Her decision made, she turned on her heel and headed back out, her steps beating a rhythmic and steady tattoo, growing stronger as the rightness of her actions reverberated through her. Just as she would have no choice tomorrow, so she had no choice now. She needed Matthew with the same urgency that she required breath in order to live. She would not consider the bittersweetness of having him once more, only to lose him. Her entire focus would be on now. Only now.

Up the street she went. Past the mews. Around the corner—

Straight into his arms. Never before had she belonged any place more than she did then, in his embrace, with her face against the soft linen of his shirt, with his heart pounding hard beneath her cheek.

“I had to put on my boots, or I would have gotten to you sooner. What happened, Fancy? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing now.” Not for hours yet, and when the wrongness arrived, she would deal with it. Leaning back slightly, she skimmed her fingers up into his hair, cradling his face between her palms. “Kiss me, Matthew. Kiss me as though it’s the first time you ever have. Kiss me as though it’s the last time you ever will.”

“Fancy—”

“Please. I need passion and fire. I need you. Only you.”

His mouth came down on hers, hard, greedily, hungrily. Yes! This. This was what she wanted, needed, required. With the first meeting of Matthew’s lips against hers, the sparks were kindled, with the full taking of her mouth the fire spread throughout her body, down to her toes, to the tips of her fingers. The heat was consuming, glorious, all-encompassing as their tongues stroked and parried. As though she were clinging ivy, she intertwined her arms around his shoulders, his neck, and his hold on her tightened as though he needed them closer as much as she did.

With a low growl, he tore his mouth from hers, lifted her into his arms, and began walking toward his residence. “We need privacy for what’s to follow.”

“Are you taking me on an adventure, Mr. Sommersby?” she asked breathlessly, gliding her fingers over every inch of him she could reach.

His chuckle was dark, muted. “That is my intention, Miss Trewlove.”

“I do so love your wicked intentions,” she whispered before circling her tongue over the shell of his ear, nipping at his lobe.