“I’ll read that one then,” he said quietly, but he dropped his voice low and deep as he stepped closer.
She pulled the book from the shelf, then handed it to him. As he took it, their fingers brushed again but this time he tightened his grip. They were in the dark, quiet second story of the library. And he ached for this woman the way he hadn’t wanted anything or anyone in ages.
What was the harm in one small kiss?
He argued that to a country woman like herself it might really mean something. But then again, she loved romance and perhaps, she wanted this stolen kiss as much as he did? Pulling her closer, he reached his other hand up to touch the velvety softness of her cheek. He skimmed his thumb over the lovely plump skin of her lower lip even as her warm breath blew across the sensitive fingertip.
Fitting her body against his, he lowered his head, reveling in the feel of her supple curves pressed against his hard angles. He couldn’t wait to find out how she’d taste.
* * *
In all her wildest imaginings, and she’d had many, Ophelia had never pictured such a perfect scenario for a first kiss. First, this wasn’t a boy from the village, or even a man from one of the local manors, but a handsome duke who’d landed on her doorstep during a storm. In addition, she and His Grace were in her favorite place in all the world, the library. Together, they were holding her most cherished story in their joined hands. His body pressed to hers and, in all her wondrous daydreams, she’d had no idea the male body would feel so…so…masculine. So hard, strong, warm to the point of near hot, and thrumming with an energy that made her pulse race.
Soft candlelight flickered about them as his warm breath, with the faintest scent of brandy and cigar, caressed her cheeks. This moment was so perfect, her hands shook with excitement as his lips descended toward hers.
Her breath came in short gasps and her heart pounded in her chest. This perfect moment was going to culminate in the most beautiful kiss. His lips touched hers, warm and firm, but oh so tender. The way his mouth moved over hers felt better than anything she’d dreamed. She held his biceps, her fingers digging into the bulging muscles to steady herself. Tingles raced through her body as he lifted his lips and then pressed them to hers again and again while sliding his hand down her neck and over her collarbone. Ophelia shivered at the light touch, goose pimples raising on her flesh. The moment was beautiful, exciting, intoxicating and she never wanted it to end.
He skimmed his fingertips over her chest, then they slid down her breast and across her nipple. The skin puckered at the touch and delightful sensations spread out from her mounded flesh but she drew back a bit, looking up into his face. His eyes were dark with his stare intent. He was even more handsome this close and yet the interaction had lost the rosy glow that had ringed the kiss moments before.
In every book she’d ever read, with every romantic kiss the hero had not slid his hand to the woman’s nipple. This wasn’t quite right.
Her mind was jelly, her knees nearly as bad, but a warning bell she couldn’t quite articulate sounded in her head. Gently, she pressed against his chest to push him back.
He slid his palm back to her shoulder and lifted his head. “That was nice,” he murmured, taking the book from her hand. “Thank you.”
Thank you? Her gaze narrowed as she looked up at him. Those might be the very last words she wanted to hear. Thank you? “You’re welcome?”
He gave her a relieved smile. “I shall enjoy the book tonight, I’m sure.” Then deliberately, he spread his fingers out on the small of her back and began leading her toward the spiral stairs. “What a delightful evening this has been.”
Perhaps it was the fact that she’d had a moment to recover from that kiss, but her mind snapped into focus. He hadn’t uttered the words I love you or even I want to marry you and certainly not I’d like to see you again. Had she kissed incorrectly? It was her first time. But she’d enjoyed the touch so much. Was it possible he hadn’t?
Surely, as a duke, he knew that a man did not go around kissing his host’s daughters unless he seriously considered marriage. But then again, he’d caressed her in a highly inappropriate way. Perhaps dukes had a different set of rules from other men? “I’m curious to know, Your Grace…” She stopped midway down the steps, keeping him from continuing down the stairs as she blocked the path. “What your plans are for tomorrow?”
He hesitated, standing on the stair above her. He towered over her but she kept her spine straight as she tilted her chin to look up at him. “I plan to continue on my journey as soon as the weather allows.”
She gasped in a sharp breath. This was exactly like the other times she’d allowed her imagination to get carried away. She’d pictured him the hero, her prince, and herself as the heroine ready for a romantic adventure. But that wasn’t what had just happened at all. She’d been just a rainy night’s distraction for him. Her heart, which had been slowly sinking back down to Earth, crashed on the floor.
Chapter Four
Chase sat in his room reading the fairy tale that Ophelia had recommended. It had to be well past midnight but tired as he was, he couldn’t sleep. The storm raged outside, battering the house with wind and rain as the ocean created a cacophony of waves. He hated the sound of an angry ocean. Memories plagued him now of his parents setting off for France. It was a short trip and he’d stayed home, due back at Oxford, but they’d promised to visit him at school once they’d returned.
Of course, he’d had three weeks before he’d had to be back. School had been an excuse to avoid the trip.
He never saw his parents again. A storm had risen in the channel passing, taking down their smaller vessel. He’d imagined a thousand times what their final moments must have been like and with each imagining, he hated the ocean a bit more. His chest was so tight, he clasped his hand over his heart. Why had he come this way at all?
But he knew. He’d set out to this party searching for something and somehow, he sensed the ocean held the answer.
Scrubbing his face, he looked down at the book in his hand. Here was a pure woman being abused by her stepmother. He could see the appeal and clearly both Mr. Moorish and his daughter had a penchant for stories. No wonder Ophelia liked this one. In the end the prince saved the girl. His mouth twisted. Had she pictured him to be her prince? What would she need to be saved from? Certainly not an abusive parent.
But still, she’d spent the rest of the evening, glaring at him as though he’d betrayed her. He likely had. He gave an audible sigh that the wind drowned out. He’d known he shouldn’t kiss a woman like her. She was too innocent, but Chase had gotten caught up in the moment too, which wasn’t like him at all. She was so beautiful, both in looks and personality, he’d wanted to steal just a small taste of that for himself. The problem was, despite how he’d dismissed her after the kiss, one taste hadn’t been nearly enough.
He scrubbed his face. A better man would just marry her after what he’d done. She was an earl’s granddaughter after all. And he doubted he’d get tired of bedding her. But then again, he was the sort of man who attended orgies, who bedded scores of women, who gambled and drank to his heart’s content. Who buried his grief over the loss of his parents in scores of meaningless sexual trysts. And Ophelia…well she was near perfect. That disappointment he’d seen in her eyes tonight after their kiss, it made him cringe to remember. Not that there was an alternative. Were he to succumb to guilt and marry a woman like her, he’d have to get used to such glances, he was bound to disappoint her.
It hadn’t always been this way. He stood, pacing the floor for about the tenth time since he’d come upstairs. He loved his parents but the world without them had been such a hard, cruel place. Yes, he had every material thing he needed to live in luxury, but his grief, the pain of losing them, had made his heart harder too. He stood at the window, tapping his foot as he stared out into the rain-soaked black night. He didn’t know if that boy was still inside him, the one who’d loved and been loved in return. Was
that what was missing?
A soft knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. “Who is it?”
“Ophelia,” a soft high voice called back.
Desire, relief, and anticipation pulsed through him as he quickly crossed the room and opened the door. She stood on the other side, her hair in a loose plait dangling over one shoulder while several tendrils floated about her face. Her cheeks held that same rosy glow, her body wrapped in a dressing gown as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said before he could hold it back. Gone was the thin veneer of calm he’d held up between them after the kiss. All the memories that had flooded him had made him raw inside.
She wrinkled her nose. “And why is that?”
He stopped, noting the jaunty angle of her jaw, the downturn of her mouth. She wasn’t here to share another kiss, that was for certain. Disappointment settled heavily in his stomach. He’d likely never admit this to anyone, but that kiss had been the best in his life. She’d fit against him the way no other woman ever had and, for a moment, he’d lost his senses and nearly confessed being in love. Which was ridiculous. He was a seasoned rake, a duke, and a debaucher of the first order. He didn’t fall in love after a single kiss. “I like the book you lent me.”
She dropped her hands and her brows raised. “Really? Is the story what’s causing you to pace so excessively? Every time I fall asleep, you start up again.”
His lips parted in surprise. “You can hear me?”
“Your room is above mine,” she answered, crossing her arms again. “I beg you, if you’re going to continue your night wandering, do so in the library.” She tapped her foot. “You’ve already stolen my first kiss, you need not also rob me of an entire night’s sleep.”
Those words hit him like a blow to the chest. That was her first kiss? Bloody hell, what would her second kiss be like? Her third? Damn, he had the distinct urge to pull her against him and find out. “My apologies for keeping you awake and for kissing you. I did not intend to steal anything. I—” He reached for her but she jerked away.
“Kindly do not touch me, Your Grace. Letting you do so is a mistake I will not make again.”
He lowered his hand, his insides twisting in regret. “You don’t think it will be a nice memory for both of us? That kiss we shared?” It would be for him. But then again, he wasn’t worth much as far as he could tell.
Her nose lifted higher into the air. “When my real Prince Charming arrives, you will be the devil he helps me overcome. He’ll be honorable and kind and surely teach me how it feels to be kissed by a man who truly values me.”
He pulled back his chin, digging his fingers into his thigh. Her words hurt more than he cared to admit, not that he didn’t deserve them. But she deserved to know the truth.
* * *
A surge of victory sang in her veins. Not every woman got the opportunity to tell the man who’d wronged her what a devil he was. She shot him another glare, sure that he’d be crestfallen from such a good put down.
Instead, he leaned casually against the frame of the door. She’d already noted that his jacket and cravat had been removed, and his shirt was undone at the neck, revealing a good bit of muscle and dark hair. The sort, she could confess, she’d like to run her fingers through. She curled her offending digits into her housecoat. She’d not touch this man ever again.
“That’s the thing that can be difficult to explain,” he said, his voice dropping lower in pitch so that his deep baritone absolutely vibrated through her. “Somehow the stolen kisses, the ones you shouldn’t have, are that much sweeter.” Then he pushed off the frame of the door and took a step closer. He didn’t touch her but he stood within an inch of her much smaller frame. His heat seeped through her clothes and she remembered the hard press of his body. She’d wager, not that she ever did, that he’d feel even better with less clothing between them.
“If you come any closer to me, I’ll scream.” Her breath hitched but it wasn’t because she was afraid. She likely should be. She was alone with a man who could ruin her or worse but somehow, she didn’t believe he’d actually hurt her. Instead, her pulse raced with excitement. Deep inside, she knew his words were the truth. He wasn’t quite her Prince Charming the way she’d first thought. There was something darker and a bit more dangerous behind his handsome charm and frankly, that bit of devil inside him was…exciting.
“There’s no need for screaming. I promise you I’ll never hurt you. Our kiss, though I am to blame, was given willingly from both parties.” He licked his lips. Not overtly, more like a nervous gesture someone did when thinking. It still made her insides pulse with desire. “All I want to say is that if you ever desire another secret kiss, one that steals your breath and curls your toes. then you find me. I’ll give you as much or as little as you wish, but give it to you I shall.”
She hadn’t realized she’d been backing up until she hit the wall behind her. Casually, he raised a hand and placed it on the plaster next to her head. Then he leaned toward her. She didn’t want him to kiss her again, she told herself. She was in search of a prince or a knight in shining armor who lifted her up out of her ordinary life and swept her into her own fairy tale of adventure and romance that settled into a binding union. One where they married and had a family but also loved each other fiercely and, in that love, had their own secret adventure. This man was no knight, she’d already learned that. The problem was, he was making her insides molten fire, burning with desire. Her chest rose and fell as he leaned close enough to nearly kiss her. “Do not touch me,” she managed to say through ragged breaths.
He frowned, one corner of his mouth drawing down. “Ophelia, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.” He pulled back a bit. “I’m simply telling you that you can trust me to obey any limits that you set forth. I liked your kiss more than I ever imagined and I’d very much like to kiss you again.” His jaw tightened a muscle twitching in his cheek. “I’m not the man to give you more but I wish—"
She lifted her eyebrows. If she were honest, she found his predatory stance rather intoxicating but that was because it was dangerous. “Back up,” she said, drawing in a long breath to steady her nerves.
He did, instantly. The ache between her legs pulsed again. Even more intoxicating than his dominant behavior was his obedience. She tried to calm her racing pulse. This was no fairy tale. What throbbed between them now was real and sharp and full of peril.
“I wish I could be the man you wanted. Good and light. A hero to carry you away…”
Ophelia gasped. How did he know what kind of man she wanted? “I never said—”
“Of course you didn’t.” He reached across the gap between them, brushing back a single lock of her hair. It slipped through his fingers. “I still know that’s what you want just as I understand I’m not the man to give it to you. That man died a long time ago.” He grimaced. “I can only give you what you see now. It isn’t much, I know, but it’s yours if you want it.”
Her brows drew together as her hand settled over her thrumming heart. Did she? In this moment, it was so difficult to tell.
Chapter Five
Every muscle in Chase’s body coiled in an anticipation, ready to spring. The kiss in the library had been satisfying in ways he couldn’t describe. It had been a soothing balm to his wounded soul. But this moment was like pouring hot coals onto a burning fire. She looked up at him, her mouth softly parted, her wide brown eyes crinkled with indecision, her chest heaving. Part of him knew that if he pushed, she’d consent. Allow him to taste her sweet strawberry nectar again.
But another part didn’t want to. Yes, he desired her, more so than he had any woman for a long time. And certainly he’d meant his offer. But he also wished she didn’t take it. He’d remember her as the one pure thing he’d touched in so long. If he sullied that now, what would he be left with, really? No wonder he hated himself. He was baiting the one good thing he’d touched in a long time to turn bad.
“So yo
u can only give me a few stolen, secret kisses? That’s it?” Her gaze had narrowed, her lips pressed into a firm line.
Good girl, he thought. He wanted to kiss her even more but he eased back a bit. “That’s right.”
“Bah,” she said, slicing her hand through the air. “Are you married?”
“No,” he returned, his fingers itching to touch her hair again. It had been so silky against the tips of his fingers.
“Deformed?” One eyebrow lifted as she stepped toward him.
He liked that comment less. “Of course not.” He clenched his fists again, fighting the urge to pull her close. To kiss her lips.
“Then you’re lying. You are capable of offering me far more.” She reached out and pushed him square in the chest. Not hard, but enough to express her irritation. But her hand stayed pressed against him with nothing but his shirt between them. “One might argue, you are honor-bound to do so unless you are physically unable.” Triumph shone in her eyes as she stopped moving forward and instead straightened her spine. “Men have married for far less than we’ve done tonight.”
He let out a rumbling sound that must have vibrated through her hand because she snatched it away. “You don’t know what you ask.”
“I didn’t ask anything.” Then she shook her head. “Never mind. I can assure you, Your Grace, that I will never seek you out for another kiss. I came up here to ask you to be quieter and now I will say my farewell to you in hopes that it is forever.”
Then she turned and started down the hall. He hated watching her walk away. It bothered him far more than he cared to admit. But she was right. It was likely best they sever their relationship now. Still, the pit of his stomach grew heavy with regret. “I’d prefer we leave each other on better terms.”
When Only An Indecent Duke Will Do (Romancing The Rake Book 1) Page 3