“You are right, of course,” she agreed, doing her best to keep the emotions rioting within from her voice and expression.
He offered her his arm, his countenance impassive. “On to breakfast, Miss Hilgrove?”
How she wished he would call her Isabella.
She summoned a false smile and placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Of course.”
Chapter Fourteen
Benedict was regrettingthe haste with which he had accepted his meddlesome sister’s commandeering of the library. Not an hour into working with Isabella in his study, and all he could think about was kissing her. Touching her. Beneath the cover of his desk, he was sporting a massive cockstand.
He pored over a report of intelligence newly arrived that morning from his agents in Philadelphia. But the words were a sea of uninteresting garble beneath his distracted eyes. He blamed his lack of devotion to his duty upon the proximity in which he was currently working with the icy-blonde goddess whom he had assisted in the bath just the night before.
The woman who haunted his dreams and all his daytime thoughts too.
Her scent lingered on the air, orris root and the sweetness of the soap from her bath. She must have brought her perfume with her.Good God, it was intoxicating. Not even the steady tapping of her fingers on the keys could distract him from how badly he wanted her.
If anything, it made him want her more.
He could not seem to keep himself from stealing glances toward her, from watching her dainty fingers flying over the keys. Watching her work was erotic. Perhaps he was going mad. He was envisioning those hands on his body. Touching him. Grasping his cock. Those pink, too-wide lips of hers swallowing his cock.
It would seem the gentlemanly concern he had clung to yesterday had been diminished by a restless, fitful night during which he had been plagued by thoughts of her sleeping, just across the hall. Out of reach and yet so damned close. Worse, he was not just enthralled by her body. He did not just want her physically.
Bedding her was a secondary conquest now, falling behind the raging need to make her his in every way. To own her heart.
He could not quell the sound of self-disgust rising from his throat, half growl, half groan.
She paused, her fingers hovering over the keys as she glanced up at him. “Your Grace? Is something amiss?”
Yes. Hell, yes.Everything was amiss.
He was tired of staring at reports and pretending he gave a damn about them. He was sick to death of relying upon formality to control his need for her. Being shut up in this chamber with her, mere feet away and yet unable to touch her, was pure and utter agony.
He stood. “Something is indeed amiss, Isabella.”
She stood as well, her eyes framed by those sinfully long lashes that gave her an almost fey quality. “Have I displeased you in some way? The first report was rather cumbersome, and I needed to review it in its entirety before beginning.”
“There is nothing displeasing about you, Isabella Hilgrove,” he reassured her, his voice grim.
In truth, there was one displeasing thing about her—she was not kissing him. Mayhap two—she had invaded his space and yet remained hopelessly out of reach.
“Then do you wish to take a break?” Her eyes widened as he stalked closer. “I can ring for some tea if you would like.”
He would be damned if he would have her ringing for his tea as if she were his servant.
“I do not want tea.” What he wanted washer.
He had spent the better part of the last hour fantasizing about all the places he could have her in this very room. Upon his desk. She could ride him while he was seated in his chair. Against the bookshelves lining the wall. On the rug. The possibilities were endless. The torture was undeniable.
Her lips parted. It had been too long since he had kissed her. Days had passed.Days.
“I do not want tea either, Your Grace,” she said, her voice deliciously breathless.
She was not as unaffected as she pretended.
Thank fuck.
“Excellent.” Barely restraining the urge to pull her into his arms, he stalked past her. “Perhaps a break is in order, do you not think, Miss Hilgrove?”
