It was as if she had burst into flame.
His tone was lazy, suggesting that for Ridgely, this attempt at seduction was minor and commonplace. She knew him for a scandalous, wicked rake. But this was the first time he had exerted his wiles upon her. She hadn’t supposed he would. Until today, their interactions had been, whilst steeped in enmity, more comprised of bickering than aught else. This was different, a heaviness between them, and she could not think she was the only one suffering from such an unbearable ache, deep inside. Surely, experienced though he was, Ridgely was similarly moved.
“Truly,” she forced herself to repeat, holding very still as his fingertips found the tensed muscles of her neck and gently massaged. “Quite unaffected.”
His head lowered, just a fraction. The duke was a tall man. He bent forward enough so that his breath coasted over her lips. Tea had never before possessed the scent of an invitation to sin.
But it did now. And she’d remember that scent, the sweet promise of it on the air, remember the heated whisper of his exhalation, the way he surrounded her, consumed her, and all with but a look and the slightest of touches.
And still, closer his face came to hers, his head angled, the magnificence of his dark eyes burning into hers, stealing the air from her lungs, it seemed. So close that he was all she could see. There was nothing but Ridgely, silhouetted by the sunlight, handsome and cunning and dissolute.
His lips were almost grazing hers. A nod of her head, and she would bring their mouths into wondrous alignment, just like their bodies.
“You’re lying,” he murmured, no accusation there. Only a knowing air.
She was. She was deceiving them both. Telling him she felt nothing, whilst telling herself she could step away at any moment. The truth was, she couldn’t. It was as if he had cast some manner of spell over her. A carnal one.
This show was likely yet another display of Ridgely’s power. Bored, handsome, powerful scoundrels were no different than cats who liked to toy with their prey before ultimately devouring them. But she would not be devoured.
Even if she wanted to be.
“I feel nothing,” she repeated lightly. “You could be a lady’s maid for all the passion you inspire within me. No, indeed. I am sorry to report that not every woman in the world wishes to fall at your feet, swooning from the mere sight of you.”
His hand was in her hair, and he was cradling her head, which felt unaccountably heavy and laden with far too many thoughts. The touch was achingly gentle. She never wanted it to end.
His smile returned. “Liar. Just as you dissembled about the books, you are lying now. I can’t trust a word that comes from that pretty little mouth of yours.”
No one had ever called her mouth pretty before. No one would have presumed to do so. She’d chased away her every suitor thus far with talk of sheep farming, beekeeping, science, and any other subject she thought might send them scampering away to find a more obliging dupe.
To her dismay, Virtue found that she liked the notion that Ridgely found her lips attractive, wrong though it was.
“You can trust these words,” she lied some more. “I’ve told you, I’m not like most ladies.” And with that resolute decree, coupled with the stern reminder that she must put thoughts of her home and her people before her own base longings, Virtue stepped away, extricating herself. “Might I have at least one of my books, Ridgely?”
There was an expression on his face she’d never seen before, and it was a dangerous one, she knew.
“No,” he said, reaching for the first button on the placket of his trousers. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m desperately in need of a change of clothes. I suggest you remove yourself from my room before you see the rest of me.”
Her eyes widened. The first button was already undone.
“You wouldn’t.”
He raised a brow, his long fingers hooking on the next fastening.
He would, she realized. And it was terrible of her, but she wanted to remain and watch. What a weak-willed disappointment she was to herself.
“Very well,” she relented, hastily backing toward the door. “I’ll go.”
His laughter followed her into the hall, which was blessedly empty, no one present to witness her utter mortification.
The beginning, she very much feared, of her fall from grace.
CHAPTER5
The hour was horrifically early—just after dawn. Standing hidden in the drapery of the portrait gallery’s alcove, Trevor shuddered. The only occasion upon which he was ordinarily awake at this time was when he had yet to go to bed. Unfortunately, however, he hadn’t spent the evening occupied by the pleasant distractions of feminine company and fine brandy.
Instead, he’d been through a fitful sleep in his chamber, tormented by the memory of how Lady Virtue Walcot had felt in his arms. Of how her luscious curves had come to life beneath his wandering hands. Of how her eyes possessed, when one looked closely enough, tiny flecks of gold that shimmered. Of how her palms had pressed against his chest along with her voluptuous breasts, and of how he had come ever so near to claiming her perfectly plump lying lips with his own.
A kiss.
