Not that she had any plans to allow him to reach journey’s end. They could only engage in the beginning, the start of the trek. As long as he was asking permission, and she remained in control, but every nerve ending, every muscle, every inch of flesh screamed for her to give in, to relinquish her hold on remaining proper and above reproach, to allow him to carry her to the ultimate climax. Her mewling grew louder, her sighs higher in pitch. She was fairly squealing with abandon.

A screech and hiss—

“God’s teeth!”

His mouth was no longer working its magic over her breast, and she jerked out of her wondrous state as reality crashed in on her in the form of Dickens crawling onto her lap, seeming to claim her as his. As much as she loved him, at that particular moment she was a bit put out at him for his intrusion.

Shaking his hand, Mr. Sommersby moved back slightly.

“Did he claw you?”

“Poked me. Didn’t break the skin.”

“I’m so sorry.” Lifting her cat, she gazed into the slumberous green eyes. “Bad Dickens.” Then she set him aside on the counter, where he promptly leapt down and wandered off. “Let me see your hand.”

“It’s fine.” Leaning in, he peppered kisses over her sensitive flesh before tucking her breast back into her clothing.

She could sense his retreat, and wicked girl that she was, she wanted him to remain. “You’ve left one completely unattended.”

She could scarcely believe she’d been so bold as to utter such a thing.

He lifted his gaze to hers, one corner of his mouth curling up into an ironic grin. “Yes, but things are likely to get out of hand if I don’t stop now. Your cat very likely saved your virtue.”

“Why did you even begin it?”

“Because I spent the better part of my night imagining some lord luring you into a garden and doing just this. Because I want you, Fancy, but I like you far too much to ruin you for anyone else, not when your Season has only just begun.”

Taking a small step back, he placed his hands on her waist, brought her down to the floor, and cradled her cheek. “Are you still intent on securing a lord as a husband?”

“My family will be devastated if I don’t marry into the nobility.”

“Perhaps you should consider what you want.”

“I want them to be proud of me. I want all the effort and coins they’ve put into me not to have been for naught. Perhaps at the next ball, some fellow will dance with me of his own accord—and the rest will follow suit. Thank you for the waltz. It was a lovely way to end the evening.”