“By all means, then. I’d be delighted to see it.”
He offered his arm, and she tucked her gloved hand into the crook of his elbow. She wondered briefly if Aslyn should accompany her, but if other people were about in the library, Lord Beresford couldn’t get up to any mischief.
As he led her up the stairs and into the hallway, she saw couples milling about, coming and going. A few acknowledged them with a nod or a smile, and she realized she was becoming more accepted. Men were now dancing with her; women were speaking with her. It seemed she was well on her way to winning them over, and yet it brought her little joy, not when her thoughts were occupied with a black-haired, green-eyed gentleman.
Beresford escorted her farther along the corridor. People were gazing at paintings or talking quietly. He turned down another hallway. No one was about, but that didn’t mean no one would be in time.
He opened a door, and she slipped into the room of shelves, books, and a musty fragrance. They were alone, but she wasn’t concerned, too enthralled by all the leather bindings. She didn’t think it was as large a library as Thorne’s, but it certainly housed a goodly amount of reading material.
“Over here,” Beresford said, leading her to a large open book that rested on a pedestal.
She approached with caution and reverence. “Oh my word.”
“TheGutenberg Bible.” His voice was low, near her ear.
“It’s beautiful.”
“There are very few remaining. It’s rare, Miss Trewlove. Like you.”
Her breath hitching, she glanced back over her shoulder. “It’s very kind of you to say so, but I’m not so rare.”
Lightly, he touched his fingers to her cheek. “But you are. And I would very much like to kiss you.”
Her gaze dropped to his lips. Not the correct plumpness, the correct shape. Not the ones she wanted pressed to hers. “That would be inappropriate, my lord.”
“Come, Miss Trewlove. We are alone. No one is to know. You are curious regarding what it might be like between us, surely.”
Three days ago, perhaps, but now she knew what she wanted. And it wasn’t an earl or a marquess or a duke. It was Matthew. “Please, don’t take offense, my lord, but actually, I’m not curious in the least.”
His brow furrowed. “That does not bode well for our marriage.”
Startled, she gave her head a little shake. “I don’t recall you asking for my hand.”
Grazing his knuckles along her cheek, his other hand landing solidly on her waist, he lowered his face until she felt his breath stirring tendrils of her hair. “But I shall, my sweet. You have won me over, Miss Trewlove. Where is the harm in a gentle pressing of our lips?”
Stunned by his declaration, she didn’t move fast enough when his mouth grazed over hers—
The click of a door had her jerking back her head. She wasn’t quite sure what she saw within the brown depths of his eyes: regret, satisfaction, embarrassment. An entire host of emotions seemed to be rolling through him as though he couldn’t quite decide what he should be feeling.
“Fancy?”
She recognized the voice. Mick. And he didn’t sound at all pleased. Placing her hands against Beresford’s chest, she shoved slightly and turned to face not only her brother but her brother-by-marriage and their host. She had a feeling that Beresford might not have been quite honest about people flitting in and out of the library. She suspected the group had sought refuge in here to get away from the crowd in order to enjoy a bit of scotch and private conversation.
“Lord Beresford was just sharing with me your wonderful rareGutenberg Bible,” she said, wishing her tone didn’t sound as though she’d been caught with her hand in the biscuit tin.
“That’s not all he was showing you,” Mick barked. “Beresford, tomorrow afternoon, my office, two. We’ll sort this matter out.”
Beresford gave a sharp bow. “Of course.”
“We can sort it now,” Fancy announced. “Nothing untoward happened.” The touch of his lips barely even registered as a kiss.
“Tellthemthat.” Mick jerked his head forward.
She swung around. Oh, good Lord! At least half a dozen people were on the terrace gawking at them through the window. She was rather certain they hadn’t been there when they’d first entered the library, but she’d been so arrested by the rare book that she’d noticed very little except it.
Based on the way Beresford had positioned himself so she was blocked from their view, they no doubt thought he’d taken advantage and she’d let him. It was bad enough to be caught alone with him, but his nearness, his lowering of his head—
It wouldn’t take much imagination to expect the worst, and the aristocracy was not lacking in imagination.
