She shook her head, hesitating only slightly before admitting, “Architecture.”
“Which in some cases is the same thing?”
She inclined her head. “Every iron nail and wooden beam has a story.”
“You like stories?”
“I love them,” she said with fervor. “Even more than tea or architecture.”
“You primarily read novels?” he guessed.
“Novels and newspapers and anything salacious I can get my hands on. And you… read dusty old history tomes?”
He clutched his heart. “I hang on every dusty old word.”
They exchanged cautious smiles at this unexpected thread in common.
She lifted her cup. “If I’d known, I would have brought my current book. We could have made quite the cozy domestic scene.”
He shook a playful finger at her. “You can read anywhere. I won’t let you out of a conversation with me that easily.”
“Why, Mr. Medford, I was led to believe men of your type did not care to waste time with friendly conversation.”
“Men of my type?” He raised his brows. “I thought you didn’t know who I was until this week.”
She matched his arch look. “I may have heard a thing or two.”
Indeed. Now that he recalled, hadn’t she recently referred to him as the most prolific rake in all the ton? If a Londoner not knowing who Reuben Medford was when she’d first arrived at the festival was improbable, avoiding the gossip while they were both here in the same small town would be impossible.
He didn’t have to wonder what tales she’d been told. The specific stories did not matter. None of his past indiscretions or the decade-long pattern of pleasure-seeking spoke particularly well of his character as a gentleman. It was no wonder Miss Smith would be skittish.
On the other hand, she now knew the truth… and had accepted his invitation anyway.
“How intriguing that, despite my sordid history, a pretty, unmarried woman should still choose to enter my private lair with no chaperone. Spending time alone with a known rake is either very brave—”
“Or very foolhardy?”
“Or a logical strategist. If neither of us are after marriage, and you are well informed of the sorts of satisfying entertainments I traditionally offer female companions… Then why, exactly, are you here, Miss Smith? Is there something I can do for you? Something… pleasurable?”
She sipped from her tea cup, her steady gaze never leaving his.
“I can clear this table with one movement,” he offered. “There’s also a perfectly serviceable sofa in this parlor, as well as a nice, comfortable bed on the other side of that closed door.”
“I’m well aware of what you want with me. And as I told you…” She set her cup and saucer back on the table. “You’ll have to earn it.”
He reached for her hand. Slowly, to give her time to pull away. Without breaking their gaze, she allowed him to lift her soft hand in his. He brought her fingers to his lips and pressed a kiss to each one. Then he turned her hand over to expose the fluttering pulse point at her wrist. Reuben lowered his mouth to the sensitive spot. He breathed in her scent, filling his lungs with her essence, before pressing a soft kiss to the beat of her heart.
The slight catch to her breath was all the encouragement he needed.
He lifted her fingers to his own heart, drawing her closer, then cupped her cheek with his free hand and lowered his lips to hers.
The kiss was as explosive as fireworks. When Reuben had grabbed her in the garden, he’d been reaching for a ghost of the past. He hadn’t known he’d found Miss Smith instead until she’d shoved him away.
She wasn’t resisting him now. She responded to his open-mouthed kisses as though she, too, felt the same insatiable hunger that was turning him inside out.
This was what he had longed for. This was precisely who he had needed. He hadn’t known his soul was searching for Miss Smith, but now that he’d found her, Reuben was never going to—
She slipped out of his grasp and rose to her feet in one smooth movement. “Thank you for the tea, Mr. Medford. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.”
