attention.”
Stepping closer, she withdrew her hands from his grasp and pressed the soft, warm pad of her palm against his cheek. “Once Leo is settled into our new home, perhaps you could come to visit us.”
Emotion choked Mac’s throat, and he found it difficult to breathe. Again, covering her hand with his, he lifted it to his mouth and pressed his lips against its center. Her sweet scent drenched his senses. “I will come. When you’re ready, I will come.”
She rose up on her tiptoes, and he bent low. Their lips met somewhere in the middle. Pulling her close, until their bodies aligned as one, Mac exulted in the storm rushing across his senses—warmth, softness, aching heat, desire, yearning, and love. He had never experienced anything so perfect, so pure, as Amelia’s kiss.
He wanted much more from her—for them. But with Latymer in the next room, even this stolen intimacy seemed too risky. Ending their kiss, he rested his forehead against hers. “I love you, Amelia.”
This time her smile was unalloyed joy. “I love you, too, Mac. I always have and I always will.”
Her declaration wrapped around him like the warmest blanket.
The doorknocker slamming against the metal plate broke their reverie. Amelia jumped; her gaze flashed from the entry door to the drawing room.
Mac nudged her behind him before striding forward and snatching open the door. Cameron Adair stood under the portico. Tension cut deep into the thief-taker’s normally unruffled mien.
“Adair.” Mac stepped back to let him in. “What is happening?”
Rather than entering, Adair flicked his thumb over his shoulder. “Does that young man sprawled in the street belong to you?”
Mac rushed outside and Amelia followed.
“Harry!” Amelia exclaimed, seeing her young groom disheveled and trying to regain himself. “Is he all right?” she asked Charlotte Fielding, who had arrived at that moment and was in the process of helping the young man into a sitting position.
Reclining on the back of her heels, the apothecary said, “He has a nasty laceration on the back of his head. Other than a terrible headache, he’ll be fine.”
“Someone attacked you, Harry?” Amelia asked.
Harry nodded. “I’m sorry, ma’am.” He pointed down the road. “He clubbed me good and stole your horse.”
Mac stared at the boy, uncomprehending. Slowly, the unwelcome meaning behind Harry’s words registered. Mac spun around, his mind screaming in disbelief. His gaze landed on the open drawing room window, and he knew immediately what he would find. Knew it to the depths of his gut-wrenching soul.
Fury surged inside him. “Latymer!”
PART THREE
PROTECTIVE FATHER
LATYMER
5:22 a.m.
Within the next twelve hours, you’ll either die from a fever or a festered wound.
Latymer knew he had far less than the twelve hours O’Donnell had given him. The area around his gunshot wound pulsed with fiery heat, and his strength ebbed with every passing minute.
Escaping the Hunt Agency had been sheer luck. He had lulled O’Donnell into a false sense of security by feigning sleep. Then, when he’d heard the woman say a horse was out front, he’d known he had to give it a try. Not wanting to cause a sound, he’d avoided opening the window any farther. Contorting his body to slide through the narrow space had added greatly to his current agony.
Ignoring his physical discomfort, Latymer focused his sluggish thoughts on finding Giles. He had one more opportunity to do right by his son, and he’d be damned if he would fail him this time.
Up ahead, he spotted Charles Street and slowed his mount’s breakneck pace. He hoped to God, Giles had managed to find his way to Somerton’s. If he hadn’t, Latymer’s next move would become infinitely more complicated.
After turning onto Charles Street, he pulled up hard on his reins. Though dawn had yet to break, a milky gray promise of what was to come pushed against the darkness. It
Stepping closer, she withdrew her hands from his grasp and pressed the soft, warm pad of her palm against his cheek. “Once Leo is settled into our new home, perhaps you could come to visit us.”
Emotion choked Mac’s throat, and he found it difficult to breathe. Again, covering her hand with his, he lifted it to his mouth and pressed his lips against its center. Her sweet scent drenched his senses. “I will come. When you’re ready, I will come.”
She rose up on her tiptoes, and he bent low. Their lips met somewhere in the middle. Pulling her close, until their bodies aligned as one, Mac exulted in the storm rushing across his senses—warmth, softness, aching heat, desire, yearning, and love. He had never experienced anything so perfect, so pure, as Amelia’s kiss.
He wanted much more from her—for them. But with Latymer in the next room, even this stolen intimacy seemed too risky. Ending their kiss, he rested his forehead against hers. “I love you, Amelia.”
This time her smile was unalloyed joy. “I love you, too, Mac. I always have and I always will.”
Her declaration wrapped around him like the warmest blanket.
The doorknocker slamming against the metal plate broke their reverie. Amelia jumped; her gaze flashed from the entry door to the drawing room.
Mac nudged her behind him before striding forward and snatching open the door. Cameron Adair stood under the portico. Tension cut deep into the thief-taker’s normally unruffled mien.
“Adair.” Mac stepped back to let him in. “What is happening?”
Rather than entering, Adair flicked his thumb over his shoulder. “Does that young man sprawled in the street belong to you?”
Mac rushed outside and Amelia followed.
“Harry!” Amelia exclaimed, seeing her young groom disheveled and trying to regain himself. “Is he all right?” she asked Charlotte Fielding, who had arrived at that moment and was in the process of helping the young man into a sitting position.
Reclining on the back of her heels, the apothecary said, “He has a nasty laceration on the back of his head. Other than a terrible headache, he’ll be fine.”
“Someone attacked you, Harry?” Amelia asked.
Harry nodded. “I’m sorry, ma’am.” He pointed down the road. “He clubbed me good and stole your horse.”
Mac stared at the boy, uncomprehending. Slowly, the unwelcome meaning behind Harry’s words registered. Mac spun around, his mind screaming in disbelief. His gaze landed on the open drawing room window, and he knew immediately what he would find. Knew it to the depths of his gut-wrenching soul.
Fury surged inside him. “Latymer!”
PART THREE
PROTECTIVE FATHER
LATYMER
5:22 a.m.
Within the next twelve hours, you’ll either die from a fever or a festered wound.
Latymer knew he had far less than the twelve hours O’Donnell had given him. The area around his gunshot wound pulsed with fiery heat, and his strength ebbed with every passing minute.
Escaping the Hunt Agency had been sheer luck. He had lulled O’Donnell into a false sense of security by feigning sleep. Then, when he’d heard the woman say a horse was out front, he’d known he had to give it a try. Not wanting to cause a sound, he’d avoided opening the window any farther. Contorting his body to slide through the narrow space had added greatly to his current agony.
Ignoring his physical discomfort, Latymer focused his sluggish thoughts on finding Giles. He had one more opportunity to do right by his son, and he’d be damned if he would fail him this time.
Up ahead, he spotted Charles Street and slowed his mount’s breakneck pace. He hoped to God, Giles had managed to find his way to Somerton’s. If he hadn’t, Latymer’s next move would become infinitely more complicated.
After turning onto Charles Street, he pulled up hard on his reins. Though dawn had yet to break, a milky gray promise of what was to come pushed against the darkness. It
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