“Nonsense. I want to see.”
He moved forward, ending the meager distance between them, and took her forearms in a gentle grip, turning them over. Her clasped fingers unthreaded themselves, and then he was simply holding her hands in his, his thumbs tracing lightly over the pale skin and blue veins of her inner wrists.
“You see?” she asked, striving for a brisk tone. Instead, her voice was thick with an embarrassing combination of emotion and desire. “I told you no harm was done.”
“I shouldn’t have been so rough with you.” His head was bent, perilously close to hers, thumbs still swirling over her skin, doing astonishing things to her pulse. “Forgive me. I hadn’t intended to fall asleep in the library, but after Tierney sent his bodyguards over this morning, my weariness finally hit me. I couldn’t sleep in my bed, however. Not yet…”
Bodyguards? Whatever Ridgely found himself ensnared in, it was clearly dangerous.
His words trailed away, and he glanced up at her, the searing connection of his gaze on hers rendering her breathless. Was it his bare hands on hers, the maddening swirl of his thumbs against flesh she had never realized was so starving with need? Was it his mentioning of a bed, his nearness, the shock of nearly losing him?
Strange to think how dependent she was upon him. Her entire life had been at Greycote Abbey. Now that she had been plucked away from her home and everyone she had known, the Duke of Ridgely and his sister were truly all she had.
But no, it wasn’t that pointed fact which made her sway toward him now.
“You’re so soft,” he murmured, almost an accusation, though there wasn’t any sting in his voice.
She should extricate herself. Recall that Ridgely was a practiced seducer. The man who was currently withholding her books and demanding Greycote Abbey be sold and that she enter into a bloodless union with a man of his choosing.
But he was also the man who had kissed her with such sweet and tender passion. The man who touched her with gentle caresses that brought all the fire she’d never known was burning inside her to vibrant life. Who had danced with her at the ball last night with such flawless elegance.
And he was the beautiful sinner who watched her now with a dark, hooded stare. So intent upon her that she felt his gaze as if it were a touch. Felt it everywhere, from her lips to the tight buds of her nipples straining against her stays, to the heaviness in her belly and between her legs.
Longing.Forbidden and reckless, yet far too potent to resist. Of all the lures that had ever pulled her, the Duke of Ridgely was the strongest, his magnetic attraction drawing her almost against her will.
“Ridgely,” she said, half whisper, half plea.
“I was dreaming of you,” he told her, his baritone a low, pleasant rasp to her senses. “First in the night, when that bastard came into my chamber and just now, here, in the library as well.”
Dreaming of her? The intimacy of it—she’d been inhabiting his very thoughts—secretly thrilled her every bit as much as his wandering thumbs did.
Breathlessly, she asked, “What was your dream?”
“I was chasing you in a meadow. You had forget-me-nots in your hair the second time. A crown of tiny blue flowers adorning your head.”
He was serious, his expression inscrutable. The air between them seemed to vibrate with awareness.
She swallowed hard against a rising tide of yearning. “Did you catch me?”
His brow furrowed. “Never.”
But he’d caught her now. And she liked it. Didn’t wish to move and sever the contact. Not now. Perhaps not ever. Her own foolishness shocked and disappointed her.This is Ridgely, she reminded herself sternly.Be cautious where he is concerned.And yet, it mattered not. Because Ridgely had become so much more than the rakish guardian who taunted her and called her infant. He was also the first man—the only man—to ever kiss her. And he had nearly been killed. She’d almost lost him. The stark horror of what had occurred was written in the shadows in his eyes. She hated that someone had dared to enter his home with the intent of doing him harm.
“I’m so relieved you are safe,” she said on a rush. “That man—”
“Hush.” He cut off the rest of what she would have said. “I don’t want to think about him just now.”
And then slowly, his gaze never leaving hers, he lifted her wrists to his lips, delivering gentle kisses to each before moving to her palms, pressing his mouth to first one, then the other, before lowering both.
Heart beating hard, she crushed her hands into fists, as though she could keep those sweet kisses there forever. She might have asked him what hedidwant to think about. But in the next moment, his mouth was on hers. His hot, delicious lips claimed hers, bold and possessive, knowing and wicked, all at once. He took her in his arms, drawing her into the heat radiating from his tall, lean form.
He was kissing her, and it was wrong, but it was also so wickedly, deliciouslyright.
And nothing and no one else mattered just then.
* * *
Her lips wereevery bit as silken and alluring as her inner wrists. Sweet. Soft. Not for him. Forbidden. She was his ward. He should stop kissing her. Hewouldstop kissing her…
