It hadn’t worked.
Everything about her haunted him—the taste of her, the sound of her breath catching as he kissed her, the way she had whispered, “Kiss me,” like a plea and a challenge all at once.
And thatdamned confession.
“I’ve been infatuated with you for absolute ages.”
Hell.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her standing in that study, all teasing smirks and knowing glances, as if she hadn’t completely undone him.
And the worst part? He knew—knew—he couldn’t cross a certain line with her.
She wasn’t like the other women who drifted in and out of his life, leaving behind only a pleasant memory and a vague sense of amusement.
Clare was different.
She had been branded by scandal. She had been cast aside, left with nothing but her defiance and that wicked, sharp smile. He knew if he took things too far, if he went any further than kissing,shewould bear the brunt of the consequences—not him.
But none of that changed the fact that he wanted her.
Badly.
Good God. Why couldn’t he just forget it? Forget that kiss? Forget her? But he already suspected that he knew why. She’d been the one to put an end to things. She’d been the one to walk away. In the past, he’d always been the one to end things with any lady, no matter how insignificant their dalliance. He wasn’t proud of the fact that he couldn’t resist a challenge. But it was true. He needed one more kiss. One more kiss just to prove tohimself that she was merely a woman like any other. Then he would put her out of his mind forever.
But he had to move quickly. There was only one night left of the house party.
He couldn’t leave without seeing her again. To that end, he’d sent hisverydiscreet valet with a note to her room, asking her to meet him tonight in the study one last time.
And when the house finally settled into silence, when the guests had all retired to their bedchambers, he took another chance. He made his way down to the Southbury’s study.
And he waited.
Of course, he wasn’t even certain she would come. No doubt she was still hesitant to risk her reputation further. Perhaps she had decided after all that one kisswasall she wanted from him.
Perhaps she had gone to bed, completely unbothered, while he sat here like a fool, hard and aching and utterly wrecked with wanting her.
He scrubbed a hand through his hair. The clock on the mantel ticked. He didn’t even pretend to read the bloody book this time. He just sat there, staring into the fireplace, hoping with every part of himself that she was as interested in one last stolen moment with him as he was with her.
And then—finally—he heard the soft creak of the door.
He stood and turned just as Clare stepped inside the room.
And the moment she saw him, she sucked in her breath.
It was barely audible, just the faintest intake of air—but it told himeverything.
She was pleased to see him.
Good.
Because he was half-mad with wanting her.
Ash tilted his head, watching as she shut the door behind her, pressing her hands to the door behind her back.
“This is our last night,” he murmured.
Clare held his gaze, her expression unreadable—but he saw the faint flush that crept up her throat, saw the way her fingers twitched at her sides, as if resisting the urge to move toward him.
