Page 32 of Traitor in Her Arms (The Scarlet Chronicle 2)

“You may see yourself out,” she said, turning away from him.

But it was too late for that because he wanted her now. He’d always wanted her. And still he hesitated. He should leave her alone. He shouldn’t complicate this further.

You’re already damned for what you do. What’s one more sin?

He grabbed her elbow and spun her back. “You’re not walking away from me so easily this time.”

“Then you walk away from me,” she said, but her breath was coming fast and her cornflower-blue eyes were huge in her face. He stared at her for a long time, remembering the girl in Exeter’s greenhouse and wondering when she had become this woman.

This thief.

A member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel?

He didn’t know her at all.

And then her tongue—small and pink—darted out to lick her lips, and he was back on that summer night. And he knew her all too well, and still not well enough.

He hauled her against him, feeling her ripe breasts crush against his chest. Feeling her heat melt into his skin. How had he ever let her go? He’d stepped aside so George could marry her and take her to his bed.

Ramsey tightened his hold on Gabrielle, delving his fingers into her thick hair and tilting her head back. She didn’t protest. Her body bowed to his will, and when he bent to kiss her, her lips parted for him. More than anything, he wanted her to belong to him. And he knew she never could and never would.

But he could possess her for a moment—as he had in Exeter’s greenhouse. He could hold her like this and pretend he never had to let her go.

With a fierceness he rarely unchained, he claimed her mouth with his, ravaging her soft, sweet lips. He felt her body tense for a moment. This was not the way he had kissed her before. He thought she might protest, push him away with the hand on his chest. Instead, she splayed her fingers and gripped his frock coat. She made a sound somewhere between a moan and a purr, and her tongue met his in a savage duel.

He’d always known she could be bold. Had George appreciated that, or had she intimidated him with her passion? As her tongue raked over his, Ramsey could hear the blood pound in his head. His body exploded with fire, the heat traveling from his fingers in her silky hair, to his arms wrapped around her soft body, to his chest, where her lush breasts pushed against his too-thick coat.

Their bodies were inches apart, and Ramsey felt the urge to close that distance. He was hard for her now, and her berth was only two steps away. He could toss up her cheap dress and bury himself deep inside her heat. From the way she was responding to him, he didn’t think she’d object.

He took a step toward the berth then paused. In the time since he’d been in London, he’d learned to think of consequences. He couldn’t stop himself from considering them now.

They were both bound for Paris. She might be carrying orders from the Scarlet Pimpernel. He was on a mission to discover the identity of the man.

They were at cross-purposes, and if she was indeed linked to the Scarlet Pimpernel, he would use her to accomplish his goal. She might not need him, but he could not allow her to go into the maelstrom that was Paris alone.

He was certain she’d appreciate the irony that in his quest to protect her, he’d end up destroying that which she sought to accomplish. But perhaps he could find some way to make it up to her.

She moaned again, and he had a flash of her on the bed beneath him, her body arching in ecstasy.

No, not in that way—as much as it pained him to relinquish the image. He would find some way to help her pay her debts. He couldn’t give her Cleopatra’s necklace. Madame Fouchet would take it. He could steal something else for Gabrielle or pay George’s creditors himself. He wasn’t exactly poor.

But he’d avoided spending the Sedgwick fortunes since he’d met Madame Fouchet…

“Ramsey,” Gabrielle moaned.

And he couldn’t help it. He pulled back, looked at her. It was a mistake, because he knew he should walk away. Her cherub’s lips were red and swollen, the freckle beside them begging him to kiss it. Her cheeks bloomed with color, her half-lidded eyes were dark with arousal.

He wanted to take her mouth again. Instead, he bent and tasted the skin of her neck. He pulled the scrap of material she’d secured there aside, and he could smell her skin. He missed the fragrance of oranges he would always associate with her, but he found the scent of lilies that clung to her now much more provocative. He kissed her neck, just beside her chin, then traced the line of her jaw with his lips. In his arms, she shivered and dug her nails into his coat. He could feel them scrape his skin even between the layers that separated them. How he wanted to divest himself and her of those annoying layers.

And then he touched lips to the skin just behind her ear, and a tendril of her hair brushed his cheek. The scent of lilies surrounded him, and he closed his eyes and drew it in. She tasted as sweet as she smelled, and he wondered if her breasts would taste sweeter…her navel…the backs of her knees…

God, he wanted her. And it had nothing to do with the Scarlet Pimpernel. Was that enough justification to take what he wanted? He didn’t know, didn’t care…

He moved toward the berth, and she stiffened, seemed to summon strength from somewhere and pulled away. He felt the loss instantly. His every instinct told him to pull her back. But she shook her head. She held on to his coat, wobbled for a moment, then opened her eyes. They were liquid, and he longed to see them burning with the pleasure he knew he could give her.

Slowly, finger by finger, she released his coat. He saw the indecision in the expression on her face. He could have swayed her, but he did not move, did not act to tug her back into the heat of his arms.

She cleared her throat. “I think you’d better go.”

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