It just didn’t make sense.
Melanie rose, determined to make yet another escape. His question felt like the reopening of an old wound.
When she rose to stand, however, the toe of her slipper caught on the hem of her gown. She felt the tugging even as she heard a sharp rip, but the sound barely registered before she stumbled, gravity pulling her forward.
The fireplace loomed closer, and her hands shot out instinctively, the faint scent of burning wood mingling with leather and parchment as she fought to regain her footing.
And just like that, she was no longer in the Fallbridge library, but dragged into the past.
Her lungs squeezed painfully.
The locked door—her father behind it. The woods. An explosion, followed by flames reaching for the sky….
Her throat burned, not from the fire, but from the screams she hadn’t been able to stop that day.
But then strong arms wrapped around her waist, twisting her in midair. Neither the ground nor the fire came up to meet her as she’d expected. Instead, a solidthud—and a body beneath her, absorbing the impact.
One hand landed flat on the hardwood, but the rest of her—surprised and quite undignified—landed on him.
She couldn’t move, too stunned by the tumble and the feel of a very masculine person beneath her. Her forehead was pressedto his chest, and through his coat, she could hear his heartbeat, steady and slow. Not like hers.
The duke.
His arms cradled her, one clasped firmly against the small of her back, the other cupping her side.
She was not in the fire. She was not at the lodge.
She was safe. The library, the ball—the duke.
Sprawled across him, his scent surrounded her, familiar from that day in the nursery, but also different. Spicier tonight.
“I’m sorry,” she finally gasped.
“Of course.” His voice rumbled from somewhere deep in his chest, the vibrations making her acutely aware of her position. “Are you?—”
“I’m fine,” she blurted, though her heart pounded in her ears. She tried to push herself up, her palms braced against his chest, but her gaze caught on his face. She couldn’t seem to look away—the rugged angles of his jaw, his lips, parted just enough for her to see the tip of his tongue, and his eyes…
“Fine?” Concern flickered in his gaze. “You nearly fell into the fire.”
Right.
“I—yes. But I?—”
“Wait… Give yourself a moment.” His arm tightened just enough to stop her, a small but deliberate pressure that sent a shiver down her spine.
And, even though she shouldn’t, shelikedit.
It took a breathless moment for her to grasp her predicament.
She wason top of him, and when she’d stepped on her gown, she’d not only torn it, but dragged her bodice down…
"Better?" His voice brushed her skin like a caress.
Her mouth opened, but no sound came. Only her thoughts, wild and stammering.
Move. Now.
Her body jolted into motion, limbs tangling as she scrambled to lift herself.
