level than that, in a place that touched both her heart and her soul. She did not analyse the feeling. Nor did she think about the past.
Arabella knew only this moment. Dominic was alive. And that, had a blade pressed a little harder this night, he would not be.
She placed her palm upon his chest over his heart and felt its strong steady beat. Beneath her fingers she could feel the roughness of his chest hair and in her nose was the scent of brandy and cigar smoke mingled with Dominic’s cologne.
He threaded a hand through her hair at the scalp, angling her head so that he could look into her eyes.
She did not look away. She did not try to hide anything. They looked at each other with an honesty that belonged only to that moment. His eyes were deep and dark and sensuous and in them was a vulnerability that she had never ever thought to see.
Slowly he lowered his mouth to hers. Their lips touched, the kiss small and gentle. And touched again, before stilling so that their lips rested together, not kissing, but sharing their breath. She slid her hands up from his chest, to dip her fingers into the hollow between his collar bones, before spreading out to slide across the tense hard muscle of his shoulders. Their faces were so close she could feel the brush of his eyelashes every time he blinked.
His free hand followed down the line of her arm to capture her hand in his, hooking both their hands against the small of her back to arch her body all the closer into his. His chest was hard as a rock, the hair that covered it rough against her nipples. Her breasts felt heavy and sensitive, and deep in her belly was a heat that had never expired. She could feel the call of his body and the answer of her own. Just as it ever was, except this time it was different. She could feel the difference. And she knew that he could feel it too.
He bit gently at her lower lip, then salved the nip with his tongue. She tasted him, opened to him, felt his tongue accept the invitation as his lips slid against her own. They kissed. A deep sensual coupling of their mouths. A sharing of such intimacy and tenderness. They kissed and his every breath, every stroke of his tongue, every touch of his lips was a caress of her soul.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, drawing her in so that she was standing straddling his thigh. He kissed her again, then trailed his mouth down over her neck, his breath hot, his tongue tasting her. His hands caressed her breasts, weighing them, stroking skin that was sensitive to his touch, teasing at peaks that were already beaded hard. His hands stilled, his thumbs resting lightly on her nipples, as his gaze slid up to hers. And then, keeping his eyes locked on hers, he shifted one thumb aside and leaned his mouth down to take her nipple into his mouth.
He did not suckle. He did not even move his lips, but his breath was hot and moist against her. He was still watching her when his tongue began to flick against the tender swollen bud. A low soft moan escaped Arabella. She arched her back, driving her breast harder against his mouth. He began to kiss her nipple, to suck it, while his thumb and fingers worked upon the other. When she felt the gentle scrape of his teeth, she clutched that dark head to her, watching his mouth work thoroughly against first one breast and then the other.
His hands found her hips and drew them lower so that she felt the tease of the hairs on his broad muscular thigh against the hot wet centre of her womanhood. Her grip shifted to his shoulders and tightened as he rubbed his thigh gently against her. Arabella moaned again and slid higher up his thigh, until she could feel the probe of his manhood against her hip.
They stilled, his mouth coming back to find hers. And when he rolled her on to the bed their bodies clung together. He lay on his uninjured side, clutching her to him. And she could feel the raggedness of his breathing and the race of his heart as they positioned their legs to minimise the strain on his wound. And when at last she welcomed him into her body it had never felt so right. There was no dominant, no submissive. Nothing of taking, only of sharing. They moved together in a partnership, both rejoicing in their union and striving to the same end.
They loved, for there could be no other word for it. And Arabella was only aware of the moment and the man. Dominic filled her senses. Dominic filled her body.
‘Dominic,’ she gasped as she exploded into a thousand shards of shimmering pleasure.
‘Arabella,’ he groaned and she felt the warmth of his seed spill within her.
They lay in each other’s arms, feeling the pulse of their bodies and the beat of their hearts.
And eventually they slept.
Dominic came every night to Curzon Street after that. And every night they made love. Arabella was no longer fool enough to believe that she could fight against the mire of complex emotions that she felt for Dominic. Since the night he had come to the house covered in blood she had known that much as she hated what he had done to her, she did not hate him. Indeed, there was a part of her that knew they would always be bound together, and not just through Archie. If Arabella had allowed herself to think too much of her situation it would have been unbearable.
She knew what she was—his mistress, a woman he had bought from a brothel.
And she knew what he was—a man who had betrayed her and ruined her life.
And she knew, too, that contrary to everything that she should feel she still cared for him.
Arabella did not want to think what that said about her. Or what it implied about Dominic.
Dominic watched Hunter as the other man pulled up the tails of his coat and stood with his back before the warm flame of the fire. There was only the slow steady tick of the clock on the mantelpiece and the soft sounds of the flames upon the coals.
‘I am sure I saw Arabella Tatton coming out of an apothecary shop in Bond Street the other day.’ Hunter’s voice was steady and he was watching Dominic.
‘Did you?’ Dominic’s heart picked up some speed but he feigned indifference.
‘She was carrying her gloves … and she was not wearing a wedding ring.’
‘Really?’ Dominic pretended to examine his nails.
‘And she asked her coachman to take her home to Curzon Street.’ Hunter shifted his stance and Dominic could smell hot wool.
Silence.
‘It all begins to make sense. Why you are so very protective of Miss Noir’s identity. Why you have been so intent on keeping her hidden from view. Not one party. Not one ball, save Prinny’s masked carnival at Vauxhall, so I hear. Hardly your normal treatment of a woman … unless there is something of her identity that you wish to conceal.’
Still Dominic said nothing, but he felt his body tense as if in preparation for a fight. He thought of the tenderness of their lovemaking. And he wanted to protect her, even from Hunter.
‘It is her, is it not?’
‘You are mistaken, Hunter,’ he said and the look in his eyes bellowed the warning that his words only whispered at.
‘Hell’s teeth, Dominic! I am not a fool. I know that Arabella is Miss Noir.’
Dominic did not remember moving, but the next he knew he was two inches in front of Hunter’s face, staring down at him as if he would like to rip him limb from limb.
Hunter shook his head and met his gaze. ‘Do you honestly think I would breathe one word of this outside of this
