A Waltz in the Park by Deb Marlowe Page B

my strength.”
    “They’re perfect.”  He laughed.  “No surprise there.”
    “I’m to visit Muriel tomorrow, so you might wish to let your lookouts free for a day.  I’ll leave early, spend midday in Crawley and return tomorrow night.”
    “I hope you find your sister well.”
    “Thank you.”  She shifted in her seat.  Curse him for his elegant good looks and constant masculine pull.  Tension hung between them, as always, stealing her focus and her breath, but she felt a certain responsibility to resist it.  He’d walked away, setting unspoken boundaries.  She would respect them.
    “I’ve news.”  She paused.  “Though perhaps it will again turn out to be something you already know.”
    “What is it?”
    She explained Rosamond’s predicament and her outburst about the Princess and the Queen’s ladies.  It didn’t sound so urgent now.  Frowning, she chased bits of pastry swan about her plate.
    “Miss Sto—”  He stopped.  “Addy.”
    Struck by some resounding note in his voice, she looked up.
    His expression remained grim, but his gaze lit with purpose and resolution.  “This might be it—what I need.”
    “Truly?” 
    “Yes.  Think.  It should be easy enough to find which of the Queen’s women joined the court during the time of Lady Mitford’s association with my father.  If he was so eager to help someone gain the position, then you can be sure he wanted something in return.  If I find her, I can question her.”
    Grim promise radiated from him.
    Addy straightened.  “I’m so glad I could really help.”
    Suddenly he reached across the desk and took her hand.  “Thank you.  For today—but also for everything else.”
    Excitement rippled through her.  The hairs on her neck stood straight, then sent the signal everywhere else.  She shivered.  The desk lamp cast a glowing light on his dark hair, making it shine.  His eyes narrowed, the better to see into her vulnerable soul.
    “From the first you’ve run me ragged.  I’d forgotten what it felt like.”  He stood, keeping his grip on her hand and coming around to her seat.  Gently, he tugged her to her feet.  “You made me laugh and shake my head—but you also made me feel better.”
    With heat and words and touch he crafted a slippery slope, easy to fall into and undoubtedly enjoyable to experience.  Still, she fought valiantly to stay upright.  “About what?”
    “About everything.  The world.”  A shadow moved behind his eyes.  “Even about myself.”
    She should fight.  Resist.  Do the smart thing and head home.
    But then he fought dirty.
    He touched her brow and smiled.  “Not perfect, but wonderful.”  Slowly, he leaned in to kiss her.
    Her feet slid right out from under her.  She went whooshing into something that felt frighteningly like love.
    She kissed him back, setting loose all of her hopes and fears and longings.  She arched against him and reveled in his moan of pleasure.
    His hand slid downward, paused in the small of her back, then dipped down to press her bottom against him.  She burrowed into the circle he made, muscle and linen and superfine.  “Yes,” she said as he pulled away and nuzzled the nape of her neck.
    “God,” he said into her shoulder.  “God damn it.”
    She stilled.
    His chest heaved.  He stepped back.
    “You are pulling me in too many directions,” she panted, desperate to have him back.
    “We have to stop.”
    “Do we?” she whispered.
    “We do,” he groaned. “There’s no damned future in it.”
    Rage blossomed, fueled by hordes of disappointed desires.  She spun on her heel and headed for the door. 
    “Wait!”
    “For what?  More temptation?  More heartbreak?”  She stumbled over the words.
    “It’s my fault, I know.”
    “Then do something.”
    “I can’t!  My course is set.  I can’t let up.  He must always know I’m there, opposing his every move.”
    “For how long?” she despaired.
    “Forever.” he said