Page 83 of Lord of Fortune
Mother’s gasp pierced the air. “He won’t.”
“He might. But more likely he’ll just steal the register so the vicar no longer has written proof.”
“He’s tracking him to London?” Father asked.
“Yes, but the vicar won’t get that far. Egg will catch up with him tomorrow or the next day at the latest.”
“I’m surprised you left this matter to him,” Father said softly, exchanging a look with his mother.
“Finding the real heart is more important.”
“Or is it Mrs. Forrest?” Mother asked. “Please don’t try to prevaricate. We aren’t blind, and we remember what it was like to work together and the…emotions that can come from such an association.”
“I’d rather not discuss that, if you don’t mind. I think there are far more urgent matters at hand, namely how we will recover this book. We’ll meet at breakfast to develop a plan.” He finished his whiskey and set his empty glass on the table. “Good night.”
As he walked toward the door, his mother touched his arm. He paused, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I hope you know how much we love you. Whatever happens, you are our son, and nothing will change that.”
Penn gave her a fast, warm hug. “I know.” He dropped a kiss on her head and looked over at his father. “I love you too.”
He hurried from the study and went directly to Amelia’s room, uncaring what anyone thought. What did it matter now since it seemed their secret was no longer a secret?
He paused outside her door. Was what they shared a secret? What exactly did they even share?
His mother had spoken of emotions. Penn certainly had several where Amelia was concerned. He’d hated being away from her today. He’d wished she’d come with him, despite what he’d told her that morning. He realized he wanted to face adversity with her as well as celebrate their victories. Warmth and anticipation bloomed in his chest as he knocked on her door.
A moment later, she opened it, and he couldn’t wait for an invitation. He pushed inside and closed the door behind him. Then he drew her against his chest and cupped her face just before he pressed his mouth to hers.
The kiss was short but ravenous, their lips moving together in hungry strokes. “I’ve been waiting all day to do that,” he murmured against her. Then he claimed her mouth once more, caressing her face and neck.
She wrapped her arms around him and held him close, kissing him back with a fervor that matched his own. Need raced through him and washed away the pain and frustration. Whatever happened with the bloody book and this damn earldom, he had Amelia. Together they would surmount anything.
He needed to feel her, touch her, taste her. He steered her toward the bed, his lips and tongue devouring her eager mouth. She clutched at his cravat, tugging the ends free from his waistcoat, then pulling it loose and tossing it aside. Next, she pushed at his coat, and he twitched his shoulders, helping her strip it from his body.
Then her fingers were at the buttons of his waistcoat, pushing and pulling to get them free. He untied the sash of her dressing gown—thank goodness she’d already disrobed—and slid his hands inside to clasp her waist.
She shoved his waistcoat off and tugged the hem of his shirt from his waistband. He pulled at the fabric and tore it over his head, briefly breaking their kiss, before pushing her dressing gown to the floor.
The touch of her hands against his bare chest elicited a groan deep in his throat. He didn’t stop kissing her but licked at her tongue with his. Her fingertips curled into him, the nails digging into his flesh. But there was no pain, just a scalding desire to possess her and be possessed.
He guided her backward until her thighs met the bed. He gentled the kiss as he slid his hand beneath the hem of her night rail. He grazed his fingertips along her flesh, seeking that sweet, hot place between her thighs.
Finding her curls, he stroked her folds. She parted her legs, welcoming his touch. Her hands moved up around his neck and clutched him tightly.
He lifted her and set her on the bed. Then he took his mouth from hers, but only to cascade kisses along her cheek and jaw and down her neck. He tugged the neckline of her night rail down, stressing the fabric as he worked to pull it past her nipple. When it was just barely free, he lowered his mouth to lick and suck at the tight point.
She cupped his head, her fingers digging into his scalp as her low cry cloaked him with seductive promise. He slipped his hand beneath her night rail once more, skimming over her thigh to find her core. She was wet and ready for him, her flesh silky and warm and so inviting.
He brought his head up and brushed his lips against hers. “I want to bury myself inside you.” He stroked his finger inside her, and she let out a soft moan.
Her hands fell to his shoulders, and she pulled back slightly. “No.”
He blinked, his ardor cooling at the sound of her denial. “Is something wrong?”
She swallowed as she pulled her hands to her lap. “Yes. We need to talk.”
