Bronwyn Scott's Sexy Regency Bundle: Pickpocket Countess / Grayson Prentiss's Seduction / Notorious Rake, Innocent Lady / Libertine Lord, Pickpocket Miss / The Viscount Claims His Bride

Nora could feel the pressure of his erection hard against the juncture of her thighs and felt her body thrill to it. She wanted him. Negotiations and deceptions suddenly seemed secondary in light of the primal need surging through her.

He drew back, resting on his knees, straddling her at the thighs. Nora cast him a questioning glance at his retreat.

‘I want you, Brandon,’ she said bluntly in case he had somehow misunderstood her body’s invitation.

‘I want you too, but not at knife point.’ He jerked his head towards her right hand. ‘Drop the dagger.’

‘Deal. Drop your trousers.’

‘Deal.’

The dagger clattered to the floor, followed shortly by the softer shush of trousers.

Negotiations were complete.

‘Say it again, Nora. Say you want me,’ Brandon murmured quietly as he resumed his position over her, hands on either side of her head, his lips flicking fire-hot kisses along the column of her neck.

She could barely think, let alone speak, but somehow she found the wherewithal to whisper it again. ‘I want you, Brandon.’

‘No games?’ His hand gently kneaded a breast through the flannel. His body might be ready, but his mind was sceptical, no doubt recalling the last time they’d played along these lines. He’d ended up tied to the bed.

Hungry for his full commitment, Nora offered the reassurance he sought. ‘It’s no game, not tonight.’ She leaned up to kiss him again. ‘Tonight, it’s just you and me, no politics between us.’

He studied her face, a sudden tenderness present on his own countenance that startled Nora. ‘Truly?’ he asked in near-reverent tones, indicating this was no game for him either.

‘Yes.’ She nodded, reaching for him once more and growing tired of the delays. With her two hands she reached up and rent the fabric of his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders. Then she began tugging at her nightgown.

‘Oh, no, you don’t, turnabout’s fair play.’ Brandon gave a sensual laugh and reached for the gown himself. ‘Do you have many like this?’

‘Two others.’

‘Good. Then you won’t miss this one.’ He grabbed up the fabric at the hem in both hands and ripped. Slowly. Revealing her to him inch by aching inch.

He was a torturer of the highest order. Nora closed her eyes against the onslaught of desire that took her the moment his lips caressed her exposed calf and moved their way up to her thighs. Never had she been so thoroughly or successfully wooed. His skill had not been exaggerated.

Nora tried to keep a part of her mind detached, focused on something else so that she would not be wholly consumed by the act she and Brandon were engaged in. She tried to think of her next robbery, tried to visualise the floor plan of the St John house, tried to remember Brandon was her enemy, and while there could be an objective moment of shared pleasure between them, there could be nothing more.

She failed utterly.

Her mental exercises were no match for the musky scent of his maleness and the clean spicy smell of his soap. His hands caressed and his kisses worshipped as he made his way up her body, laving and revering by turn until she was at last bare to his gaze.

With a lazy finger, he traced a circle about the aureole of her breast. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said simply.

Her heart sang at the plain compliment. It meant all the more for its lack of adornment and her desire mounted. She could feel her own slickness welling and she prayed it wouldn’t be long before Brandon brought his sweet brand of agony to an end. Nora writhed against him in encouragement.

‘Patience, Nora.’ He laughed softly before calming her mouth with a kiss. ‘I would not rush this and have it over so quickly.’ He tested her with a gentle finger and even that small, intimate invasion left her gasping.

His erection prodded the entrance to her soft core and she opened to it, spreading her legs wide to accommodate him between them. His heat was contagious and she was seized with an urgency to have him inside.

The sooner this exquisite distress was over, the sooner she could find her balance. She was fighting futilely and frantically now to save herself from complete capitulation.

He entered her with a sharp push that caused her to gasp and then he sighed, sliding home the rest of the distance. She found his rhythm and raised her hips to join him. Had anything ever felt so divine? Her body pulsed around his shaft, faster and faster until she knew she’d burst from the ecstasy of it. Desperately she strove to hold on to a piece of herself, to not give him everything.

‘Let it happen, Nora. We’ve been moving towards this since we met,’ Brandon coaxed hoarsely. ‘There, now, let it go. Come soar with me.’

And she did.

Nora exploded. Her senses were raw and vulnerable. She could feel Brandon’s weight as it sagged in satiation against her, having found his release as well. She could smell the musk of their lovemaking. She could taste the sweat of their efforts on her skin. Had she ever been more alive than she was right now?

Brandon rolled to his side and pulled her to him so that her backside lay tucked against him. Not for all the sterling in Britain would she have moved from that position, even if she could have willed her languid bones to do so. Overcome with an odd sense of completion, Nora fell asleep for the first time in years not wondering about tomorrow.

This was not what he had come here for, Brandon mused in the dark, watching Nora sleep beside him. He wished he could rest that easily. He idly fingered a long curl and let it fall against her exposed shoulder. He had come to strike a deal with her. He would warn her about the trap at St John’s in exchange for her promise that she would stop the raids. He wouldn’t expose her identity. She could move on. Then she would be someone else’s problem.

He didn’t want her to be someone else’s problem. He wanted her to be his problem, and his alone; not Witherspoon’s or St John’s, just his.

Tonight had complicated matters. He had not come here with any intention to bed her, but, having done so, he was forced to recognise that his attraction to Nora was more than easily slaked lust.

He would be severely compromised if the investors discovered this little liaison. Hell, the investors were the least of his worries. He was the local magistrate and he was bedfellows with the local underworld. Literally. Being with Nora could not happen again.

Nora, Nora, Nora, his mind chanted. At last, his passion had a name and visage beyond the alias and the mask of The Cat. They had made love twice more and each time had served to heighten his desire for her.

She fired his blood like no other. She was not interested in him for his title or his vote like the powdered women of the ton. She wanted him as a man and only as a man. The thought was stimulating and highly complimentary if he didn’t realise the reality behind it. She could not have him any other way. As a man and a woman, there were no barriers between them. Acknowledging him as an Earl and a mill owner erected plenty of obstacles.

Nora stirred beside him, reminding him that the night was passing and that he could not be caught at The Grange when the sun rose. He doubted his ability to resist another coupling if she awoke.

Brandon reluctantly rose from the bed, careful not to disturb her. He dressed in the dark, the lamp having gone out hours ago. He shrugged into the sleeves of his greatcoat and felt the imprint of the small notebook he carried in his inside pocket. Inspiration struck.

Kneeling by the sill, he took out the small lead pencil and notebook and wrote. He left the paper on the table next to her bed and said a silent farewell before exiting through the window.

He was gone. Nora knew it before she opened her eyes. The bed felt empty. A brush of her hand over cold sheets where he had lain confirmed it. Well, what had she expected? He could have not stayed. He couldn’t very well have walked downstairs and declared his presence to Hattie and Alfred or risk being seen leaving the Grange by anyone who happened to be taking a morning ride. It simply wasn’t practical.

Of course, ‘practical’ was merely a rationalisation to salve her wounded pride. He probably woke up and realised how foolhardy their passionate foray had been, just as she was doing now. And it was that—it was the most foolhardy thing she’d done since her brief marriage.

Nora rolled over on her back and moaned. What was it with her and handsome men? They were her Achilles’ heel. Her first husband had been handsome, conceited and lazy. She hadn’t discovered the last two traits until it was too late. Now it seemed she was on the brink of falling for another handsome face, this one entirely out of her league. A thief had no business giving her heart or her body to a peer of the realm. It would only serve to complicate things between them.

‘Hah!’ Nora snorted out loud to the empty room. ‘It was only sex.’ Perhaps saying it out loud would help her put everything into perspective. It wasn’t as if she was expecting him to offer for her after their night together—their incredible, exceptional night together.

It didn’t help. No matter how many times she said it, she could not convince herself it was only sex. She had wanted Brandon on a higher plane. She’d wanted him body and soul. And last night, he’d wanted her too, all politics aside.

Unless he’d been pretending. Doubt gnawed at her innards. Oh, please, no. Was it possible to fake the way he had looked at her? The way he’d seduced her with such reverence as if she were a goddess? Remembering made the doubt worse. Perhaps he thought to ensnare her, lure her close with protestations of love and undying devotion. She remembered his simple words: ‘You’re so beautiful.’

Nora cringed. Someone trying too hard would have made the mistake of using flowery language, comparing her lips to roses or some other body part to some other ridiculous commodity. Not Brandon Wycroft. He was a master at his craft.

Nora reprimanded herself. She’d willingly eaten from the proverbial tree of knowledge last night. She and Brandon had made love and now there was doubt, slinking like a serpent between them. Before last night, everything had been clearly defined; she wanted to see the mill fail and he wanted to see it succeed. It had all been so uncomplicated.

Nora’s eyes lit on the table beside her bed. A note. She reached for it. Nora, do not go to St. John’s on Wednesday night. It is a trap. B.

Nora crumpled the small sheet in her hand. The note was short, concise and, after last night, positively deadly. Was he telling the truth and wished to protect her from harm? Was it a lie? Maybe he hoped she would believe the note and forgo the raid. It might be nothing more than a ploy to get The Cat to stop the robberies. If the robberies stopped, the investors would stay. The mill would go forward. He would get what he wanted. He would win.