Free The Lady in the Tower by Karen Hawkins, Holly Crawford Page A

where he sat across from her, yet the gulf between them felt
wider than a chasm. Still, she sensed his heat, the way he filled up the space.
The spice of his cologne brought back the sharp memory of her writhing in his
arms. She moistened lips that had gone dry.
    And that was
it. With that one, simple gesture, she broke the polite chill that had settled
around them. One moment, she was moistening her lips and the next, Richard had reached across the carriage, pulled her into his arms, and kissed
her as if he thought he’d never again have the chance.
    Shock held her
immobile, but not for long. Her head swam and desire flared sharp and hot as a
star. His arms crushed her to him. Her breasts ached where they pressed against
his chest. He barely allowed her a breath before seizing her mouth once more.
He was doing it again, taking her over completely. A sense of drowning overcame
her.
    No, she
couldn’t do this again, not like before. Steeling herself, she pushed against
his chest.
    He broke the
kiss, his breathing harsh. “Why?”
    If he could be
direct, so could she. “What’s the point if you’re only going to walk away again
the second we’re through? You dismissed me.”
    Her accusation
seemed to flummox him. “I would never do that.”
    She pinned him
with a look of disbelief. “You left in such a hurry you forgot your cane.”
    Richard
scowled. Damn it, he should have realized how his speedy retreat must have
looked. Gently, he brushed his thumb over her kiss-swollen mouth. “It wasn’t a
dismissal. Never that, Jane, not after. . . . That was
not my intention.”
    “Then why did
you leave so abruptly?”
    “What
happened, afterward things became . . . complicated. It seemed best to leave
before they became more so.”
    Her lips
thinned. “Complicated. Of course. That must be avoided
at all costs, mustn’t it?”
    He didn’t know
what to say. He only knew what he wanted to do . That kiss had been
nowhere near long enough by his reckoning, nor satisfying. Indeed, it had just left him wanting more of her.
    The thought
irritated him, poked at his already low thoughts like a thorn. His feelings for
her were raw, and he had no idea what to do with them. He tried to dismiss
them, but every time he looked at her, they flooded back, stronger than before.
And while he struggled, she looked coolly collected.
    His mood
soured. Where was the infamous Wicked Widow? Why wasn’t she undressing him ? She seemed to have fewer boundaries
with other men than with him. Here they were together and alone, a perfect
opportunity to explore just how “wicked” she could be, but instead she had
tucked herself into the opposite corner, retreating once more behind that
barricade of hers.
    The thought
aggravated him even more. After he’d made love to her, he thought a few of
those fortress stones had been knocked aside. Now she looked as coolly remote
as when she’d first been in his carriage. He found it all intolerable.
    “I’ve read
about you in the paper,” he blurted. “They call you the Wicked Widow. There are
many stories. Are they true?”
    She sighed and
for a second, a look of utter fatigue washed over her face. “You believe them.”
    He met her
gaze. “No, but I wish to know the truth. I want to know everything about you.
The most recent story said you undressed a gentleman in the lobby of a hotel.”
    “I did undress a gentleman if you consider loosening a gentleman’s absurdly knotted
cravat so he didn’t choke to death an act of ‘undressing.’”
    “I thought as
much. What of the incident at Ranelagh where you
supposedly stripped bare for all to see to swim in the ornamental lake?”
    “That was the
celebration marking Napoleon’s final defeat. A young lady, who’d had a bit too
much to drink, slipped from the footbridge and fell in.”
    “And there
were no gentlemen about to help her?”
    “ Of a certainty, but I was closer.”
    “And so you
dove in yourself.” He knew now there had been no