No one, thank God.

“Did that man in the brown suit know you?” she asked, twisting in his arms. “Is he a friend of yours?”

“No.” Damn it. Wrong answer. The correct one would have been, What man? I didn’t see any man. There was no man.

“Then why did he follow us? And why have you brought me out here?” She looked to the sky and shivered. “Perhaps we should go back inside.”

“No.” He cinched his arms about her waist, pinning her close. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” In the dark, her pupils were wide and inquisitive.

He had to do it. He had to supply some reason for dragging her out here, and he had to stop the flow of questions from her lips. Really, it was the only way.

He dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers. “Kiss me. Just kiss me.”

Again and again, he feathered light, teasing caresses of his lips against her mouth. Just the merest suggestions of a kiss. She went soft in his arms, releasing a sigh of pleasure.

“Kiss me, Lily,” he whispered, teasing the seam of her lips with a flick of his tongue. Telling her what he wanted in clearer terms than spoken words. “Let me know that you want this. Kiss me.”

He stopped, pressing his brow to hers. Their breath mingled in the ribbon-thin gap between their lips. He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted so much more than that. God, how he wanted. But if this went any further, it had to be because she wanted it, too.

Kiss me, he silently pleaded. The real me. The man who cares nothing for clubs or parties or the current style. The man who spends all day thinking of you, wondering where you are and what you’re doing and what it is you’re thinking. The man who wants nothing more in this life than to come home to you after a day’s honest work and listen to anything and everything you have to say before sweeping you off to bed.

Kiss me.

Arching her neck, she pressed her lips to his, just softly. Then retreated. Teasing him as she’d been teased.

“That’s it,” he murmured, nearly mad with the effort of holding back. He nuzzled closer, letting his breath warm her cheek and lips. “More.”

And there came an instant—a blissful instant—where the air around them took on an electric charge, or the night warmed a degree with revelation. Somehow, he just knew it was going to happen.

Still, he wasn’t prepared for it to happen so fast.

She flung her arms around his neck. Caught off-balance, Julian stumbled a step in reverse. She tightened her arms around his shoulders, stretched up on her toes, and gifted him with a warm, passionate, open-mouthed kiss. His lips fell apart, and she slid her tongue between them, exploring his mouth with an innocent, fearless passion.

He was, honestly, more than a little surprised.

But he was not complaining.

He let her have her way, forcing himself to be patient as she tentatively swept her tongue against his, over and over again. So delicious. She tasted of wine and that essential Lily sweetness he’d sampled earlier that day. But there was something new in this kiss. Determination had replaced curiosity. She kissed him not only to satisfy needs of her own, but to incite need in him.

And damn, was it working. He craved her like nothing he’d ever known. That mad rush of blood and energy that had fueled their escape—rather than dissipate, it took new purpose, surging all through his body and centering in his groin. Julian couldn’t think; he could only act. He kissed her back, taking control of the embrace by fisting his hands in the heavy wool of her cloak and pulling her tight against his chest.

“Wait,” she said, tearing her mouth from his and stepping back. Her fingers went to the ties of her cloak. “This thing is unbearable.”

“Don’t. You’ll catch a chill.” He turned his palm to the heavens in demonstration, and a few droplets of rain collected in his hand.

“You’ll keep me warm.”

The cloak fell to the wet, filthy ground. The instant it hit the cobblestones, Julian knew the garment was irretrievable. Deepest apologies, Holling.

“There’s no one to see,” she said. “No one but you.” The brilliants and pearls sewn into her gown sparkled and flashed. “I want you to see. I only wore it for you.”

He groaned as she ran her hands down the bodice, smoothing her palms over her slight breasts and hips.

“Well? How do I look?”

Stupefying. Words failed him for a moment. Until at last, he peeled his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Like the most brilliant, beautiful star in the heavens, fallen to earth.”

She laughed, drawing closer. “It’s too dark. I have no idea what you’re saying, but I love the way you’re looking at me. As if you’re not even seeing the dress, but what’s beneath it.” She picked up his hand where it dangled at his side, then pulled it to her waist. “Put your hands on me.”

He did. Devil take him, he put his hands all over her. Skimming her trim waist and gently rounded hips, reaching up to cup one pert, perfect handful of breast.

And he kissed her, hard. So hard, her head recoiled with the force of it, and for a terrible moment he feared he’d hurt her. But then she moaned eagerly around his tongue, renewing her own efforts with vigor. Giving him back as good as he gave. She wound her fingers into his hair. Her fingernail scraped the flesh behind his ear, sending a sharp burst of pain to sweeten the pleasure. He would find a mark there tomorrow. Proof he hadn’t imagined it all.

Good Lord, this was happening. Really, truly, disastrously … finally … happening.

He bent his head and pressed his lips to her exposed throat, reveling in the heat and scent of her skin. His tongue flicked over her pulse as he murmured her name. “Lily. Lily.”

“I lied to you earlier,” she whispered, between arousing gasps and sighs of pleasure. “I haven’t been thinking of taking a lover. I’ve been thinking of you.”

“I can’t do this,” he murmured, even as he traced her jaw with his tongue. Bollocks. He was already doing this, and he was primed to do far more on the slightest encouragement.

And encouragement was what she gave. Nothing slight about it.

“I can’t stop thinking of you. All day long, all yesterday for that matter. Ever since that first kiss. I can’t concentrate. I’m so restless in my own skin. When I close my eyes, all I see is you. All I feel is this.” She kissed his temple, his cheek. “I don’t know what’s happened to me, but I need this, Julian. I need you.”

Sweet heaven. He felt like he’d been waiting his whole life to hear those words. A fount of bliss and lust opened up inside him. He couldn’t dam it now. It just wasn’t in his power. Perhaps he juggled two identities, but he was only a man, at the base of both. A man who went after what he wanted—and he’d wanted her for so damned long. What restraint he possessed had been exhausted earlier that afternoon, walking away from her in the drawing room—and there, he’d had the added inducements of servants about, full daylight to reveal them, Leo’s ghost, and a judgmental parrot dangling from the gilt chandelier. Here, in this alley, they were just a man and a woman, stripped down to essentials. Anonymous. Libidinous.

Nothing could stop him here.

Possibilities churned furiously in his mind. He could have her, just for one night. Satisfy her curiosity, slake his own need. Just this once. He could protect her from consequences; he was expert at preventatives. If he experienced a sudden attack of conscience, they could simply refrain from actual intercourse. He needn’t physically join with her to give her pleasure.

God, the vivid images that thought inspired … A groan scraped from his throat.

But where? There was no good place. This was Lily. He could not take her to Julian Bellamy’s house, the scene of so many illicit liaisons. He would never allow her near James Bell’s humble rooms. A hotel? Too public. A carriage? So sordid.

“Take me home,” she said, intuiting his dilemma. “Just see me home, then stay. No one will notice. No one will care.”

Her house. Leo’s house. Inconceivable. He might as well dig up the man’s coffin and spit on it. “Swift would murder me.”

She launched herself into his arms, sending him back against the brick wall. He landed with her straddling his leg, the luscious swell of her thigh rubbing against his arousal. Pleasure blanked his brain. He grasped her backside, rocking her pelvis against his. How could something feel so unbelievably good, but still be not nearly enough? He needed more from her. He needed all of her. There had to be somewhere they could go.

She licked his ear, and he bit back a growl.

Here. There was here.

“Greedy bastard!”

The shout from the end of the alley froze him in place. Lily, oblivious to the interruption, kept right on tracing the contours of his ear with her tongue, greatly impeding his ability to think. Had a man from inside followed them? Or was this someone new?

“’Ere now, lass,” the man called. “Give us some o’ that, eh?”

Julian’s stomach turned. Not only from the quite deserved implication that he was about to use Lily like a cheap whore in the street, but because the accent marked the man a Scot.

There were thousands of Scotsmen in London. Thousands.

Still, Julian couldn’t help but wrench Lily away and crane his neck for a glimpse of the shadowy figures disappearing into the mist. Two large, densely muscled men. As they moved around the corner and through the feeble illumination of a lamp, Julian thought he caught the light glinting off a smooth, hairless head.

Two men. Large brutes, the both of them. One a Scot, the other bald.

Jesus Christ. After all his futile searching … Could it be Leo’s murderers had finally found him?

Chapter Twelve

Lily hardly knew what was happening. One moment, she and Julian were entangled in a passionate embrace. The next, he’d set her on her feet and dashed off down the alley.

Her kiss couldn’t have been that bad. Could it?

She hurried after him, catching up to him at the end of the block. “Julian—”

He motioned for quiet, peering around the corner.

“What is it?” she whispered. “What’s going on?”

Pointless to ask. In the dark, it wasn’t as though she could see to read his answer. He knew it, too, so he didn’t stop to give her one. He just grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her around the corner, pulling her down the street. They walked quickly, clinging to the shadows that edged the narrow lane. Lily spied two men some distance in front of them, lumbering down the street with the unhurried arrogance of men who’ve had too much to drink. Julian seemed to be following them. For what reason, she couldn’t imagine.

She struggled to keep pace with him, skidding and sliding over the wet cobblestones in her impractical evening slippers. She would have been better off barefoot. Her heel caught in a narrow gap in the pavement, and her ankle turned. Surprised by the sharp twist of pain, she cried out.

Ahead of them, the two men stopped in the street.

Then, they began to turn.

For all that Lily did not comprehend who these men were, or why on earth they were following them, her viscera intuited one thing: She and Julian must not be seen.

Julian’s gut evidently agreed. His arm shot around her waist. Yanking her off her feet altogether, he whisked her to the side of the street, pressing her into the darkened doorway of a shop. He anchored her to the far corner of the alcove with his hips, putting his body between her and any threat. His free hand clapped over her mouth to silence her.

Hot tears sprang to her eyes as she adjusted to breathing through her nose. The aroma of his glove leather overwhelmed her senses, pungent and sharp. She couldn’t seem to draw enough air. The instinct to struggle was strong.

Lily fought back panic by reminding herself this was Julian. She knew this hand that muffled her. She’d watched him use those long, dexterous fingers to play the pianoforte, shuffle cards, pen letters with graceful ease. But never, until this moment, had she realized just how much strength they had.