She looked around, her lips opening and closing for a minute as if this was an odd thing to ask her.
“Well, my father likes to order me from place to place,” she said with a shrug. “Poetry has a beauty to it, too, I find. A quality that novels cannot quite capture.”
“I agree.” He nodded. “You’ll find the poetry on that top shelf there.” He pointed to a ladder nearby and a bookcase that reached particularly high. He put down his brandy glass, about to offer to climb the ladder for her, when she moved quickly without needing help. She slid the ladder into position, swept the edge of the dressing gown to the side, and climbed up the rungs.
The glimpse of ankle and calf he was afforded, the skin pale and soft in the candlelight, made him forget his words. He stared, watching her back arch as she reached up to get a book and then pull it down again. As she settled herself on her feet, he sighed with relief that she was no longer in such a tempting position.
“Who have you found?” He did his best to keep his voice level.
“William Blake,” she said with a smile as she turned the cover. “There are some of my favourites in here.” She looked ready to leave now she had her book.
Don’t go.
“You can stay here a while if you like,” he suggested, gesturing to the armchair opposite him on the other side of the fire. She looked up from the book, blushing so red that it made his heart pound in his chest.
The only other time he’d seen a woman so red in the cheeks was in the midst of pleasure when he was inside her, making her moan. The mere thought of doing the same thing to Callie and seeing her moan in such a way meant that he could no longer stop himself from hardening. He fidgeted in the chair and crossed his legs, doing his best to hide the sight from her.
“I shouldn’t,” she whispered, yet with the words, she showed no sign of leaving.
“I promise to behave.” He held his hands up in innocence. “I have behaved thus far, haven’t I?”
She smiled a little, then hurried to the seat opposite him. They stared at one another, both smiling in that firelight.
“You have behaved, other than flirting, of course.”
“You expect me not to flirt?” he asked with a chuckle. “Any man would be hard-pressed not to flirt with a woman like you, Callie.”
“Because of my dowry?” she said, her eyebrows rising high. He laughed once more, for she clearly was no fool.
“I meant because of who you are.” He deepened his voice and reached for his brandy glass, taking another sip. “You have flirted with me, too; you cannot deny it.”
She looked rather innocent as she opened the book in her lap and started to read her poetry. He watched her as her eyes darted across the page, hurrying to take in the words.
Something stirred in Marcus’ stomach. It was a longing to have more nights like this, where he didn’t have to be so alone in this room. Maybe if everything worked out between them and they did indeed marry, they could spend their nights together in here.
“You have dropped your paper, Your Grace.” She gestured down at the page on the floor. “Shouldn’t you be looking at that instead of me?”
He smiled and reached for the paper, lifting it into his lap, though he still struggled to look at anything but her.
“Do not call me ‘Your Grace,’ please,” he begged as he sat back, crossing his legs once again to make sure she could not see the full effect that she had on him.
“It is your title.”
“Yet you did not like being called ‘My Lady,’ did you?” he reminded her. She chewed her lip but seemed in no hurry to answer. “Call me Marcus. It is my name.”
“I cannot call you that!” She sat so far forward in the chair that she looked in danger of falling out. They moved closer.
“Why not?” he asked with a shrug. “If I call you Callie, then you can certainly call me Marcus.”
“I just can’t,” she said hurriedly.
“Why?” he pressed again.
She said nothing for a minute, trapped in thought, but wriggled and fidgeted so much on the very edge of her seat that her dressing gown fell open further. Quite intoxicated by the sight, his eyes wandered over her figure. The loose chemise beneath barely covered her breasts, revealing the large curve beneath. He imagined exploring beneath that chemise, wondering if she would moan and bite her lip if he touched her there.
“It’s just …” She sighed. “I have never addressed a duke by his Christian name before.”
“There’s a first for everything,” he said with a smile. At last, she smiled back, and he leaned forward again, pleased to have got his way as he rested his elbows on his knees. He was ready to talk to her about this betrothal. It had been the elephant in the room between them long enough, both of them dancing around the fact without alluding to it. Let it be now when they were completely alone and ready to talk to one another. Yes, he was certain of it, yet she leaned forward too as he did and spoke first.
