed the words and almost the minute he spoke there was a clean, smooth click that signalled success. With a graceful, mocking bow, he opened the door for her. “I wish you joy in your burglary, My Lady.”

Dignifying that ironic tone was beneath her, so she swept past him into Lord Bloomfield’s study, adjusting her lantern so it illuminated the space better. The room was cluttered and smelled of stale tobacco smoke, spilled claret and musty books she doubted the man had ever read.

Bloomfield was an academic buffoon, a charlatan of the worst order, and without the papers and notes, he would be exposed as such. His Lordship had stolen her father’s life’s work and she intended to get it back. It was her only legacy and, since Bloomfield claimed the papers had been lost during a fire at their last encampment in Egypt after her father’s death, he could hardly charge her with the theft, even if he knew who had broken in and taken them.

It was really, in her opinion, a brilliant plan. It hadn’t been quite so easy to convince Stephen to help her, but in the end, he’d grudgingly agreed. Now all she had to do was find where the papers were stashed.

“See if the desk has any locked drawers,” she suggested, keeping her voice low. “If it does, go to work on them, please.”

“Whatever Your thieving Ladyship desires,” he murmured in a mocking tone, but did go over and begin to examine the desk. In the dim lamplight, his dark hair looked dishevelled, and a wavy lock fell over his brow as he frowned in concentration. Sabrina, in turn, roamed around the room, scouring the shelves for any hiding place, taking out books, even lifting a painting off the wall to see if there might be a cubbyhole behind it.

“The bottom left drawer is locked.” Stephen’s voice held an audible sigh. “I’ll do my best, but I think this is all confirmation that I should hold to my chosen profession as a solicitor and help uphold the law rather than break it.”

“It isn’t theft to take what should be yours,” Sabrina pointed out.

“Rationalization has its place. I suppose this is one of those occasions.” He bent down and went to work on the drawer. The scrape of the picklock came clearly, the little clicks loud in the otherwise quiet, shrouded room.

If we are caught …

No, they wouldn’t be, Sabrina assured herself, replacing a small statue of Isis on the mantel. It was a huge house, all the servants were abed, His Lordship had left for London that morning, and this was the perfect time to regain the documents.

It felt like an hour but was probably only a few minutes before Stephen said, “There it goes. I’ve got it open. You’d best come over here. I am not as confident of recognizing what we’re looking for. Is this it?”

She crossed the room, handing him the lantern, excitement making her heart beat rapidly. In the bottom of the drawer was a leather pouch, and, sure enough, as she lifted it out with shaking hands, her father’s initials were engraved on the front of it.

How many times had she watched him tuck away a bit of vellum into that pouch? How many times had he turned to her, his quick, affable smile curving his lips, his face alight as he talked of the latest discovery?

Tears blurred her eyes and she had to clear her throat as she untied the leather strings that kept it closed and saw his familiar scrawl across the papers inside. “This is it. I knew his notes were here.”

Stephen touched her shoulder. It was light, just a brush of his fingers, but it was comforting. “Even if this is the most reckless thing I can remember doing since you talked me into trying to fly by jumping out of the top of one the tallest trees on your father’s estate, I’m glad we came. However, in the interest of prudence, I think we shouldn’t linger. An undetected escape would make me feel much better than the broken leg I suffered after the misbegotten flying attempt.”

Sabrina gave a muffled laugh. “I felt awful. If you remember, I was most contrite and came over every day with sweets I wheedled from our cook while you recovered. I’m surprised you didn’t emerge from that injury as fat as a piglet.”

“Yes, well, let’s reminisce over our childhood escapades later, shall we? I think we should just go out the window. Either way, His Lordship is going to know he’s been robbed. Going back through the house carries more risk.”

He was undoubtedly right. Stephen was always right. It was infuriating at times, actually. She was the impulsive one; he was the steady logical antithesis of her personality. Where she had dreams … Stephen had plans.

She followed him to the window. He unfastened and lifted it, a tall, lean form in the dim light. He looked outside and then eased over the sill to drop into the dying autumn garden below. As she sat and swung her legs over, he turned to catch her, the leather case clutched in her arms. Stephen quickly lowered her to the ground. Her hand firmly grasped in his, he practically dragged her across the lawn of the park to the edge of the wooded area where they’d left their horses. In a swift motion he lifted her into the saddle of her mare, swung on to his own horse, and they walked at first back towards the road, where they urged their mounts to a trot. It was a clear evening, but cool, a hint of chimney smoke in the air and a scattering of stars above in the velvet sky.

“There’s an inn a few miles on.” Stephen glanced over, his face chiselled to planes and hollows in the indistinct illumination. “Bloomfield is in London and so it isn’t as if we have to avoid heated pursuit. At a guess, no one will know anything is amiss until his return. Even then he can’t really raise a hue and cry over what he supposedly never had in the first place.”

For a man who had been firmly opposed to her plan and had to be coerced into helping, he certainly sounded smug now that the deed was done and the mission successful. Sabrina arched a brow. “True. It’s rather a perfect crime in my opinion.”

“Humph. No such thing,” Stephen argued, all smugness fading from his voice. “We have the advantage of his lack of desire to make a scandal over this, but on the other hand, he is going to know for certain who invaded his house to take those notes and letters, Sabrina. There still could be retaliation, as this will ruin his career. He’s already proven himself to be underhanded. Let’s not underestimate him.”

She didn’t. There was no question her father’s former partner was greedy, manipulative and wily.

But she’d won, she thought in elation as they spotted the lights of the inn down the darkened road. She’d won.

He was a blackguard. A knave. A lustful fool.

Stephen Hammond opened the door to the small room at the top of the stairs and motioned his companion inside.

If you seduce her, you’ll forever know you got what you wanted through coercion. Shouldn’t it be fairly won? The annoyingly chivalrous voice in his head, one he’d heard too many time before, spoke in strident tones.

Damn that voice.

Sabrina walked in a few steps, her cheeks looking suspiciously flushed, her eyes holding an accusing look. “You told the innkeeper we were married.”

So he had. Step one in his diabolical plan. Except really he hadn’t had a plan at all until she’d come to his office in London a few days ago and asked him to help her on tonight’s ridiculous quest, so maybe that excused him at least a little bit. He’d even argued before capitulating and agreeing to take her to Surrey on their nefarious mission. It wasn’t really a surprise he’d given in, because by his recollection he’d never been able to deny her anything his whole life.

And now they were here. Alone.

“I had to,” he said smoothly, “if we are going to share a room.”

A single lamp was lit and shone on her pale, blonde hair. Her face, the features delicate and feminine, drew into a frown. “Good heavens, Stephen, I would be fine by myself. There’s no need for you to watch over me like a mother hen. I’m two and twenty, not some schoolroom miss. This way, there’s only one bed.”

Exactly.

“You’ll have to sleep in a chair or on the floor,” she continued.

Like bloody hell I will.

“There weren’t any other accommodations,” he lied, committing what was the second sin of the evening but hopefully not the last.

“Oh.” She looked uncertainly around the plain interior of the little room as if she could conjure another bed miraculously out of thin air. “I see. I suppose it is late and we don’t have much choice. I daresay riding on at this time of night would hardly be safe.”

“Ah, do I see the aberrant head of practicality rearing?” He strolled casually — or at least he hoped it looked casual, for in fact he was about as nervous as he’d ever been in his life — towards the fireplace and tugged at his cravat, discarding it over the back of a worn chair. “How remarkable. I’ve long maintained you were born without the inclination.”

“Don’t tease me,” she said with a laugh. “I refuse to be baited. Please admit this evening turned out perfectly.”

Perfectly? Well, not yet, but he had hopes it would. “We didn’t get caught,” he admitted, “but it isn’t like we are free and clear either. When we are back in London, I’ll feel better.”

Sabrina sank gracefully down on the edge of the bed. She wore a fitted dark-blue riding habit that exactly matched her eyes, and tendrils of curling golden hair had escaped her chignon and framed her lovely face. “I owe you a great debt.”

“No, you don’t.” It came out clipped. Whatever happened between them this evening, he didn’t want to look at it that way, as if she was just grateful. He wanted her warm, willing, swept away …

The trouble was that he wasn’t the type of man who swept women away. Yes, he had his share of experience with the other gender, but he wasn’t rakish, wasn’t dashing or notorious. Instead he was the third son of a baron who had to work for a living because his family fortunes were modest at best. He’d known Sabrina since childhood because he was just three years older and they had grown up as neighbours, but he really wasn’t suitable for the daughter of an illustrious earl. Lord Reed had enjoyed a reputation for academic achievement and a sizeable fortune. At his death, his daughter had become an heiress and independent, not that Sabrina had ever been anything but independent since the day she could walk.

Still, he loved her. Surely it should count for something.

In his life, it was everything.

“No, it’s true.” She sighed. “I might have told myself I could do this without you, but I’m not sure I would have.”

“Sabrina, surely you know always I’d help you. There is certainly not a chance I’d allow you to attempt tonight’s folly on your own.”

Her sudden smile was on the mischievous side, lighting her face. “I rather counted on that. I think if you will cast back to our conversation in your office last week, I might have slightly — just marginally, mind you — intimated that I would do this even if you didn’t come along. I suppose that could constitute as blackmail.”

“You suppose right.” Stephen began to unbutton his shirt.

“Of the most innocent sort,” she said defensively, her eyes following the motion of his hands, a tinge of incredulity entering her expression as if she just realized what he was doing. She stammered, “You … you are my best friend. Of course I’d ask you for help.”

“Of course,” he echoed, slipping the last shirt button free and tugging the hem of the garment from his breeches.

Her tone was faint now, her eyes wide. “Stephen! You are undressing.”

“As I’m your best friend, then you won’t mind if I don’t sleep on the floor.” He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and sat down to take off his boots. “It occurs to me we’ve slept together before. What’s one more night?”

Would he burn in hell for that one? Maybe.

In a choked voice, Sabrina protested, “When we were very young children. I don’t think this is proper.”

“Didn’t we just break into a man’s house and rifle his study? Please excuse me if I point out with all due logic that we are so past proper it makes me wonder at the meaning of the word.” He lay down on the bed and theatrically clasped his hands behind his head. The seeming nonchalance was undoubtedly belied by the telltale growing bulge in his breeches. Just the thought of lying next to her all night had a predictable effect on his libido. It was the curse of being male, for there was simply no hiding sexual arousal.

Maybe she was too innocent to realize it.

Only he was mistaken there. Her gaze narrowed in on that hardening part of his anatomy and he heard her take in a sharp breath.

Her palms were damp, her breath fluttering in her throat. Sabrina stared at the half-naked man on the bed and felt as if he were suddenly a stranger. Oh, the familiar features of his face were the same: the clean masculine line of nose and jaw, the cheekbones and forehead and, of course, always, always those clear grey eyes under the arch of ebony brows. Stephen had a way of looking right through you if he wished, and his moods were clearly reflected in his striking eyes.

The way he gazed at her now was not something she recognized and she’d known him her entire life.

She was not completely naïve. Even after her father’s death, she had travelled fairly extensively: Italy, Greece, India, and several times to his beloved Egypt. Her Aunt Beatrice had been a perfect companion, proper but not stuffy, intellectually curious and equally eager to drink in the antiquities and history of each place. Instead of a London season, Sabrina had visited the catacombs, seen pyramids and ridden donkeys up steep mountain trails. Not all cultures were as proper as the English and during the course of such travels she had seen some indelicate things.

She did her best to not look at the juncture of his legs, for there did seem to be an indelicate bulge there.

“I …” she began to say but trailed off.

“You?” he prompted after a moment, one brow lifted quizzically. His chest was muscular and defined as he clasped his hands behind his head and lay there in a relaxed pose. At the moment, he didn’t in the least resemble the staid, respectable solicitor she had visited in London just a few days ago. Nor was he the boy she remembered so well, so much a part of her life she’d simply taken him for granted.

He was a man.

And she was supposed to share this small room — and apparently that small bed — with him.

All night long.

“I forgot what I was going to say,” Sabrina confessed. “I must admit it didn’t occur to me we would have to stay overnight someplace. I suppose we might have planned better.”

“Being novices at the art of burglary, I think we can be forgiven for the oversight.” Stephen’s gaze was intense, watchful. “But you are right, we are here now. Together.”

Together.

Why had she never noticed how handsome he was? she wondered frantically. Oh, she supposed she had seen that from the gawky boy she’d known as a child had emerged a very nice-looking man, but she really hadn’t ever thought about it. He’d gone to university, she’d embarked on her journeys with Aunt Beatrice while he was still at Cambridge, and they hadn’t seen each other nearly so much in the past few years. She spent the holidays with his family though, as a rule, and they just seemed to naturally pick up their friendship where they’d left it, without any awkwardness at all.

Until now. This was deuced awkward because she had no idea what to do or even say.

“Stephen.”

“Yes?” A faint smile curved his mouth. Unfortunately, it made him look even more attractive.

Stephen. Attractive. She was attracted to Stephen. It took a moment to assimilate.

She blurted out, “I will be ruined if anyone finds out I spent the night with you.” It was a desperate stab at trying to sound calm and practical.

“My dear Sabrina, you will be ruined if anyone finds out about anything we’ve done — or not done yet — this evening. Let’s be practical, you have jumped into possible scandal with both feet. I believe I pointed that out when you suggested this outrageous scheme back in London. You insisted we go ahead with it. For that matter, it will not do my career much good if our activities are discovered either.” She really hadn’t thought of that. He had to make his own living, for the Hammond family fortunes weren’t solid enough for inheritances for the younger sons.

“It was selfish of me to ask you to help me,” she said, stricken.

“Not at all. Let’s keep in mind I am a grown man and if I wished to refuse, it was an option all along. Maybe we are both reckless at heart or at least when we are together. Shall we continue the trend?”

“What do you mean?” she mumbled, though she had a feeling she knew exactly what he meant.

… or not done yet …

A blush swept upwards, the heat climbing up her neck and scalding her cheeks. She stared at him.

He looked back and didn’t explain.

Really, there was no need. What was about to happen — yes, about to happen, for she found to her amazement she’d already made up her mind — would change her life and yet she found the decision to be easy; effortless even. Part of it was, as she had gotten older, she found her curiosity about the sexual experience had grown. However, a woman — especially the daughter of an earl — usually needed to marry to discover the answer. This was a rare opportunity. If she had thought of it, she might have propositioned Stephen herself. He was the one man who wouldn’t force her into matrimony if she didn’t wish it. Neither was he after the fortune her father had left her.

Why hadn’t this occurred to her? If she wanted to discover for herself one of life’s most basic secrets, Stephen would be perfect.

A certain exhilaration spiked through her, making her catch her breath.

“Do you remember when I learned to swim?” she asked, her voice sounding off-key, even to her. “I wanted to so much. You and your brothers looked like you had such great fun jumping in the river whenever you wanted while I had to sit on the bank and just watch. You coaxed me just to try it.”

Stephen nodded. His eyes had gone from steel grey to stormy skies.

“I believe I said I wasn’t frightened.” Sabrina started to unfasten her jacket. “I lied, you know.”

“I know. I knew then you were at least a little frightened. Don’t you remember how I was right there, ready to help if you needed it?”

Sabrina was surprised she could even still breathe. Her heart pounded and she seemed to have forgotten how to unfasten buttons. “You were a good teacher.”

“I’m not ten now either, I’m twenty-five.” The words were said softly. “I’d like to think my instructional skills have improved.”

Good heavens, she was really going to do this. Sabrina dropped her jacket on the floor, then she sat down, removed her half-boots and stockings before standing to unfasten her skirt with shaking hands. It slid off her hips, and she went to work on her blouse. In moments all she wore was a flimsy chemise.

Stephen watched her disrobe, his lashes slightly lowered. When she finished — when she stood there doing her best to not visibly tremble — he extended a hand. “Join me.”

It was symbolic. Join me. The inference was, of course, he wished to join with her in the oldest way a woman and man could be joined.

Sabrina walked the few paces to the bed and placed her hand in his. Long strong fingers closed over hers and the matter was settled.

This moment, the one he’d fantasized over countless times, was like a dream. Maybe, Stephen thought, his breathing was too shallow to supply the right amount of air to his brain so he was hallucinating. Maybe his heart jerking in erratic bursts in his chest made him lightheaded. Maybe all the blood in his body was concentrated in his growing erection and he hadn’t any left circulating in his veins.

All he knew was Sabrina was more alluring than even in his very vivid, colourful imagination — a vision of soft curves, pale skin and loosened gold curls that tumbled over her slim shoulders and down her back. The girl he’d known was a shadow compared to the glory of the woman. Soft rose lips were parted just slightly, and full breasts lifted the lacy material of her shift in quick repetitive motion. Her eyes, the colour of an azure summer sky, were framed in long, lush lashes.

Once, long ago, he’d kissed her. He’d been about eleven, he remembered, both of them curious. After the brief touch of their lips, she’d declared herself unimpressed.

It was time to change her mind.

Stephen tugged her closer and caught her slender body in his arms, shifting so he could lower her to the mattress. Her slight gasp drifted in the air as he covered her, and the descent of his mouth to capture her lips stopped any other sound.

It was a hungry kiss, despite his determination to go slow and not rush things. He feasted like a starved man, tasting, savouring, the pent-up longing of the past merging with the present. The indulgence went on until his muscles felt knotted and tight, and his arousal strained against his breeches with uncomfortable urgency.

“I want you,” he murmured against her lips. “I need you.”

“I can tell.” Sabrina’s laugh was a muffled sound, sweet like a sigh. If she was afraid, it didn’t show.

Her arms, he realized with triumph, were twined around his neck and her hips cradled him perfectly. “You’re a virgin?”

The hint of question in his voice wasn’t an insult to her honour, but he just wasn’t sure if she was. She’d travelled widely, she had shown no inclination to look for a husband and, the truth was, if she didn’t want one, she didn’t need to get married. Her father had left her a fortune, and with it came the freedom of choice. As a young, beautiful heiress, she would be a premium on the marriage mart, but so far her interest hadn’t been evident. Stephen knew full well she had an independent spirit.

He didn’t want to conquer it. That quality was one of the things he loved the most about her. The light in her eyes when she contemplated a new idea, the mischievous edge to her personality, the innate sentimental loyalty that made her unique and set her apart from the young women he knew.

“Yes.”

The shy, breathless admission made him relax a fraction. The jealousy he felt for the lover she’d never had evaporated. He wasn’t even aware he harboured the feeling so intensely until that moment.

He nuzzled the sensitive spot under her ear. “I hoped.”

“You doubted?” There was prim censure in her tone.

He laughed, blowing his breath across her fragrant skin. “Can I say I have always recognized your disdain for a guiding hand?”

“True.” Sabrina touched his cheek, turned his face and looked into his eyes. “What are we doing?”

“I want to make love to you,” he said in a constricted voice.

“And here Aunt Beatrice thinks you are such a good influence on me.”

“When we were younger, we did her the favour of keeping her in the dark over some of our daring childhood pursuits that would have given her the vapours.” He kissed her neck. “We could be just as kind over this matter.”

“Good suggestion.” Exploring fingers ran over the muscles of his back, sending tingles like licks of flame up his spine. Her voice husky, Sabrina said, “You are ever the voice of reason. She never has to know.”

“And you ever embrace an adventure.” He eased the ribbon on the bodice of her chemise free. “I will do my best to make this an exciting one for you. Can I interest you in a trip to paradise?”

“Is it really?” Her eyes widened.

Now then, he’d just issued himself a challenge, hadn’t he? Stephen admired the shadow between her breasts as he parted the delicate lace of her chemise and tugged the garment downwards. Her breasts were perfect: firm, high and full enough to fill his palm. He cupped her and, with his thumb, caressed a rosy nipple. Sabrina gave a very satisfying gasp.

“You may let me know if you agree afterwards.” The whisper was said against her skin as he slid his mouth downwards, tracing the graceful curve of her throat, across her collarbone, and lower, until he kissed silky mounded flesh and kneaded the opposite breast in a gentle rhythm. The small arch of her spine as he suckled the delicious taut crest told him volumes.

“Oh, Stephen.” Sabrina’s hands caught his arms, holding tight. “Should you do that?”

“We can do whatever we want,” he murmured, lightly licking her nipple, pleased to see how tight and budded it became under his ministrations. “In a world full of rules and censure, what we do in private is only between us.”

“I … I …”

Whatever she was going to say was lost as he pulled her chemise lower, over the subtle flare of her hips and length of her legs, exposing all of her to his hungry gaze as he tossed it on the floor. Outside the moon was high enough to send slivers of light through the small casement window and illuminated each curve, each seductive hollow, the shadowed apex between her slim thighs graced by dark gold curls. With a reverent touch, he skimmed his fingertips down her belly, feeling the reaction in the muscles, seeking that tantalizing juncture. “You what?” Stephen asked as he found warmth and sleek dampness.

Supine, gloriously nude, Sabrina was the very essence of his dreams, so desirable he couldn’t ever imagine how fate had schemed for this night to finally happen. He was actually grateful to the nefarious Bloomfield.

Now, to make this an event she would never forget.

“You were saying?” he teased, his brows lifted, watching her face as he put just the slightest pressure on just the right spot, braced on one elbow, his hand stroking between her legs.

Sabrina made an interesting sound in her throat, and her thighs, which had been pressed together in maidenly modesty at his intimate touch, fell apart a little. “That feels … oh.”

“Perfect,” he supplied softly. “You feel perfect.”

He watched her face as he began to bring her to climax, the heightening colour as it spread across her cheekbones, the droop of her lashes as she began to get lost in the building sensation, the way her lips parted to let out small delicious moans. When it happened, she cried out and trembled, her eyes flying open in surprise so he could see both her passion and stunned wonder.

When he stood up and started to unfasten his breeches, he couldn’t help but give a masculine grin at the dazed look on her lovely face. It wasn’t often he saw Sabrina at a loss for words, but she did appear tongue-tied, especially as he freed his erection. She stared at the hard length against his stomach. In the aftermath of her first sexual culmination, she was all lush feminine enticement as she lay there, nude and flushed, and then — though he knew it wasn’t deliberate — she wet her lips.

It almost undid him, then and there.

Stephen took in a shuddering breath, found control, and said hoarsely, “Did I mention paradise was even better together? Let me show you.”

She wasn’t sure what the man had just done to her, but Stephen had told her the absolute truth. Just as he had promised years ago that swimming was not hard once you relaxed and trusted the buoyancy of the water, and that if she practised the pianoforte with a joy for the music, not as a chore, she would become more proficient, he was right yet again. The exquisite pleasure she had just experienced was a revelation, and though she supposed she should be frightened, or at least nervous, she just wasn’t because whatever happened next, he would take care of her.

“Are you typical?” she couldn’t help but ask, always inquisitive and especially so at this moment. The impressive length of him was a bit daunting, even for someone who had once faced a leopard in the midst of a tropical jungle. She had the same feeling, actually: awe for the splendour and beauty of the beast, but also an understandable trepidation for what might happen next.

“How the devil would I know,” Stephen muttered. “Trust you to be analytical at a time like this. I’m happy to say that whatever the flaws of my gender might be, we do not compare ourselves to each other when in this state.”

It hadn’t been the most logical of questions, she conceded, but then again, logic didn’t seem to apply to this evening.

“But I accept the compliment.” There was a cheeky edge to his quick, boyish grin, but nothing boyish in the heavy light in his eyes. His voice dropped to a low whisper and he shifted so he was on top of her, arms braced, his mouth just teasing the juncture of neck and shoulder. “Open for me, Sabrina. I need you.”

If the hot, hard press of his erect length against her hip was an indication, he told the truth. It always irked her if Stephen knew more on any subject than she did — and later she’d have to find out how he knew more about this particular subject — but for now the warm press of his lips on her skin was beguiling and she didn’t resist when he nudged her legs apart and settled between her thighs.

The sensation of his entry made her suck in a deep breath and her hands grasped his biceps, holding tight, but Stephen merely murmured in a husky tone, “Relax, my love.”

He’d never called her that before and it startled her enough that she barely noticed the sting as her innocence was lost, her gaze riveted on his face as he deeply sheathed himself.

And then suddenly they were fully joined and it was … indescribable.

“It doesn’t really hurt,” she said breathlessly. “I was under the impression there would be more pain. It’s just a little uncomfortable. Do most women—”

“If you please, do not bring up other women right now,” he ordered, his face holding an intense expression belying the amused irritation in his voice. “How you feel is important, no one else. Can I move?”

She didn’t have the slightest idea what he meant.

“Like this.” He slid backwards and she felt a pang of loss until he surged forwards again and small blissful pulses racked her body. “Yes,” she whispered, “by all means move … oh, Stephen.”

He did it again, a low sound emanating from deep in his throat. Sabrina watched in fascination as his lashes drifted downwards and the expression on his face grew taut. Her body lifted naturally into the next thrust and her hands slid upwards to rest on his shoulders.

Any discomfort eased as the rhythm increased, lost to the strange upwards spiral she’d experienced earlier and, when he reached between their moving bodies and touched her there again, she couldn’t help a shuddering response, the pleasure was so acute. Paradise, she discovered, was a delicious, wicked pleasure in a simple bed in an obscure inn.

Above her, Stephen went very still at once, and his breath whistled outwards in an audible gasp, and he shuddered, dropping his head, his eyes closed. The moment stretched on, drifting, the little room quiet except for the hurried sound of their respiration.

It had all been … what was the word? she wondered, as she tested the sleek dampness of his skin over the muscles of his back, running her fingers lazily along the defined hardness. Sublime? Rapturous? Both fitted, but weren’t quite right. Exquisite?

“I knew it would be like this,” Stephen spoke first, his voice slightly strange.

Maybe he had the right word. “Like what?” Sabrina queried, noting her voice wasn’t quite normal either.

He didn’t answer. “Are you quite all right?” he asked instead, easing over to his side but not withdrawing, instead urging her to go with him so they stayed intimately entwined.

“Of course.” She raised her brows. “Why wouldn’t I be? Do you recall my father telling you about the time we were forced to outrun Barbary pirates and they were firing on our vessel and one of the bullets actually tore through my sleeve and grazed my arm? I assure you that stung far worse.”

“I see.” His habitual dryness returned to his tone. “Well, how does a man compete with bloodthirsty pirates and open-sea chases? Rather a daunting task, that. As an adventure, how did this rate?”

Before she could respond, he kissed her passionately, one hand smoothing suggestively over her bare hip.

And she forgot entirely about that wild trip to Gibraltar.

The clatter of the busy street outside added to his distraction, but the noise was hardly the main culprit. Stephen frowned and tried to concentrate on the documents spread across his desk in an untidy fashion, then sighed and rubbed his hand across his jaw.

It was no use.

A week.

A full week since he’d returned Sabrina to her fashionable town-house, the precious notes in hand, and bid her a polite farewell. Not a lover’s goodbye, but his usual casual leave-taking, for if there was anything he refused to do, it was pressure her for anything that would ruin their friendship.

But surely she understood everything had changed.

Actually, being Sabrina, she might just blithely count their night together as another escapade — albeit a scandalous one — and dismiss it as a new experience, no more. She hadn’t so much as sent a note, even neglecting to invite him to tea, which her aunt usually did when they were in town.

Dear God, he might expire from frustration if he never touched her again, and—

“Whatever it is that put that grim look on your face, I am sure it can be eased by a good whiskey. It doesn’t look like you are getting much done anyway. Care to join me?”

Jerked out of his abstraction by the sound of the voice from the doorway of his small office, Stephen saw his oldest brother, Kenneth, one shoulder propped against the doorway, his expression slightly amused. The weather had turned and it was drizzling outside, droplets of moisture gleaming on his dark hair.

Stephen had to admit his mood was about as cheery as the dismal skies.

Well, brooding wasn’t doing him much good, and it was getting late anyway. He got to his feet. “Sounds capital, actually. Let me retrieve my coat.”

They walked two streets over to a busy tavern that catered to both tradesmen and well-dressed merchants, and found a table in one of the corners. Kenneth ordered two whiskeys from the harried barmaid, and folded his hands on the scarred wooden tabletop, lifting his dark brows. “So, what has you so blue-devilled? A difficult client?”

“Who says I’m blue-devilled?” Stephen muttered.

“The clerk, for one. As I came in and asked for you, he mentioned you hadn’t been yourself lately. Just the few moments I stood there waiting for you to as much as notice my arrival supports his claim.”

It was true, but galling to admit it. He’d finally realized his deepest fantasy, made love to Sabrina, not just once, but for a good deal of the night, drifted to sleep with her luscious naked body in his arms … and now he was at a loss as to what to do next. If he declared himself, exposed his true feelings, and she declined to accept an honourable offer of marriage, their friendship would be shattered.

It was a possibility. He knew her well enough to have no illusions. Sabrina had no desire to give up her adventurous lifestyle for a staid husband who made a living poring over legal documents. She would have to want him more than her freedom, and was one night of passion and a childhood friendship enough?

He accepted the glass from the barmaid and took a searing drink that burned as it hit his throat. He suppressed the urge to cough, and confessed, “It’s a woman.”

Kenneth, five years his senior and recently married, the heir to the title and what modest fortune their family had left, simply nodded. “Sabrina.”

Arrested with his glass at his mouth, Stephen stared.

“We’ve all known since …” Kenneth furrowed his brow. “Well, since you were both children probably.”

“Known what?”

“Don’t look so surprised.” His brother chuckled. “It was obvious, always, even when you squabbled and got into trouble. There was a special connection between the two of you. Does it strike you how she’s never been interested in pursuing the kind of highbrow marriage an heiress from a family so high up in society could contract? She’s beautiful also, don’t forget, so—”

“I’m not likely to forget,” Stephen interrupted more curtly than he intended, recalling satin soft skin, and golden hair spilled across the bed sheets.

“No, I don’t suppose you are.” Fingering his glass, Kenneth said mildly, “While I don’t think any male living on this green earth could claim to understand women, I am a married man, so I have some experience trying. Maybe I can help if you explain what precisely our lovely Sabrina has done lately to put you into such a dither.”

“Dither?” Stephen shook his head. “Couldn’t you have chosen a more masculine word? I’m not dithering, for God’s sake, I’m … conflicted, that’s all.”

“In what way?”

“I cannot decide if asking her to marry me would be a huge mistake or not.” He took an inelegant gulp of whiskey before continuing. “I should, but she doesn’t seem to think I should, or at least I’ve gotten no indication of that kind. It’s a devil’s own dilemma, to be honest, for you are right, we have a very comfortable friendship. It is inevitable that would change if she knew how I feel about her.”

There was a burst of raucous laughter from a small group of patrons, punctuated by the clink of glasses. At least someone was celebrating, Stephen thought morosely.

His older brother cleared his throat. “You should marry her?”

Stephen gave him a level look and said nothing. Not even his brother, of whom he was very fond and trusted implicitly, would he tell about that magical night at the inn.

“I … see.” Kenneth sipped his drink, a faint frown furrowing his brow. Then he sighed. “Sabrina is unconventional, I’ll give you that, a direct result of her father’s fascination with travel and antiquities. She has the means to do what she wishes.”

“Exactly,” Stephen agreed, not encouraged by the observation — not that he didn’t already know that point to be valid. “Personally, jungles, remote mountaintops and blistering deserts don’t hold a lot of appeal, but she’s always been adventurous. Even if she agreed to marry me, I worry if I held her here in England she’d grow restless, but I can’t picture letting her continue to travel to dangerous places. Even now, when I have no influence to stop her, I worry constantly.”

“Marriage is about compromise, little brother.” Kenneth leaned back in his chair, his expression a hint of sardonic amusement. “Tell her you’ll ride a camel and sail with her to tropical islands if she wishes, but she must also agree to stay here for part of the year and share the kind of life you enjoy.”

It sounded logical, but when it came to women, Stephen had discovered, the term all too often didn’t apply. Quietly, he said, “I really have nothing to offer her, Ken. No fortune and no title. As you pointed out, she could marry any time she wishes and she certainly would not have to settle for a junior solicitor who most definitely works for his modest living.”

“Actually, what I pointed out was she could have married, but hasn’t. It seems significant to me. Perhaps she is just waiting for you to ask.”

Was she? Stephen wasn’t sure, devil take it.

Perhaps she was wanton.

Sabrina had never thought of herself that way, but maybe it was true. In any case, all she had done since her return to London was dwell on the outrageous — and marvellous — way Stephen had touched her that fateful night after their mission to retrieve her father’s notes. She blushed when she recalled the less than ladylike eagerness with which she’d responded. She’d lain against his lean body, neither one of them wearing a stitch of clothing, and he’d ravished her mouth with long, passionate kisses, while his hands—

“You are certainly distracted.”

The prim sound of her aunt’s voice interrupted the delicious recollection. Startled out of her reverie, Sabrina glanced guiltily over to where Beatrice sat on a brocade settee in the drawing room, busy with her embroidery. “I was … well, thinking of something.”

Oh, that was articulate.

“I would guess so,” Aunt Beatrice replied. “You had quite the oddest look on your face. I take it this subject is a pleasant one?”

Before Sabrina could mumble another nonsensical answer, a voice spoke from the doorway, “Madam, My Lady, you have a visitor.”

The butler delivered the engraved card to Beatrice, who sat closer to the doorway. She peered at it — she needed spectacles but refused to admit it — and then nodded. “Please show His Lordship in, Seton, and see that a bottle of claret is brought up from the cellar, if you please.”

“Very good, madam.”

Lord Bloomfield. Sabrina didn’t have to be told; she knew it. She’d been expecting some sort of communication from her father’s colleague once he discovered the notes were missing and nothing else had been taken. While he couldn’t come right out and accuse her of stealing what he claimed not to have in the first place, she didn’t think for a minute he’d not try to at least wheedle them back from her. He was due to present a paper to the Royal Society in a few months and he undoubtedly needed those notes. He wasn’t a scholar in his own right, and he never had been. Her father, on the other hand, had been a devoted scientist, and his scrupulous, detailed observations were like beautiful prose poems.

Had Lord Bloomfield asked for permission to use her father’s research material instead of acting as if the papers were his own work, Sabrina probably would have loaned them to him. But the moment she’d read the published work that had brought Bloomfield such acclaim, she’d known it was her father’s composition.

“Be polite.” Beatrice said it in a brisk tone. “I know neither of us care for His Lordship, but he was a friend of your father.”

“Some friend,” Sabrina muttered, but she obligingly plastered a false smile on her face when Bloomfield strolled into the room.

Instantly, a quiver of alarm went through her. The Viscount was a large man, going to fat in his middle age, with a shock of thick brown hair just beginning to show grey at the temples. He was dressed for the evening in tailored formal wear, their drawing room evidently not his final destination. His immaculate cravat was tied in an intricate, fashionable knot, and above it his florid face wore what could only be described as a triumphant smirk.

“Good evening, ladies.” He bent over Beatrice’s hand, and then turned to Sabrina who reluctantly allowed him hers, though she longed to snatch it back immediately and give it a good wash.

“So nice of you to stop by, My Lord.” Beatrice smiled graciously. “Please do sit down and have a glass of wine, won’t you?”

“Perhaps one glass,” he answered, choosing a chair and lowering his not inconsiderable bulk into it. “I have a full evening of social engagements but I could not keep from stopping by to offer my congratulations to Lady Sabrina.”

What did he have up his sleeve? Sabrina eyed him warily and said nothing. It was Beatrice who asked, “Congratulations?”

“On her recent marriage, of course.” Bloomfield watched her reaction with a gloating expression. “I must have missed the announcement in The Times but I understand she and her husband recently stayed at an inn near my country estate in Sussex.”

Damnation.

The unladylike word seemed the appropriate reaction to the current situation. Lord Bloomfield might not be much of an archaeologist, but apparently he was a fair detective.

“You must be mistaken,” Beatrice said with a small scowl. “Sabrina hasn’t married.”

“Ah.” There was a wealth of innuendo in that small word. He dug in the pocket of his jacket, produced a slip of paper and theatrically squinted at it. “How odd. The innkeeper at the Lamb and Rooster swears a young woman answering Lady Sabrina’s description stayed there a week ago with a tall, dark-haired young man, who several times in the proprietor’s presence called her by the name Sabrina. The man claimed they were husband and wife, and I assumed it to be true, because, after all, they shared a room.”

By now Aunt Beatrice had caught the not-so-subtle tension between them for she said in a frosty voice, “I am sure this innkeeper misheard.”

“Perhaps, but he had an uncanny memory for he could describe the young woman perfectly. Golden curls, he said, and the most unusual midnight-blue eyes. She wore a dark-blue riding habit and rode a sorrel mare, and—”

“I was in Cambridgeshire last week, My Lord,” Sabrina said as calmly as possible. “Visiting a friend.”

“I see. And here I was delighted to think my old friend’s daughter had finally decided to quit the mannish pursuits of her travels and settle into married life as a woman should.” He put the piece of paper back into his pocket and shrugged, but there was nothing casual in the menacing look in his eyes. “If it wasn’t you, then I’m glad. Because if you aren’t wed, of course, and it was you, I’m afraid that would spell social ruin.”

The arrival of Seton with a tray and a bottle of wine prevented any response to that overt threat. His Lordship took the opportunity to rise, decline refreshments after all, and take his leave.

The moment they were alone again, Beatrice demanded, “What was that all about?”

Though normally she drank sparingly, Sabrina reached over, filled a glass with claret, and took a bracing sip. She could lie, but then again, she wasn’t good at telling falsehoods and she adored her aunt. “As I have maintained all along, he had Papa’s research notes. I merely reclaimed my own property.”

Beatrice digested this, her plump face registering a succession of emotions from indignation, to dismay, to resignation. “Let me guess who helped you do this. Tall? Dark-haired? That was Stephen, of course, for no matter how foolhardy it might be, that normally level-headed young man would fall in with your scheme. You could persuade him to have tea with the Devil if you wished to do so.”

“Bloomfield had the notes,” she pointed out defensively. “It isn’t as if we stole anything. That odious man lied to us.”

“That odious man,” Beatrice said in clipped tones, “is going to smear your good name. Oh, Sabrina, what have you done, child? Did you and Stephen really spend the night together at the inn?”

A betraying blush heated her face. Despite her best effort to look bland, she could feel the crimson journey up her throat and into her cheeks. “The roads are dangerous at night and we could hardly waltz into His Lordship’s home during the day, now could we?”

Her aunt looked at her and shook her head. “You have escaped disaster in your wild travels more than once, my dear, but I am afraid it has finally struck.”

It was late. Stephen shook himself out of a half-doze and glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel. Past midnight wasn’t an unfashionable hour precisely, but it was a strange time for someone to be knocking on his door. He snapped shut the book that had put him to sleep and rose to see who on earth was calling this time of night.

To say he was surprised to see Sabrina standing there was an understatement. She’d never once visited him in his modest lodgings before, for the obvious reason that unmarried young ladies didn’t visit gentlemen. He always went to the fashionable townhouse in Mayfair where she resided with her aunt. Nonplussed, he just stood there staring at her.

At least she’d had the sense to wear a concealing cloak. When he didn’t speak, she pushed the hood back. “The least you can do after I climbed out my window, bribed one of the footmen to hire a hack for me, and crept up your stairs like a character in a lurid novel, is invite me in.”

That explained why she was without a chaperone, but not why she’d gone to such lengths. He had a feeling he didn’t want her discussing it in the hallway, so there wasn’t much choice but to step back and watch her brush past him in a swirl of velvet and a drift of light sweet perfume.

Stephen finally found his voice. “Have you lost your mind?”

“I had to see you.”

She unfastened her cloak and he automatically stepped forwards to take it from her. She wore a simple day gown in a light material and her hair was caught back only with a satin ribbon. She looked young, fresh, and so damned beautiful that when she gazed at him with those entrancing dark-blue eyes he found himself irrationally unconcerned about why she’d come after all.

She was there.

Still, however he might feel about her presence, it was a very reckless thing for her to do. London at night was not the safest place for an unaccompanied female. “You little fool, couldn’t this have waited until tomorrow? If you sent a note to my office, I would have paid a call at once if it was urgent, you know that.”

“I know, but Aunt Beatrice would be there also. I wanted to talk to you alone. Besides, there is no possible way I could go to sleep.” Her smile was strained. “We have a bit of a crisis, I’m afraid.”

“I see. In that case, shall we go into my study where there is still a fire and I can hear this with some brandy at hand?”

“I drank two glasses of claret earlier,” Sabrina said with a moue of distaste, “and you know I loathe the stuff. You might need the brandy.”

“In that case,” he muttered darkly, “by all means let us go into my study.”

He led her down the hall and stirred the fire while she settled into one of the shabby chairs he kept meaning to replace but hadn’t gotten around to doing so yet because, truthfully, it was comfortable and he was the only one who used it. Sabrina looked more feminine and alluring than ever against the backdrop of his masculine furnishings and dark panelled walls. She settled her skirts around her in a dainty way as she glanced around at the cluttered bookcases and the papers piled on his desk. When she caught sight of the watercolour above the fireplace she’d painted years ago of the very river where they’d played as children, her eyes widened. It probably wasn’t a work of art in the eyes of most people — even she admitted her artistic bent did not lie with the brush — but he liked it and had kept it.

“Now then,” he said to distract her attention from the painting and forestall her asking why he’d hung it in his study, “what is this ‘crisis’?”

“Lord Bloomfield called on me this evening.”

He wasn’t too surprised. The man was a charlatan in the way he presented himself to the scientific world, but he wasn’t a fool. All along they’d both known he would easily guess who had broken into his house because of what was missing. “Don’t tell me he had the nerve to accuse you of rifling his desk?” Stephen propped one arm on the mantel and raised his brows in enquiry.

“No.” Sabrina glanced away. Her cheeks looked suspiciously pink. “He knows we spent the night together at the inn. He came by to ostensibly congratulate me on my marriage.”

Stephen digested this, the ramifications immediately evident, his feelings in flux. Having to marry him because she was forced by looming scandal was different than wanting to be his wife. “He’s more resourceful than I gave him credit for,” he said finally, trying to gauge Sabrina’s expression. “I assumed he would know it was you, but hardly thought he’d bestir himself to play detective over how the deed was accomplished.”

She lifted her slender shoulders, her eyes shadowed by long lashes and not quite meeting his. “He had a piece of paper with him that I assume is the innkeeper’s description of us. He pulled it out of his pocket like it was a holy relic. I’d guess the man signed it, for Lord Bloomfield acted as if it was irrefutable proof.”

And while Sabrina had led an unconventional life up until now, what with all her travels, her reputation had been pristine.

This was entirely his fault. The seduction at the inn, while not planned when she’d asked him to help her, was an opportunity seized.

“So he is going to make this public knowledge, I take it.” His voice was remarkably calm.

“That was the threat. He mentioned that if I stayed overnight at an inn with a man who wasn’t my husband, well, that would be unfortunate for my reputation.”

Was this the opening he hoped would one day present itself? Stephen still wasn’t sure. Sabrina wasn’t obviously hinting she expected an offer. Instead, she looked at him as if she wanted him to miraculously come up with a solution for this problem.

He had one, he just wasn’t sure she would like it.

On the other hand, for him, it would be a dream come true.

“He wants the notes back, obviously.”

“No,” she instantly responded. “That is out of the question.”

“Then perhaps it would be advisable for us to marry as soon as possible.” He did his best to look and sound neutral.

Sabrina’s soft mouth parted. She visibly swallowed and her hands clenched in the material of her muslin skirts. “Stephen, I did not come here to coerce you into marrying me, I—”

He interrupted smoothly, “It’s a legitimate offer. I’ll visit your aunt tomorrow … no, today.” A pointed glance at the clock emphasized the late hour. “After all, I did dishonour you, Sabrina, unless you’ve forgotten what we did that night.”

I did dishonour you …

Is that how he referred to those hours of tender pleasure? Sabrina wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh hysterically or pick up one of his books and throw it at him — preferably a heavy tome. He was propped casually against the mantel, his expression neutral, the midnight silk of his hair distractingly rumpled around his clean-cut features, his white shirt casually unbuttoned at the neck.

He’d just proposed marriage in the most unsentimental way possible.

“No,” she said succinctly.

Something flickered in his eyes. “No,” he repeated. “I guess I am not surprised the idea doesn’t appeal to you, but let’s keep in mind it is possible you carry my child.”

What she’d meant was no, she hadn’t forgotten all those wicked and wonderful things they’d done together, but she didn’t wish to force him to commit to a marriage he didn’t want just because of her reckless inclinations.

“I’ve thought of that,” she admitted. What was curious about it was her reaction to the idea of being pregnant with Stephen’s child. It filled her with an unexpected joy that took her off guard. “We should know within the next week or two. If I’m not with child, then the point is moot.”

“Is it?” he asked, looking at her with an enigmatic expression.

“Yes … I mean, or no … it isn’t that,” she muttered, not sure what question she was answering or even what she was saying.

Her and Stephen … married? If she was honest with herself, she’d thought about that quite a lot. Before this most recent escapade, she’d always considered him her very best friend, the boy who’d been her childhood playmate. But now that perception had certainly changed. He was very much a man and, moreover, a very attractive man.

He ran his hand through his hair. “A little clarification would be appreciated. If you don’t wish to marry me, I understand. I have little to recommend such a match. No fortune, no title, and we both know you could do better.”

Is that what he thought? Men were such obtuse creatures. Sabrina stared at him and took a deep breath before replying. “Can I point out how little titles and money impress me? I need neither. Don’t be a complete idiot, Stephen. It’s just this is my fault, for I’m the one who wanted to break into Bloomfield Hall. You needn’t shoulder the problem to protect me.”

A faint smile quirked his mouth. “As I recall, staying at the inn and what happened next was my idea. We always did manage to get into trouble together.”

Sabrina shoved herself to her feet and paced across the room. “I came here to warn you there might be a scandal unless we do something to keep Lord Bloomfield from spreading rumours, not to reminisce over our past misbehaviour. Do you have any ideas?”

“I believe I put one forth but it wasn’t met with enthusiasm.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You could trade His Lordship the notes for his silence.”

“Never.” That was out of the question. Her father’s life’s work was not going to be claimed by a fraud.

“I thought that’s what you’d say. Then marry me.”

Sabrina looked at him in exasperation, but something in his expression suddenly held her arrested, locked in the moment. It reminded her of how he’d gazed at her before he kissed her that first time, how reverently his hands had drifted across her skin, the sensation of him over her, inside her, how deliciously pleasurable that night had been.

If she married him, that passion could be hers for ever. It was a tantalizing idea.

But she was a romantic at heart and she hated the thought he was offering out of duty, or even friendship. It was just so Stephen to take on the problem without a thought about his own happiness.

She faltered. “I … I know you are sincere because you specialize in rescuing maidens in trouble, but—”

He straightened away from the fireplace and took a step towards her. “Just one troublesome maiden,” he interrupted, his voice soft, persuasive. “Only you, Sabrina. Always you. It has always, always been you. And just in case you wish to keep harping on how this is all your fault, I have a confession to make. There were more rooms available at the inn that night.”

The intensity in his eyes made her catch her breath. “There were?”

He nodded and advanced. “I’d waited for years for a chance like that. You and me, and a convenient bed … how could I let it pass by? I suppose I should feel guilty for lying to you, but I don’t.”

Years?

Strong hands caught her waist and Sabrina found herself in his embrace, his mouth nuzzling her neck. There was no helping the small sigh of pleasure that escaped her lips, or the shiver of anticipation that rippled through her when he murmured against her skin, “Would it be possible to worry about Bloomfield in the morning? It seems to me I need to convince you my solution is a sound one. Will you stay a little longer?”

She shouldn’t.

They shouldn’t. But then again, when they were together long enough their actions bordered on reckless.

It wasn’t too surprising she melted against him, her fingers curling into his dark hair, her breasts pressing against his chest. She gasped when he swept her up in his arms and walked out the door into a small hallway, but it was a sound of delight, not protest. His bedroom was austere, like the rest of the rooms, but it did have a nice bed, which she discovered was quite comfortable when he deposited her on the mattress and began to unfasten her clothes. Just as eagerly, she unbuttoned his shirt, the warmth of his skin under her questing fingertips causing a curl of excitement deep in her belly. Her gown, chemise, garters, stockings and slippers were carelessly tossed aside. When Sabrina fumbled trying to undo his breeches, he ended up doing it himself.

“I’m seducing you again,” he murmured as he settled on top of her body in a smooth athletic movement. “And if this time doesn’t do it — fair warning — I’ll continue to seduce you until even someone as reckless and unconventional as you agrees to take the respectable route and become my wife.”

Sabrina gave a breathless laugh, the length of him pressed against her inner thigh, hot and hard. “You can be infuriatingly determined when you want something.”

He nibbled her lower lip. “Think of the adventures we can share. I’ve never seen a rainforest or ridden a camel.”

It was a generous offer, for she knew he loved England and was at heart a respectable gentleman. She would wager most of the trouble he’d gotten into in his childhood was due to her instigation. Very lightly she touched his lean cheek. “I don’t think my wanderlust is quite what it once was. Staying home holds a certain appeal and, for your information, riding a camel really isn’t all that much fun. They are rather ill-tempered creatures.”

He laughed and kissed her, and then the kiss turned molten and his hands were everywhere, caressing, exploring, evoking small tingles of pleasure. And when he joined their bodies and sank deep inside her, she experienced a bliss that wasn’t just due to the physical enjoyment of the moment, but also to the poignant way he whispered her name.

That glorious summit rose, the peak promised rapture and, when she gained it and toppled over, she clung to him and quivered in unabashed erotic release, made all the more intense and satisfying when he went rigid and she felt him shudder.

“I suppose I could marry you to foil Lord Bloomfield’s malicious revenge,” she teased as they lay in damp contentment afterwards, her head pillowed comfortably on his muscular chest. “Though I do have one stipulation.”

“Oh? How clever of you to strike a bargain when I am in my current weakened condition.” His lazy smile made him more devastatingly handsome than ever. “Do tell.”

“You must promise to continue to seduce me.”

“I believe I can make that concession.” His grin faded and those crystal grey eyes glimmered with a serious light. “I think you know I would give you anything within my power. I’ve loved you as long as I can remember. It changed, of course, as we got older, but it was always there.”

“I think I have always loved you too,” Sabrina said slowly, “though I admit I didn’t recognize the difference between friendship and romance. You were just you. It’s funny to think I didn’t see it. After each trip, the moment I return to England, my very first order of business is to see you. Once I do, I am truly home. And when I am away, though it is all exciting and interesting, I miss you and think of you often.”

“Picture me here, worrying over what kind of danger you might be in and myself a continent or ocean too far away to help you.” His voice held just a hint of a ragged edge and his long fingers smoothed her hair. “It was torment.”

It was galling to think she had Lord Bloomfield’s devious machinations to thank for her current state of happiness, but in a convoluted way she supposed she did. “If we are going to marry,” she said, snuggling even closer, relishing the feel of Stephen’s arm around her, “Lord Bloomfield’s petty threat is foiled, but he could still remain vengeful and isn’t without influence. I suppose I could loan him the notes needed to finish the paper he has started if he agrees to credit my father as an equal partner.”

“That sounds like a reasonable bargain to me.” Stephen brushed a kiss across her forehead. “I am, after all, a solicitor. I could draw up a legal document for him to sign.”

“You are, as always, quite handy to have around.” Sabrina rose up and her smile was deliberately mischievous. “Who would think such a mild-mannered gentleman would make such a marvellous partner in crime? If it wasn’t for your skill with the picklock, we would never have been able to steal back the notes.”

Without warning, she was tumbled to her back so quickly she gasped.

“Would a mild-mannered gentleman do this?” Stephen demanded teasingly as his fingers did something very, very wicked between her legs. “Besides, as you’ve pointed out, we didn’t steal anything. The notes were yours to begin with.”

“But something was stolen that night,” Sabrina whispered, drowning in sensation.

“What?” He went very still.

“My heart.”

Softly, he kissed her. “Well, do not expect me to give it back.”