He was beside her in a second. “Are you quite all right?” he asked, his voice filled with concern. He was probably frowning too, though she wouldn’t know, since her eyes were squeezed tightly shut in a hopeless attempt to ignore him. After all, the last time he’d seen her she’d been most indecent and he’d been ... She felt the heat rise in her cheeks.
“Please go away,” she whispered.
“And leave you alone here, in distress and with no one but Mr. Browning to tend to you? Highly unlikely.”
She felt his firm hand beneath her elbow, urging her upward until she was once again standing on her own two feet. Opening her eyes with a gradual slowness, she found Anthony staring down at her with a bit too much of a twinkle in his eyes. “Whatever makes you think I need tending to? I’m not some feeble female who cannot take care of herself.”
He leaned toward her and whispered for only her to hear, “Come now, Bella, you practically swooned at the sight of me.”
Oh, God!
“Mr. Browning,” he then added before she had a chance to respond, “I shall personally see to it that Miss Chilcott here stays out of mischief and that she doesn’t meddle with your order. This way if you please, Miss Chilcott.”
With a muttered apology directed at Mr. Browning, who stood shaking his head—though he clearly lacked the nerve required to argue with a duke—Isabella allowed Anthony to lead her around the sturdy bookcases until they were shielded from anyone else who might enter the shop.
“Before we go any further,” Anthony said, lacking all indication of his jovial demeanor from a moment earlier, “I would like to express my sincerest apologies. The way I ...” He dropped his tone to a whisper. “The way I behaved toward you the other day was deplorable. Please know that there was no ill intent on my part, but that I simply got carried away. It was wrong—doubly so because I used it as a means to try and bind you to me. I’m sorry, truly I am, and can only hope that you will forgive me.”
She knew she was probably blushing from head to toe as she stared back at him. It was true that he’d taken her by surprise, but he hadn’t forced her in any way—if anything, she had encouraged him, and while she’d been angry and confused in the wake of it all, she’d had time to consider how both of them had behaved and had concluded that it would be unfair to place the blame on his shoulders alone. “We were both at fault,” she said. “So there is really nothing to forgive.”
He blinked, looking doubtful at first, but then another expression took its place, and Isabella recognized it as relief. Though she hadn’t yet admitted to herself that she loved him, she acknowledged it then, in that brief moment as he silently told her without the use of words just how worried he’d been that he’d lost her.
She was still coming to terms with the notion as he took her hand in his and raised it to his lips for a kiss. “Thank you,” he said, his voice a further reflection of his appreciation. He straightened, regarded her for a moment, then said, “Now then, why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for so I can help you find it?”
Deciding that now was as good a time as any to determine where the duke stood on women’s rights and whether or not he would consider her an equal, Isabella primly told him, “Anything really, as long as it is by Mary Wollstonecraft.”
Silence.
Isabella shifted on her feet while Anthony just stood there staring back at her, leading her to deduce that she must have truly shocked him. But, just when she thought he’d tell her not to waste her time on such nonsense, he tilted his head instead and said, “Right. Mary Wollstonecraft it is then, though I don’t believe you’ll find any of her books here. Mr. Browning doesn’t seem like the sort who’d approve.
“However, I do happen to have a copy ofA Vindication of the Rights of Womanat home. You’re welcome to borrow it if you like.” He turned and moved to the far corner of the shop, where he ran a finger along one of the shelves, stopping at a slim book bound in dark green leather. Pulling it out, he held it toward her. “How about this in the meantime—The Romance of the Forest,by Mrs. Radcliffe?”
Isabella gave him a dubious look as she reached for the book. “Isn’t she one of those Gothic novelists?”
Anthony shrugged. “I suppose you could say that, though I thoroughly enjoyed reading it myself. I’m sure you will too, for it is full of both intrigue and romance.”
And then he waggled his eyebrows in a manner so suggestive that it was impossible for Isabella not to laugh. “Very well.” She grinned. “I shall give it a try—thank you.”
He bowed slightly in acknowledgement of her thanks and said, “I do hope you’ll allow me to purchase it for you as a token of my appreciation.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Isabella said. “But not in the least bit appropriate, I’m afraid—we’re not even courting, and I couldn’t possibly accept—”
“My dear Bella,” he said in a tone so devilish that it flipped her stomach upside down. “I am well aware that we are not courting and that Mr. Roberts is the man whom you intend to marry. My feelings for you however are genuine, and consequently, I have every intention of doing what it takes to change your mind.”
Isabella’s heart knocked against her chest. She could feel her legs trembling beneath her own weight and automatically glanced around in search of a chair. She really ought to sit down before she collapsed to the floor—again. But when she turned back to gauge the distance between herself and Anthony, he was closer than before—so close she could feel his breath against her forehead. Her mouth grew dry and she reflexively licked her lips, only to catch him staring at her with that same hooded expression he’d had in the barn right before he’d kissed her.
She gasped at the thought of it. He couldn’t. No, he wouldn’t—not in the middle of a bookshop in broad daylight and for all the world to see. She squeezed her eyes shut, and the next thing she felt was his lips—not on her mouth as she had expected—but against her ear. “Do you know why I’m so determined?” he asked.
She shook her head, refusing to look at him.
“Because I want you for myself, Bella—in every conceivable way. Mind, body and soul—I want it all.”
Isabella squeaked. It really was a miracle that she was still upright, considering that her legs had long since turned to jelly. Opening her eyes a little, she was surprised to discover him gone, and she immediately hastened around to the other side of the bookcase, where she found him paying Mr. Browning for her book. His ability to distract her was nothing short of impressive, not to mention frightening; she hadn’t even realized he’d taken it.
“Now then, Miss Chilcott,” Anthony said as soon as Mr. Browning had finished wrapping the book for him. “How about a cup of tea?”
Wary of keeping his company for fear of what people might think—or worse, of gossip reaching Mr. Roberts and her parents—Isabella shook her head. “Thank you, but I really ought to be getting home.” She then headed for the door, suddenly quite desperate to get away from him.
Anthony followed her out, his hand stopping her in her path as he took hold of her arm. She spun back toward him, almost colliding with his firm chest, and it was just too much—her shortness of breath, the rapid beat of her heart, the heat that shot through her at the awareness of how she longed for him to pull her into his embrace. His effect on her was overwhelming, and she staggered backward and met his gaze, only to be stunned by the amusement she found in his eyes and the cheeky smile that played upon his lips.
