Her eyes fluttered open, her long, dark lashes parting to reveal the brilliance of that shocking verdant gaze. “Whitby?”
“Rhys,” he reminded her, hoping that her sleep-and-wine-dazed mind may be persuaded to eschew her infernal insistence upon adhering to formality.
A vee had formed between her brows. “Wh-where am I?”
“In the library,” he reminded her, tamping down the rising, raging urge to kiss her. “You accompanied me here after dinner, and I fear the journey left you wearier than I had realized. You fell asleep.”
“Oh dear.” Pink crept up her throat, and he longed to undo some of her buttons to see just where her flush began. “I fell asleep?”
“Indeed.” He grinned down at her. “You snore adorably, you know.”
“I snored?” Her frown deepened, lucidity returning to her eyes and her voice now as sleep rapidly fled. “And I fell asleep on you. Good heavens.Onyou.”
As if he were fashioned of flame, she jolted away from him on the Grecian couch, sliding hastily to the opposite end.
“You also drooled on me,” he added, amused by her reaction.
Clearly, her body felt more at home with him than her mind did.
Her face flamed. “I am certain I did no such thing.”
Still grinning, he tapped on the damp spot on his left lapel. “Right here.”
“I must beg your pardon.”
“You must, indeed,” he said with mock levity. “You see, it isn’t every day that a woman falls asleep on me. My pride is unutterably destroyed.”
“I thought it had already cracked and disintegrated earlier,” she pointed out, that rapier-sharp wit and tongue of hers returning.
“It is remarkably adept at restoring itself,” he quipped, enjoying himself far too much.
He would happily stay here with her all night, trading barbs and nothing more. The realization was both astonishing and alarming.
“Of course it is. You are a duke after all.”
“What does that have to do with pride?”
A small, sad smile tipped the corners of her lips upward. “You are important. A well-titled, wealthy, handsome gentleman. I have no doubt that legions of women chase after you daily.”
His mind caught on only a fraction of what she had said, because her lips were glistening and full, and he very much wanted to feel them against his, but he wouldn’t kiss her now because she had drunk too much wine and he was trying to be a gentleman, damn it.
“You think me handsome?” he asked, pleased.
“You own a mirror, do you not? Of course you must know that you are.”
“Yes, but hearing you grudgingly say it after you’ve spent the last two hours curled up to me like a kitten is more gratifying than I can possibly convey.”
His teasing words had their intended effect.
Her lips parted, her mouth forming a perfectoof indignation. “Curled up to you like a kitten?”
“A sweet kitten who has awakened and unsheathed her claws,” he drawled.
“I haven’t claws.”
“I beg to differ.”
They stared at each other, another errant strand of hair clinging to her cheek that he could not resist. Rhys slid across the couch in one swift motion, then reached out and tucked the curling tendril behind her ear. As he did so, his fingertips brushed her cheek ever so slightly.
