Romancing the Rake: Seven Regency Romances Page 3

  “We do.” She gave him that wide, lovely smile that spoke of unreserved joy. Then she turned to her father. “Papa, His Grace would like to see the library. May I take him?”

  Her father nodded. “Excellent idea. Bring Adrianna with you.”

  Adrianna? Which one was she? He was having a difficult time keeping track of all the women but the shortest sister, a waifish blonde, rose from a chair.

  She rolled her eyes. “Papa, you know I don’t like the library. Why can’t Juliet go?”

  “Hush,” her father softly chastised. “Keep them company.” Then he brushed his hands through the air, shooing them out the door.

  Adrianna trailed behind as Ophelia linked her hand in his arm. He heard Adrianna mutter something about the most boring duke ever and he pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. Ophelia led them into the library, and even he stopped in awe. The cavernous room rose two stories with a balcony all along with second level and two spiral staircases to reach the upper books. “I’m impressed.”

  Ophelia tugged on his arm. “We’ve impressed a duke? That is something.”

  His eyes strayed to her again. He was interested in more than the library. Adrianna plopped down in a chair and leaned back, closing her eyes. “Tell me when you’re done. I’m going to nap while I wait.”

  He clenched his teeth together, a wolfish grin threatening to give away the game. Had Mr. Moorish known that his other daughter would be a lenient chaperone? How interesting. And while Ophelia was surely an innocent, he couldn’t help but want to touch her. Just a little.

  “What would you like to read?” Ophelia asked, leading him toward the spiral stairs.

  “I’m not certain,” he answered, sure he would make this meeting last as long as possible. “What are my options?”

  “Let’s begin with fiction or nonfiction,” she said, stopping once again.

  “For tonight, fiction. Something I can lose myself in and not think of what’s happening around me.”

  She cocked her head to the side, studying him for a moment. “Excellent choice. Let’s go up the stairs to where the romance and mysteries are located.” Then she slipped her hand from his arm and started up one of the spiral stairs. He followed her keenly aware of the sway of her hips. Hellfire, the woman was built for sin. He wanted to reach out and grab that tiny waist again, pull her close to his body and feel his—

  “Decision time,” she said, looking back at him over her shoulder. “Mysteries are to the left, romances to the right.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, the vision of her looking over her shoulder at him more than he could bare. Desire raged through his body, making his breeches uncomfortably tight. “Romance.”

  She gave a little gasp. “That’s my favorite too.”

  “Which Shakespeare work is Ophelia in? Remind me.” He knew, of course.

  “Hamlet,” she said, stopping. “But that’s not a romance, it’s a tragedy. I’ve asked my father why he’d name me after such a sad character, but he’s convinced I’ll learn from her mistakes. Isn’t that odd?”

  “Perhaps,” he said, paying it only half a mind. The much larger part of his brain was focused solely on the curve of her rear and the way her loose coif cascaded down her back.

  “We’re back to what you might like to read.” She stopped and turned toward him.

  Desire made his fist clench and he pressed the closed hand against his thigh. Had he been admiring her backside? One look at her porcelain skin and lips the color of the inside of a seashell and he never wanted to look at anything else ever again.

  “What’s your favorite?” he asked. He didn’t care what book they left with. He just wanted this stolen time alone with her. She set down the candle she held and ran her finger along the spine of several books. He watched its delicate brush picturing those same fingers trailing down his bare chest.

  “So many, it’s hard to choose. I like fairy tales.” She gave a long, sweet sigh that ruffled the nerves along his skin. “Cinderseat, for example. When the prince saves her from her wretched life.” She turned back to him. “It’s so wonderful.”

  “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 t
o 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—"