Page 47 of The Designs of Lord Randolph Cavanaugh

He tightened his hold on her, dipped his head, and steered the kiss into even deeper waters.

She made a wordless sound in her throat, clutched his lapels, and followed his lead with her own brand of ardor.

Need—sudden and shocking—flared and surged.

The unprecedented force—fierce and demanding—was enough to rock him. To free his wits from the engrossing fog of desire so he could assess…

Too far, too fast.

He knew that, yet…

It was an effort to draw back from the kiss. To—eventually—lift his head and allow their lips to part.

He looked down as her lids rose and her wide eyes slowly focused. As he watched, a faint frown invested her expression.

He was holding her against him, within one arm; his other hand was still wrapped about the fingers he’d kissed.

Then he saw her eyes search his, search his expression. He cleared his throat and murmured, “That was intended as a thank-you.”

She blinked. “What for?”

He felt his lips curve—saw her eyes track the gesture. “For being you.”

Shackling his impulses wasn’t easy, but he managed to force himself to release her. His arm falling from her, he stepped back. At the last, he opened his hand and freed her fingers. Felt them only slowly slide away.

He had to clamp down on a flaring impulse to seize them again.

She continued to stare at him through the dimness, studying him, yet in no way rejecting his advance.

That knowledge shook his resolution—the assumption that he would allow her to sleep alone that night. He drew in a tight breath, inclined his head by way of a goodnight, then turned and stepped to his door.

Not yet, not yet. He kept his feet moving. Their connection had evolved so very quickly; she would need time to absorb and accept. Until she did…he had to give her time.

It couldn’t be yet.

Felicia watched Rand open his door and, without a backward glance, go into the room and shut the panel.

Still, she stood staring, her heart thudding. Slowly, she raised a hand and touched her fingertips to her throbbing lips.

This, then, was how it felt to be swept off one’s feet.

To be caught up in a maelstrom formed of desire, to fall prey to the need and hunger that flowed in desire’s wake—passions she’d never until now experienced.

Minutes ticked by as she stood outside her door and considered and weighed and experienced again the feelings he and that revealing kiss had evoked.

She felt the rippling echoes sink deep, to her soul.

Eventually, the tumult of her senses faded. Slowly, she turned, opened the door, and walked into her room.

CHAPTER 9

The following morning, Felicia remained, if not precisely trapped in dreams of where extending such a kiss as she’d been a party to last night might lead, then at the very least, powerfully distracted.

Rand and William John had already departed the breakfast table before she reached it, for which she was thankful. William John wouldn’t notice her abstraction, but the source of it certainly would, and the last thing she wished was for the fact that Rand had started to inhabit her dreams to somehow become evident.

With her blushes spared, she sat and consumed her tea and toast, then girded her loins and, with wholly spurious calm, made her way down the spiral stairs to the workshop. Halting on the second last step, she looked out at the sight of both William John and Rand engrossed in some adjustment that had both of them all but diving headfirst into the bowels of the engine.

Then, as if sensing her presence, Rand looked up.