“Miss Hilgrove, are you within? Benny, are you in there?”
Only one person would dare refer to the Duke of Westmorland as Benny, which meant the tentative female voice on the other side of the portal belonged to none other than his sister, Callie.
The duke stiffened and stepped away from Isabella with such haste, she felt momentarily bereft, even as she told herself it was for the best. She steadied herself, hands instinctively smoothing down her skirts. Oh, how she wished she did not mourn the loss of his hand on her back. Such a small gesture, an almost inconsequential touch, and yet to her it had been so much more. The lowering of his head, the nearness of his lips… No sense in fretting over any of that now.
“Go,” she whispered to him frantically, wanting him to hide himself. To keep his presence a secret from his sister. To keep this, whatever it had been, limited to the two of them. Never to be spoken of again, and never to be repeated.
It is the wine. Only the wine.
She shooed him with an incredibly rude gesture she also blamed upon the perpetually filled goblet at dinner, and then made the decision for herself. Without bothering to ascertain if he was heeding her wishes, she turned toward the door and opened it.
Her hostess stood on the threshold, her expression hesitant.
“There you are, my lady,” Isabella said, summoning a smile she hardly felt. “I do believe you sent me on a fool’s errand! There are no poetry volumes to be found within this library.”
“Oh dear.” Callie’s eyes searched the chamber behind Isabella. “I do recall a particular poetry volume within that appealed to me. Forgive me for sending you away from the company on such a lark. Will you rejoin us?”
Isabella prayed her hostess did not catch sight of Westmorland skulking about in the shadows of the private library or guess at what they had been about.
Which waswhat, precisely? She hardly knew. He had touched her back. Shared his brandy to ease her hiccups. That was all, was it not?
“Of course I will.” She feigned a smile. Fought down the dizziness that threatened. “I beg your pardon for tarrying so long.”
“My brother is not within, is he?” Callie rose on her toes, peering into the depths of the chamber over Isabella’s shoulder. “Young said he has returned, and I did not expect him so early…”
“He is not within,” she lied, leaving the library and closing the door firmly at her back.
“Of course not, my dear.” Callie gave her arm a pat. “If I had suspected he was, I never would have sent you to his library. Come, let us rejoin the others.”
“Yes,” Isabella agreed, wondering what her hostess was after. “Let us.”
One thing was certain—whatever it was, it did not bode well for her.
Chapter Five
Benedict was sufferingfrom the very devil of a headache at the moment. Not to mention he could not seem to eradicate the absurd lust he felt for Miss Isabella Hilgrove. A lust which had only been abetted by the reckless actions of his sister the evening before.
He stared down at the rashers of bacon laid out before him on the sideboard and felt slightly queasy. There were poached eggs also, and kippers as well. To say nothing of hothouse strawberries and pineapples, plump grapes, and succulent citrus from Westmorland House’s very own orangery.
He did not want to eat. All he wanted to do was rail at Callie and bed Miss Hilgrove.
Not necessarily in that order, as it happened. He would certainly prefer to bed his typist first. And often. But that was not going to happen. Because he had honor, and Miss Hilgrove would likely as soon hit him with a fire poker as allow him to so much as kiss her. Last night, he had been tempted.
Sorely tempted.
And then his sister’s untimely interruption had ruined all. Or perhaps, depending upon the manner in which one was regarding the entire affair, Callie had saved him. Either way, since she had been the cause of the initial problem by encouraging Miss Hilgrove to trespass upon his private library, she still owned much of the blame.
After all, even if she had not expected him to be at home, she knew damn well that his private library was out of her reach. He did not want Callie to cross the threshold, let alone Miss Hilgrove…
Damn.That was a lie. He wanted Miss Hilgrove in his private library. And he wanted to debauch her there. It was true. Against the shelves of books lining the walls. He could well imagine taking her there, plunging deep inside her. But that was not meant to be, of course. She was a virgin. A respectable lady. A woman of reason, as she had suggested.
And being reasonable was clearly not a gift of his, for if it were, he would not currently be lusting after the prickly proprietress. Nor would he be envisioning sliding his hands beneath her proper black gown, discovering what hid beneath her prim exterior. And neither would he have almost kissed her last night.
On a stifled groan, he placed some bacon on his plate, then added a portion of luscious fresh fruit as well to balance the decadence of the meal. He needed sustenance, it was true. Sweets and fats were the best ways to combat a stale drunk. He heaped some more fruit on his plate for good measure, and then carried all to his seat, where theTimesawaited him just as he preferred.
Keen to distract himself from unwanted thoughts, he read an article about the recent assassination attempt of a Fenian in New York City. But not even descriptions of a six-inch blade slicing through flesh with enough force to nearly sever an arm were sufficient to keep his mind from flitting back to Miss Hilgrove. To wondering what it would have been like to kiss her.
This would not do.
