He blinked, thinking he misheard. “You’re sorry?”
“Yes.” She cast her gaze down to the gloved hands in her lap. “I shouldn’t have defied you.”
Had he gone mad, or had his spitfire suddenly sputtered from a roaring flame to a dull spark?
Trevor searched her countenance with a narrow-eyed gaze, feeling oddly bereft at her hasty acquiescence. “No, you bloody well should not have. However, that has never stopped you in the past, so why should it have done now? There is only one response I can have to this latest indignation.” He paused for emphasis, allowing his words to hopefully penetrate her stubborn mind. “There will need to be a consequence stronger than the mere confiscation of your books for a fortnight and temporarily barring you from the library, as clearly that punitive action had no effect upon you whatsoever.”
Her gaze jerked back up to meet his, her eyes wide, no longer obscured by the sweep of her long, silken lashes. “There need not be further consequence. You have my promise, Ridgely, that I will never again go for a morning ride without your permission.”
“And a groom,” he reminded her.
“And a groom,” she repeated.
“Excellent.” He drummed his fingers some more. “Your mere promise, however, shall not be sufficient, I’m afraid. I had it before, and look at how easily and hastily it was broken.”
“No.” Her sudden pallor indicated her concern.
Something inside his chest shifted at that look. Softened. There was a name for it, this odd feeling, he realized.Compassion.It wasn’t his intention to punish her, nor to douse her fire. But she had been reckless, and he didn’t wish her to come to harm. His actions were for her own sake, damn it.
“Yes.” He rose from the chair, forcing himself to remain stern. “You’ve left me with no choice but to see the books consigned to a safe place until your wedding day.”
It was his only recourse. His sole means of forcing her to see reason.
She shot to her feet, a swirl of outraged blue woolen skirts pooling around her. “You cannot!”
He was grim, forcing himself to remain unmoved. “I must.”
* * *
Virtue launched herself at Ridgely.
She told herself it was in desperation.
But when she landed firmly against the forbidding wall of his hard, muscled chest, and when her hands found his broad shoulders and his arms wrapped around her in an instinctive gesture, she couldn’t deny desperation hadn’t been her sole motive. Because it also felt good being here, held close to him. Good being in his arms, his blazing warmth far more wanted than the dwindling fire’s in the grate. He smelled of shaving soap and fresh linen, with the decadent musk that always accompanied him, telling her he had been awake for some time. Had prepared his toilette, knowing he would find her slipping from her room for her morning ride. He was a worthy opponent, the Duke of Ridgely. To that end, it had finally occurred to her what she must do. How she might finally best him and prove her point, that she belonged at Greycote Abbey.
Virtue rose on her toes, as high as she could manage in her kid half-boots, the heels of which had already given her something of an advantage against his tall frame.
“My lady,” he protested sternly, as if he were scolding a troublesome child in his charge, “what do you think you are do—”
Her mouth smothered the rest of his words, effectively ending his protest.
She froze for a moment as wonderment stole over her. How forthright, to kiss him, the act requiring a daring she hadn’t thought she possessed. But she was doing it. Hadn’t had any other choice, not truly. Not that it was a difficulty, kissing a handsome man, even if he was infuriating.
Her first kiss. She’d never known the heady rush of pressing her lips to another’s. Hadn’t expected it to feel so oddly delightful. She remained as she was, holding still, her mouth aligned perfectly with his, wondering if this was how it was done. If this was all there was to it. If so, it was hardly as wicked as she had supposed.
His mouth was warm, his lips surprisingly soft. And when he breathed, it was as if she was taking his breath from him, bringing it into her lungs. What a strange intimacy. Stranger still, she rather liked it. The contact made the same dangerous yearning she’d known the day before in his chamber steal over her again. Longing simmered in her belly, a need she didn’t fully know what to do with making her aware of her own body in new ways.
She had read a great many books, most of which were not deemed suitable for the eyes of an innocent lady such as herself. Some of them had been bawdy, bearing descriptions of the carnal acts which could happen between a man and woman. Vague descriptions laden with flowery prose, it was true. None of them had successfully described the intensity of being so close to another, of having his hands on her waist, his lips on hers.
He jerked his head back suddenly, ending the contact, leaving her staring up at him, bereft.
“What was that?” he demanded, his dark eyes, almost obsidian in the glow of the candlelight, burning into hers.
She stared for a moment, looking at his mouth, thinking that she’dkissedhim. That she had settled her own lips against his. That his lower lip was fuller than she’d expected.
I kissed the Duke of Ridgely, she thought stupidly.
And then she repeated the sentiment aloud, for his edification. “It was a kiss.”
