No, he didn’t think so. She loved reading, he just knew it, and readers needed comfort for long reading sessions. She’d lie back, the chaise supporting her, perhaps her slippers kicked off and knees folded under her or legs straight and ankles crossed.
His grip tightened on the book, lust blazing through him. He could just picture himself sitting at the foot of the chaise, running his hand from her ankle and up her calf. He shifted in his seat, his arousal pooling in his groin, his pulse and affected limbs now heavy, growing stiff in his breeches.
Damn it.
He directed his thoughts to something less stirring, focusing on the page of his book, but the words danced before his eyes. He shook his head and rubbed his brow. He could feel a headache coming on now that he’d sat here for so long, waiting for her to arrive, staring at the same passage of text.
He turned the page.
Densmore sauntered through the open double doors, and Patrick was almost relieved by the interruption. He was failing miserably as it was. He needed a better plan of attack.
“What are you doing?” Densmore asked.
Patrick jerked his head toward the balcony to indicate they weren’t alone.
Densmore frowned. “Are you coming to tea? Mrs. Kemp made her famous cucumber sandwiches.”
Patrick’s stomach rumbled. “In a moment.”
Densmore glanced toward the balcony. “Miss Marsden, will you join us?”
There was an aggravated huff, and then she appeared, her color high. “Thank you, but I wish to stay here where it’s quiet.”
Densmore turned back to Patrick with a raised brow. “She wishes to stay. Come along, Romeo. Your fair maiden will not come to tea or let down her hair.”
Patrick saw her smirk and turn away, retreating to her corner.
He ground his teeth, flinging a murderous glare at Densmore. “I was enjoying the quiet myself until you came along.”
They left the library.
“You’ll thank me when you leave this party with your bollocks and bachelorhood intact. What the devil do you intend to do once she warms to your charms? She’s an innocent, the marrying kind of innocent. We were invited here purposely because odds are one of us will lose his head among so many lovely women. Don’t let it be you.”
Patrick didn’t see it the same way. “Are you so averse to marriage?”
“I’m trying to keep my brother out of trouble. I don’t have the time for a wife just yet.”
“Denham is nearing thirty. He doesn’t need you to keep him on a leash. A wife might be good for him.”
“But not one of these women.”
Patrick scoffed. “You’re a snob.”
“No. It isn’t that they are poor. They need wealth and my brother doesn’t have enough to help them. Not to mention, he’s as ornery as a horny dog and about as responsible as one.”
“You don’t give him enough credit.”
Densmore twisted with a glare and then winced and cursed, holding his side. “Damn.”
“Are you injured?” Patrick frowned in concern.
“Just a bruise from boxing at Jackson’s.”
“You could use a woman’s touch then,” Patrick teased.
“I agree. But not one of these women. I prefer the touch to be lower than my rib cage.”
Patrick laughed. They entered the drawing room where the scent of tea and mouthwatering food teased his appetite.
He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and now he was ravenous. An idea struck him like a bolt to his head.
He filled a plate with sandwiches and a cup with tea, two lumps of sugar. He’d noticed that was how she’d taken it earlier that morning.
He took his little feast out of the drawing room, catching Densmore’s curious gaze as he passed. Densmore rolled his eyes and shook his head.
Patrick didn’t see the problem with what he was doing. The guests took all their meals together, so if he hadn’t eaten, neither had she.
It was common courtesy, and if she preferred to remain in the library with her precious books, then he would bring the food to her.
He understood her love for books. She was quite possibly just like him. His library was a grand room, featuring countless titles in nearly every language. His father and mother had been avid readers, and his father had traveled extensively in his youth, collecting exotic books he’d had translated at great expense.
“Knowledge is an everlasting gift. We are blessed Patrick, to be able to afford and indulge our search for knowledge.”
His father’s influence was why he so adamantly gave to St. Arthur’s Orphanage and other charities. Money was well and good, but often not spent on educating the children. So, he gave books, pencils, paper, and a chalkboard. St. Arthur’s had two classrooms now to prepare the children not just to survive but to thrive, once they left the orphanage and found good paying jobs.
To Patrick, there was no greater reward than witnessing a child’s mind grow, to see their eyes light up with understanding, with excitement.
He entered the lower floor and climbed the wrought iron spiral stairs that led to the balcony. The stairs vibrated with every step, tea splashing from the cup.
He cursed silently.
He reached the balcony, and from her position on the chaise lounge, she poked her head up, the knot of hair on top of her head bobbing and slightly crooked with sweeps of obsidian tendrils framing her face.
Above the top of her book, her eyes widened. They reminded him of deep brown smoky quartz, mysterious with a strange light that seemed to glow from within. He had a large cluster of it in his study, bought from a curiosity shop. But it did not compare to her eyes.
He caught a glimpse of her stockinged feet before they disappeared under her skirts. She straightened and kicked her legs over the side.
He bit back a smile. He knew exactly how to picture her now.
“I’ve brought sustenance.”
She snapped her book closed and tucked it behind her back. “That wasn’t necessary, but thank you.”
“You’re not hungry?”
Her eyes followed the plate of sandwiches with longing.
Triumph! I managed to do something right. Now, if only she would look at me like that.
He stopped short, setting down the tea and plate. Most of the tea now filled the saucer.
He frowned down at it.
“You didn’t need to go to such trouble,” she said.
“It’s no trouble,” he replied absently. But it was trouble. This was trouble. He needed to evaluate his motives immediately.
What was he doing here? Why was he so keen for her favor?
“Well, now that I’m sure you won’t starve, I’ll go.” He pivoted to leave.
“Wait.”
Her voiced jerked on his strings as if he were her puppet. He turned halfway and waited.
“Won’t you join me? You’ve brought enough to feed a battalion.”
He glanced down at the plate. He was hungry, starving but not for sandwiches. His focus moved to her face and desire reverberated through him like the strike of a hammer on an anvil, loud, shaking ripples of sound.
“I—no, that is, I don’t have my own tea and I’m expected back in the drawing room.”
“Oh, very well.” She leaned against the curved back of the chaise lounge and picked up a sandwich, taking a nibble of a bite.
“Right.” He backed away. “I’ll see you later.”
“No doubt you will.”
“Good day, Miss Marsden.”
“God day, my lord.
Patrick turned and retreated down the spiral staircase. He paused outside the library, leaning against the wall. He felt odd, the same frightening feeling one gets when one’s foot catches, and there is a moment of sheer panic, weightlessness, impending pain but then balance resumes. An almost fall.
He felt suspended in that in-between state.
He’d never had a woman unsettle him like this. He’d never wanted for romantic partners. Marr
iage had not been on his horizon. But…
What if this was it? What if he’d been only waiting to meet the right woman? To meet Josette Marsden?
He rubbed his chest where his heart bounded away, too fast and too hard to be ignored.
Was this fate telling him she was the one?
He pushed away from the wall. He needed to think, to move. He couldn’t go back to the drawing room now. That room was too small to contain his erratic energy. He’d go for a ride and let Densmore know why he wasn’t returning.
Chapter 5
Josie finished two of Mrs. Kemp’s delicious sandwiches and her tea before she picked up her book again.
Undressing Desire by Henry Petrov.
It was a fascinating exploration of human emotions mixed with physical responses that made up what the notion of desire was. Most of it was speculative but Josie was engrossed in the writer’s theories and beginning to form her own.
And then Lord Selhorst had interrupted her, and suddenly, a lot of what she’d been reading since yesterday made sense.
The flashes of heat through her body, the nervous thrill along her spine. How the broad stretch of his shoulders made her breathing quicken.
She desired him.
There was something unique to him that set off an instinctual answering response in her. Purely biological, since she did not harbor deeper feelings for him, nor could he feel anything for her. But he must have an interest, at least a physical one. That was why he kept coming to her. Bearing gifts, as it would seem. He was performing a mating dance, whether intentional or not, showing his worth to her, the female. Animals did it, and according to this author, humans did too. It was just much more discreet. No bright feathers or strange howling in the night.
Lord Selhorst desired her for physical copulation.
Did he know what he was doing?
He must. Men have a much better understanding of desire and arousal than women. They are never taught to shun it within themselves like females. Their baser needs are accepted, whereas females must reject theirs.
Wholly unfair, it was. If what she was reading was true, which she rather suspected it was, there was a whole world of physical sensation, pleasure, and joy that she was missing purely because of the gender she was born.
She snapped her book closed and stood, brushing the crumbs from her skirts onto the plate. Josie was not one to let a little thing like gender get in the way of her pursuit of knowledge. Luna had been right. This party was a unique opportunity but not for marriage. Josie intended to explore the intricacies of desire and physical pleasure, and now she had a partner to help her. All she had to do was find a way to approach him about the matter.
Discreetly.
And invite him to take liberties so she could see for herself where these fluttery emotions within her would lead.
But first Josie had to gain his trust. She’d pushed him away before. Now she needed him.
Josie hid her book among a set of religious texts where no one would think to find such a thing and joined the guests in the drawing room, but Lord Selhorst was not there. She joined Luna on the settee with a fresh cup of tea and sat down to wait. Josie caught Lord Densmore staring at her and raised a brow. He turned away, but then he joined her and Luna, standing on Luna’s side. He winced as he leaned on the padded arm.
“Are you all right?” Luna asked.
“I’m fine, boxing injury. ’Tis nothing.”
“Where is Lord Selhorst?” Josie blurted. “I must thank him again for his thoughtfulness in bringing me sandwiches and tea.”
Luna turned to her with surprise but Josie ignored her.
“He went for a ride,” Lord Densmore replied, his hunter green eyes focusing on her with intensity. But not the same intensity as Lord Selhorst’s blazing stares. It was different, no heat only curiosity. Interesting… What made one man desire her but not another? This whole business of attraction was much more complex than she thought.
“A ride?” she asked.
“He always travels with his horse,” Lord Densmore answered, his gaze moving to Luna.
“Oh,” she said with disappointment. Drat. I’ll have to wait now.
“Would you care to sit, my lord?” Luna asked.
He shook his head and folded his arms.
“You seem a bit peaked,” Luna whispered to him.
Josie focused on his face. He did seem a bit pale. His pupils were large in the green of his eyes, which she and Luna had read could be the result of pain.
“I assure you, I’m in the peak of my health, Miss Lunette.” He offered them a smile, but it was brittle at best.
Luna nodded, but Josie could tell by her expression she wasn’t convinced at all. Luna could sniff out weakness. She had a talent for medicine and could always tell just by looking at a person whether they felt unwell.
“Excuse me.” Lord Densmore wandered away, his gait stiff. He left the drawing room, and Josie and Luna shared a worried glance.
“That was odd,” Josie said.
“No more odd than you inquiring after Lord Selhorst. Have you decided to be friendly after all?”
More than that.
“Yes. You were right earlier. I shouldn’t let my personal prejudices get in the way of enjoying the company of others.”
“Good. I’m going to collect my shawl. It’s a bit chill in here, don’t you think?”
Josie shrugged. “I’m fine.”
Luna nodded and left Josie on the settee alone. Josie twiddled her thumbs, too engrossed in her own thoughts and ideas to converse with the other guests.
So she settled in to wait. He would have to return sometime.
Chapter 6
Maybe he was a coward, but for the rest of the day, Patrick avoided the library and any occasion that might put him in direct contact with Josette. He needed to think, but when he was near her, as previous encounters revealed, he thought less and felt entirely too much.
So he chose distance. He was not going to make the decision of his future bride lightly. He had to know these feelings would be lasting and not merely momentary lust. His memories of his mother and father were faint but they had been in love. His uncle and aunt had also been an excellent example of two people who loved and respected each other. They rubbed along perfectly.
Patrick had grown up surrounded by love, so he knew it was idiotic to assume these sudden, rabid feelings afflicting him could be love. It wasn’t as though Cupid had shot him with an arrow. He was not fanciful like that.
Choosing a wife should be done with all appropriate gravity.
But when he saw Josette, sitting across the drawing room, wavering firelight casting over her profile, he felt like he was floating. A light squall had blown in, and the rattle of a gentle rain assaulted the window, but the drawing room was cozy with heavy velvet curtains drawn over the large archway that led to the cavernous King’s Hall.
Patrick entered the drawing room and poured himself a glass of whiskey to chase away the sickly sweet taste of port in his mouth. He clung to the walls much like a wallflower, hoping no one would take notice of him. But one person did, Miss Josette. She caught his eye and much to his surprise held his gaze with something he could only describe as intent. Her gaze flicked to the curtain behind him, and he narrowed his eyes.
She wanted him to do something.
His hand brushed the thick velvety drape, the fabric warm to the touch, collecting hours of heat from the large hearth on the opposite side of the room. He felt along the curtain for the opening. After a brief glance, he stepped back and down, leaving the gilded warmth of the drawing room and emerging into the quiet chilled darkness of the King’s Hall. He turned, curious about what such a grand room would look like shrouded in darkness. He'd only ever seen it lit by hundreds if not thousands of candles and swelling with people. He surveyed the shadowed room. The intricately carved ceiling was menacing with its sharp points and black depths, like the teeth of a yawning beast. Patrick stepped into the room in wo
nder.
At his back, a wave of heat warned him that someone else had passed through the curtain. He turned, his heart in his throat, both afraid it would and wouldn't be her.
It was her.
She stepped down the three stairs, her face in shadow.
He swallowed. “I have to admit I'm surprised.”
She stepped closer and raised a brow. “You’re surprised?”
“I was under the impression you were not fond of my company,” he said.
She peered down, her eyelashes casting lacy shadows on her cheeks. “If I am to be honest, I wasn't. I was a bit intimidated by what you made me feel.”
Prickles of heat spread over his skin, and all the hairs on his body stood up. With women, Patrick always assumed at first glance that he was alone in his infatuations until proven otherwise. Was she admitting that she felt this attraction too?
“I didn't exactly make the best impression by nearly crushing you the other morning.”
She gave him a small half smile and rubbed her arms.
Was she chilled? Or was she feeling as bashful as him? He cleared his throat. “Are you cold? We can return to the drawing room if you wish.”
“I don't want to risk being overheard,” she said. “Would you…meet me in the library later after the house is quiet? I need to ask you something.”
His stomach knotted in warning, contradicting heat spreading lower in his abdomen at the simple suggestion that she wanted to be alone with him. He reined in his overeager baser demons.
“Something that can't be asked in front of anyone?”
“Exactly,” she said. She slowly raised her gaze, the dark pools of her eyes touching on him.
Cold warning echoed through him.
Is this a trap? Could she have changed her mind and decided his money was worth a lifetime of dislike? No. She wasn’t that sort of women. He didn’t know how he knew that but he was confident.
“Very well, I will meet you. And I assume we will be alone?”
“Yes,” she replied softly.
“And you are fine with that?” he asked. He wanted to be certain she knew what she wanted without reservation.
The Five Second Rule For Kissing: The Northumberland Nine Series Page 5