They were standing too close now, close enough that she could smell him, and his scent was something she did not quite recognize and made her want to lean in rather than step away.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered there. “Wandering through a strange man’s castle in your nightclothes. Do you have any sense of self-preservation?”
“With you?” The words came out breathier than she’d intended. “I thought you were a gentleman.”
His dark eyes flickered, and it made her pulse quicken. “You’ve been testing that theory rather thoroughly since we met, Lady Cressida.”
She should leave. She knew she should leave. But her feet remained rooted to the floor, her body swaying slightly toward his as though drawn by some invisible force.
Heat flooded her cheeks, but she refused to look away. “It shouldn’t be a theory, Your Grace. It should be a fact.”
His gaze traced the line of her throat, the curve of her shoulder where the shawl had slipped. “Tell me, Lady Cressida, what did you hope to find in my study? Besides books you could have requested in daylight?”
“I am being honest, Your Grace. I only needed a book because I couldn’t sleep.”
He frowned. “Why couldn’t you sleep? Is something the matter with your chambers?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?” he asked, edging closer.
“I…” She hesitated. “Well, it’s hard to fall asleep after everything that happened today, Your Grace. Not to mention I am in a stranger’s home.”
“Now you have a sense of self-preservation?”
“Why are you so determined to think the worst of me?”
His brow furrowed. “I don’t think the worst of you.”
“Then what do you think?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
For a long moment, he simply looked at her. Then he took a breath. “I think you’re the most maddening woman I’ve ever encountered. I think you’re brave to the point of foolishness and too clever for your own good. I think—” He stopped, jaw clenching.
“What?” she pressed.
“Go back to your room, Lady Cressida,” he said. Beneath the white fabric, his arms bunched as he clenched his fists.
Thunder cracked overhead, so loud the windows rattled, so close it felt as though the sky itself was splitting open.
Cressida jumped, startled, and she saw the Duke step forward, as though ready to catch her should she fall.
“It was only thunder,” he said, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it.
She nodded. “Yes. I’m all right.”
Rain battered the windows in violent waves, wind whining faintly through the old stone corridors beyond the room. The storm had swallowed the world whole; there was nothing beyond this chamber now but darkness and thunder.
And him.
The Duke still stood close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
“Good. Now, go back upstairs,” he said at last, his tone impatient, his body tensing.
For some reason, she could not force herself to step away. Perhaps because she had never heard a man sound like that before—not angry, not mocking, not flirtatious, but tempted.
“Lady Cressida…” the Duke warned.
With that, she slipped past him, rushing upstairs.
