Now as they sat together alone in the coach, he was doubly glad he had.

The coach lurched slightly as the driver flicked the reins, giving a command to send the team forward. As soon as the horses were moving, so was Kit, levering himself up and across to sit beside Eliza.

Curling an arm over her shoulders, he pulled her close. "Feeling better?" he asked.

She nodded. "I am now."

"Then what are these shivers?" he admonished gently, rubbing soothing fingers across the strip of bare skin that lay between the edge of her short, silk sleeve and the top of her elbow-length glove.

From underneath her lashes, she cast him a glance. "I am a little cold, I guess."

"Here, then, let me warm you up."

Without further warning, he lifted her off the seat and onto his lap, setting her snuggly against him, his arms wrapped tight. "Ah, now, this is better."

She wiggled for a moment in obvious surprise, her bottom brushing against him in a way that drove a rush of longing straight to his loins. As if she knew exactly what sort of difficulty she'd put him in, she stopped squirming, but her efforts came too late.

He couldn't complain, though, enjoying the sensation of holding her so near. On a quiet sigh, she leaned her head against his shoulder.

Stroking her arm, he gave her a light kiss. "Relax, sweet. You're safe."

"I know. Just as I know I was never in any real danger, it's only that he's so very dreadful."

"That he is. A wart on the world's backside. But Pettigrew is gone now, and I don't want you worrying about your cousin bothering you anymore. I'll keep you safe."

Snuggling closer, she slid an arm around his waist. "I never did thank you for stepping in the way you did. I think Lord Brevard was about to try, but-"

"But he doesn't know what a snake your cousin is, or what a coward. I guess everyone in the Ton will know now."

Eliza raised her head to meet his gaze. "Philip was furious, Kit. You oughtn't to have goaded him the way you did."

"I wouldn't have been in any real peril, I assure you, even if he had mustered the nerve to fight me."

"Oh, I know that. I was only concerned that if you killed him, you would end up having to flee the country, particularly considering the number of witnesses there were to the event."

Kit stared at her for an instant before tossing his head back on a hearty laugh. He was still chuckling moments later. "That's what is so enchanting about you, Eliza, you're always so delightfully honest. It's a refreshing quality that few people possess. Promise never to lose it, my little wren, no matter how old you may one day grow."

A dreamy smile blossomed across her lips, her cheeks glowing with a pleasure visible even in the tenebrous interior of the coach. "I promise," she murmured, her voice solemn and husky.

The humor inside him faded as quickly as it had come, desire stirring once again to life. Tightening his hold, he reached up and stroked the warm, satiny skin of her cheek, before roving downward in a gradual glide, tracing the slender column of her throat as he went. At the base, he curled gentle fingers against the underside of her jaw, then tipped back her head to position it for his kiss.

He dusted his lips across one cheek. "You said something about wanting to thank me." He bent to pay homage to the other cheek. "I believe I know just the way. Why don't you show me what I've taught you and exactly how much you've learned."

With that invitation, he waited, earning his reward seconds later when she buried her fingers in his hair and dragged his lips down to hers. As Eliza plundered his mouth with impressive thoroughness, Kit realized she had indeed learned a great deal under his tutelage, her touch sending his senses reeling, turning his brain to mush.

Like she always did, Eliza experienced a blaze of emotion, a sizzle in her blood that by rights should have sent up sparks. Toes curling inside her satin evening slippers, she poured every ounce of passion and skill into her embrace.

His tongue tangled with hers in a wild dance, dynamic and intense, showing her that her efforts were proving effective. Groaning, he slid his hand lower to cup her breast, rubbing the taut peak of her nipple through the delicate silk of her gown.

Shifting on his lap, she encouraged him to take more, and to her profound delight, he did. Tugging down a sleeve and one side of her bodice, he freed a single breast, giving it a tantalizing squeeze before raising her up enough to fasten his mouth upon her willing body.

The pull of his lips and teeth and tongue against her sensitive flesh sent her skyward. Needing desperately to touch him, she reached under his coat and waistcoat to pluck frantically at his thin lawn shirt. Unable to find bare skin, she contented herself by stroking him through the cloth, relishing his heat and the firm shape of his hard, male muscles.

Growling, he suckled upon her more deeply, even as he reached down a hand to drag her skirts high. Up moved his fingers, gliding as they had that day in the library, along the length of her calf, over knee and thigh. He caressed her leg and hip for a full span of minutes, but instead of withdrawing this time, he continued on.

Stroking her inner thighs, he made her shudder, her eyes closed in hot, dreamlike bliss. Seconds later, her eyelids popped wide as he inserted a finger inside her in a way she had never imagined she might ever be touched.

"Oh, dear God," she whimpered, crying out as he began to finesse her there, deep between her legs. Claiming her mouth again, he caught the tiny moans and sighs and panting groans that issued from her throat, the sounds completely out of her ability to control.

An ache built where he caressed her, escalating higher with each subsequent inner stroke. Just when she thought it couldn't possibly feel better, he added another finger and thrust inside her, deep and slow, taking his time so she could adjust to the added width.

She arched and gave a shout, the noise muffled inside his mouth. No longer capable of forming a coherent thought, she lay utterly helpless in his arms as he stroked her to the breaking point. Grasping at the cloth of his shirt, she hung on as if in peril for her very life.

A cry rang from her lips when the crisis came, her whole body shaking as a burst of blinding pleasure spiked through her, fierce and profound as a lightning bolt, singeing her blood and bones and sinew.

Panting for breath, she clung to him as the tremors of delight gradually began to subside. Only then did she become aware of Kit's own physical state, the length of him pressed like a hard rod against her bottom. Acting on pure instinct, she curled slightly to one side then reached a hand between their bodies.

His flesh leapt at her touch, even through the satin of his evening breeches. He bit his lip to restrain a groan, squeezing his eyes closed in an expression that was a mix of ecstasy and agony, as she traced the shape of his rigid arousal.

He lowered his hand and covered hers, patiently but firmly showing her the exact manner in which he wished to be touched. Gladly obeying his direction, she caressed him, amazed at the differences in their bodies, and the similarity of their response.

Obviously wanting more, he reached up to unfasten the buttons of his falls.

Just then, the coach came to a halt.

For a second, the vehicle's sudden cessation of movement made no sense to either of them. She and Kit stared at each other, frozen as they both tried to comprehend.

She heard sounds-the whickering of the horses, the jangling of their bridles as they waited in eagerness to unload their passengers and make the last short trip around the house to the mews and the comfort of their stalls. She heard too the muted, easy conversation of the coachman and footman, as the second man sprang down to open the coach door.

Quicker than she'd ever seen him move, Kit tugged her bodice into place, flung her skirts down over her legs, then lifted her bodily and placed her onto the seat at his side. Sliding as far away as the coach seat would allow, he raked a hand through his disheveled hair and plucked at the front of his breeches as if hoping to somehow ease the stiffened flesh beneath.

He curved an arm across his lap and leaned farther back into the darkened corner.

The door opened, light from the nearby streetlamps and Raeburn House's own lanterns spilling inside in a pool that tonight seemed unnecessarily bright. The footman waited for them to descend.

"We'll just be a minute, Robert," Kit told the servant in clipped tones. "Miss Hammond and I were having a...conversation."

"Of course, my lord."

"And shut the door, would you?"

Robert sent them a curious glance. "Yes, my lord."

Moments later, the door closed.

Kit heaved a sigh and leaned his head against the velvet squab. "Good God, if we'd been even a second slower..." He left the rest of the statement unsaid.

Half-dazed, her body continuing to tingle and throb in any number of unmentionable places, Eliza could only agree.

"What must they think?" she whispered, shooting a sideways glance out at the servants waiting for them to emerge. Even March stood at the entrance, the front door open in readiness for their ascent.

"They may think we've having a quarrel," Kit said. "At least let's hope that's what they think. On the other hand, if I make an attempt to climb down from this coach in my current state, none of them will have to guess at anything."

Her gaze shot to the substantial bulge between his legs, a bulge that seemed to grow larger beneath the force of her stare.

Kit raised a brow. "I would advise you stop doing that unless you wish to stay here and finish what we started."

Her eyes flew upward, heat scalding her cheeks.

"I would also suggest you go ahead inside," he continued in a gentler tone. "Will you be all right if I don't escort you to the door?"

She nodded. "Yes, but what about you?"

"I'll travel on to my club. That should take the wind out of my sails, so to speak."

"Oh," she murmured, downcast that he would not be going inside with her, even though she knew he was making the prudent choice. Her hand trembled faintly as she readjusted her bodice and smoothed out her skirts.

After a deep inhale, she shifted toward him on the seat. "How do I look?"

A gleam blazed in his beautiful green-gold eyes. Catching her hand in his own, he pressed a kiss onto her palm. "Stunning. But then, you always do, my dear."

Radiant warmth clamored inside her heart.

Leaning forward, Kit rapped on the door, then lowered himself back onto the seat. Shifting slightly, he once again draped a strategically placed arm across his lap and crossed his legs.

Robert opened the door.

"Assist Miss Hammond inside, if you would, Robert. Then inform Josephs I will be driving on to Brooks Club."

The footman bowed. "With pleasure, Lord Christopher. Miss?" he said, extending a hand to help her navigate the small metal coach steps.

March gave her a cheerful greeting as she mounted the stone staircase to the main entrance. Once she was safely across the threshold, the coach door slammed, then the vehicle rolled away down the street.

Hours later, Kit let himself into the darkened townhouse with a small key he kept for just such occasions. His footfalls rang out softly on the marble floor, the residence silent, even the servants abed at three o'clock in the morning.

He had not wanted to go to his club earlier that evening.

Not when every cell inside his body had been screaming for him to follow Eliza into the house, hustle her inside one of their bedrooms and spend the rest of the night ravishing her.

And damned if he might not have done that very thing-in spite of the servants, in spite of Adrian and Violet-if it hadn't been for the look of naive puzzlement and shock in Eliza's eyes when the pair of them had been on the verge of being discovered inside the coach.

The forceful reminder of her innocence had awakened his brain, along with his sense of right and wrong. So he'd set her aside, then worked to cool his lust on the ride across Town.

Despite his need for rest, he crossed into the downstairs study where he knew Adrian kept a decanter of brandy. Maybe a draught of spirits and a few minutes' contemplation in front of the fire would ease the restlessness still brewing inside him, enough for him to fall asleep anyway.

Lighting a single candle to dispel the heavy shadows, he went to a cabinet along the far wall. Locating a glass and the promised crystal decanter of brandy, he poured himself a drink.

He'd just replaced the stopper and was downing his first swallow when a filmy glimpse of white flashed into his line of sight.

Surprise made him choke. Sputtering, he spun and locked gazes with Eliza. He coughed twice before he managed to catch a proper breath. "Plague take it, I wasn't expecting anyone. Whatever are you doing up so late?"

A tiny line creased her brow. "I could not sleep and came down for some warm milk. I'm sorry if I scared you."

He waved off her apology, then decided to brave another sip. The alcohol slid down his throat with a satisfying warmth before he set the snifter aside.

Only then did he notice the tumbler in Eliza's hand-a glass of warm milk, no doubt. In imitation of his actions, she took a drink, then moved to place the glass carefully onto the same table as his brandy.

As she drew closer, the honeyed scent of her skin teased his nostrils, his earlier desire roaring vividly to life. Dark and tousled, her curls framed her face in seductive disarray, her nightgown and robe of fine, white lawn draping her slender curves in a way that hid far too little from his view. If he'd had a little more candlelight, he could probably have seen through the gown. And her feet were bare.

Hot blood rushed to his groin. Cursing inwardly, he scowled.

"How was your club?" she asked.

He stared for a moment at the non sequitur. "Brooks was fine. I won a hundred pounds playing faro."

"Oh, that's good. You'll have to buy yourself something nice, something you've been wanting."

What he wanted was her.

At his side, his hands curled into fists.

She glided a single step closer, her dove-gray eyes dark and mysterious in the low light. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, their gazes speaking for them.

Every muscle in his body grew rigid as he fought the need to drag her into his arms.

"Go to bed, Eliza," he growled in a harsh voice. Perhaps if he sounded nasty enough, he could convince her to leave. Surely even she must realize this was no time to be playing games.

But she held her ground. "I told you, I can't sleep. I think I need more than warm milk. Don't you think..." she said on a near whisper, "that I need more?"

Body trembling, he held himself in check.

His restraint lasted all of ten seconds before he broke and hauled her against him. Their lips met and fused, locking together in a blistering explosion of passionate need. Kissing her greedily, he claimed her mouth in long, deep, hungry draughts that permitted no denial, and demanded nothing less than her complete capitulation. On a breathy murmur, she gave him everything he asked for and more, turning the tables so that soon he found himself as tightly ensnared in the web they were weaving as she.

Catching her buttocks under his arm, he lifted her up and fit his hips to hers. She moaned, clasping her arms around his neck to stroke his shoulders and neck, back and waist, touching him in all the places her arms and hands could reach.

Head spinning, Kit gave one last thought to setting her down and pushing her from him, as good sense warned he must do. But even as the idea formed, it slipped away, disappearing like a piece of driftwood snatched by the tide and swallowed whole.

Running his hands over her, he traced her shape, learning the blithe lines and vivacious curves of her body as if for the first time, his access enhanced now that there were no petticoats and stays to impede his exploration. Soft and warm and pliant, her femininity held a kind of divine perfection. He let himself drown, reveling in her scent and touch and taste, the sensation of her in his arms as close to heaven as a man could come.

And yet, as near as she was, she wasn't near enough. He needed more, needed to sheath himself inside her and sate the hunger that pounded within him, strong as a beast rattling in a cage to be free.

Throwing the bonds of caution aside, he gently lowered Eliza to the thick soft woolen carpet, then followed her down, laying over her as he let his lips and touch roam at will. Kissing her wildly, he lost himself, aware only of his, and Eliza's own, aching desire.

Abandoned to a drugging haze of sensuality, Eliza gloried in every hot, delicious thing Kit was doing to her mouth and body. Tingling from scalp to foot, she let him guide her where he would, doing what small things she knew to do to intensify his pleasure.

Sighing, she caught her lower lip between her teeth, and quivered in delight as he unfastened the small placket of buttons that ran along the front of her nightgown. She watched as he pushed back the cloth, pleased by the look in his eyes as he gazed once more upon her naked breasts. He cupped them in his hands, and then began to lavish her with caresses and kisses and the occasional perfectly placed nip that shot fire through her veins.

By rights, she ought to have experienced some sense of reticence, some feeling of shyness or shame. Instead she knew only excitement and joy, safe in the arms of the man she loved, confident beneath the power of his every caress.