claws.”
She tried to twist free. “I made a fist, if you’ll notice. Let me go.”
“Stop struggling.”
“Let me go!”
“Why?” he asked, grinning in a way that drove her insane in all the wrong ways. And he saw it, knew it. She swung her other fist. He caught it, curling up effortlessly, smiling, focused on her lips—
Someone knocked on the outside of the chaise, freezing them in place.
“Monsieur? Pardon me, I beg of you, monsieur, but what are you doing to the blessed sister?”
It was the postilion, and at some point the cunning rake had closed the door. There could be no doubt about what he’d intended, and now they were caught.
Robin cocked a brow at her, not relaxing his grip an inch.
Petra mouthed curses at him, but called, “I’m safe, sir. We’re preparing to leave the chaise and the space is somewhat limited.”
“You shouldn’t be in there with a man, Sister,” the postilion persisted.
“I’m with my brother, sir. For protection during this dangerous night. Thank you for your concern.”
“Yes, thank you,” Robin said, eyes shining. Clearly he found the whole exchange hilarious. “Go and check the road, my man. If it’s firm enough, we’ll leave soon.”
Silence probably meant the man obeyed.
“He should be helping to watch the women,” she hissed.
“Powick is up to the task, and Fontaine should be awake by now.”
“You…” But the wretched rake was smiling into Petra’s eyes and her shameless body wouldn’t fight. She waited to see what he would do next. Admit it. She waited in hope that he would kiss her again. The smile in his eyes deepened—then he kissed the fisted knuckles of her right hand and let her go. “You’d better go out, or he’ll be back.”
Damn you, damn you, damn you.
“You first,” she said, rubbing her hands as if he’d hurt her.
He lay back down, hands behind his head. “No, no, ladies first. I insist.”
“Mr. Bonchurch, I am not going to give you the pleasure of crawling over you.”
“I’d think you’d need to piss soon.”
“Make way or I’ll piss on you.”
Petra wondered if she was going to have to do it, whether she could do it, but then he laughed and curled up in that same effortless way. Her mind marked it. Marked the catlike strength of him. Her strong and agile ally—but her opponent, as well.
He swung to sit on the boxes facing out. “Powick,” he called, “find me some clean stockings and pass up my boots, if you please.”
Petra glared at his back, but despite the loose cut of his shirt, every long line of him was clear. She felt starved. You are, she told herself. When you have some decent food in you, you’ll be yourself again. You’ll remember men are nothing but trouble, especially the young gorgeous ones. Women fall for them so easily, they have no concept of fidelity.
Clean stockings were passed up and then clean boots, but by the valet, not the groom. The slender man looked gray but resolute. “I did my best to remove the mud, sir.”
“Fontaine, you fool, I’m only going to get them muddy again.” Robin’s tone was fond, however, and he added, “Thank you. I’m devilish glad you’re well enough to fuss. How are you?”
“I will survive, sir. If you’ll pass out your coat, I will attempt to restore that, too.”
When Robin twisted to pick up his jacket, Petra saw his wry expression. As he turned back and handed it down she had to appreciate his concern about his servant. His valet seemed to have been badly affected by the drugs, but he’d be better for routine.
She leaned forward to say, “I, too, am glad you’re recovered, sir.” Fontaine only sniffed before walking away.
“I warned you,” Robin said, rolling on a stocking. He had remarkably elegant feet, even dirty. “When in doubt, blame the woman.”
Petra looked away from his foot. “He’s right. This is all my fault.”
“You are an associate of Madame Goulart, after all?”
“Of course not. But if you’d
She tried to twist free. “I made a fist, if you’ll notice. Let me go.”
“Stop struggling.”
“Let me go!”
“Why?” he asked, grinning in a way that drove her insane in all the wrong ways. And he saw it, knew it. She swung her other fist. He caught it, curling up effortlessly, smiling, focused on her lips—
Someone knocked on the outside of the chaise, freezing them in place.
“Monsieur? Pardon me, I beg of you, monsieur, but what are you doing to the blessed sister?”
It was the postilion, and at some point the cunning rake had closed the door. There could be no doubt about what he’d intended, and now they were caught.
Robin cocked a brow at her, not relaxing his grip an inch.
Petra mouthed curses at him, but called, “I’m safe, sir. We’re preparing to leave the chaise and the space is somewhat limited.”
“You shouldn’t be in there with a man, Sister,” the postilion persisted.
“I’m with my brother, sir. For protection during this dangerous night. Thank you for your concern.”
“Yes, thank you,” Robin said, eyes shining. Clearly he found the whole exchange hilarious. “Go and check the road, my man. If it’s firm enough, we’ll leave soon.”
Silence probably meant the man obeyed.
“He should be helping to watch the women,” she hissed.
“Powick is up to the task, and Fontaine should be awake by now.”
“You…” But the wretched rake was smiling into Petra’s eyes and her shameless body wouldn’t fight. She waited to see what he would do next. Admit it. She waited in hope that he would kiss her again. The smile in his eyes deepened—then he kissed the fisted knuckles of her right hand and let her go. “You’d better go out, or he’ll be back.”
Damn you, damn you, damn you.
“You first,” she said, rubbing her hands as if he’d hurt her.
He lay back down, hands behind his head. “No, no, ladies first. I insist.”
“Mr. Bonchurch, I am not going to give you the pleasure of crawling over you.”
“I’d think you’d need to piss soon.”
“Make way or I’ll piss on you.”
Petra wondered if she was going to have to do it, whether she could do it, but then he laughed and curled up in that same effortless way. Her mind marked it. Marked the catlike strength of him. Her strong and agile ally—but her opponent, as well.
He swung to sit on the boxes facing out. “Powick,” he called, “find me some clean stockings and pass up my boots, if you please.”
Petra glared at his back, but despite the loose cut of his shirt, every long line of him was clear. She felt starved. You are, she told herself. When you have some decent food in you, you’ll be yourself again. You’ll remember men are nothing but trouble, especially the young gorgeous ones. Women fall for them so easily, they have no concept of fidelity.
Clean stockings were passed up and then clean boots, but by the valet, not the groom. The slender man looked gray but resolute. “I did my best to remove the mud, sir.”
“Fontaine, you fool, I’m only going to get them muddy again.” Robin’s tone was fond, however, and he added, “Thank you. I’m devilish glad you’re well enough to fuss. How are you?”
“I will survive, sir. If you’ll pass out your coat, I will attempt to restore that, too.”
When Robin twisted to pick up his jacket, Petra saw his wry expression. As he turned back and handed it down she had to appreciate his concern about his servant. His valet seemed to have been badly affected by the drugs, but he’d be better for routine.
She leaned forward to say, “I, too, am glad you’re recovered, sir.” Fontaine only sniffed before walking away.
“I warned you,” Robin said, rolling on a stocking. He had remarkably elegant feet, even dirty. “When in doubt, blame the woman.”
Petra looked away from his foot. “He’s right. This is all my fault.”
“You are an associate of Madame Goulart, after all?”
“Of course not. But if you’d
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