“I hated thinking of you with Lady DeMarius.”
“I can’t stand Lord Fairport,” he confessed. “The idea of you marrying him—he’s soboring.”
She laughed, and it was like the tinkling of silver bells. A sound that he wanted to hear over and over. “He is dreadfully bland.”
“It is as if blanc mange became a person.”
She shuddered. “I only remember that from when I was ill as a child. My nanny used to spoon feed it to me, but only if my fever was high.”
“Same for me,” he said. Without understanding how, he was close to her. They were standing so near that he could touch her with little effort, but he didn’t dare. And the nagging thought wouldn’t go away, of what she’d said earlier. “Why would you think of me with Lady DeMarius?”
“I pictured you kissing her,” Ophelia said, her gaze locked to his, pulling him in.
“Why would you do that?” He stared at her lips, the color of a not-quite-ripe plum.
“Because I couldn’t picture you kissing me,” she said. “I didn’t think you would want to.”
Somehow she was even closer, the heady scent of her pulling him like a magnet. “I want to,” he reassured her, without meaning to even open his mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Why?” she asked, and he noticed that her breath was faster than it ought to be when standing still.
“Because I am too old for you. Because I am a friend of your father’s.”
“You aren’t too old,” she said. And now she was gazing at his lips, and it made her near-impossible to resist.
“But I’m poor,” he said. “I’m feral.”
“Julian,” she said, and he melted at the sound of his name on her lips. “I climb mountains. I’m not an English rose.”
“You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” Julian admitted. “Watching you discuss your passion has been a privilege.”
“Julian?” Again, his name in her mouth was more than he could take.
“Yes?” Now he realized his breath was coming faster than it ought.
“Please kiss me,” Ophelia asked.
He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t resist any longer. There was no man on earth that could have. He threaded one hand along her jaw and pulled her in close, his mouth at last on hers. The feeling of her soft lips, her elegant neck pulsing beneath his fingers, it was better than he could have imagined.
She was inexperienced, but he didn’t care. She tasted wine-sweet and eager, the heat and desire melting any resolve he had. Her hands rested on his chest, and it was more than he could have hoped to have her embrace him as he held her. How could this divine creature want him? It made no sense.
He kissed her harder, and she returned the pressure, angling her head to step closer, eliminating the distance between them. Now he felt her warm body pressed along his, and the stirring in his trousers became insistent. If he didn’t stop kissing her now, he didn’t have any hope of letting her leave his room before dawn. Her tongue touched his lips, an invitation.
Instead of pulling away, he groaned and opened his mouth. He explored her lips, tangling with her tongue, enjoying the sensations far more than he had any right to. She moaned in pleasure, and it was as potent as any drug. He pushed away from her, stumbling back.
“I’m sorry,” he panted. She looked confused, her lips red and chafed from his, her blue eyes wide with shock.
“Sorry?” she repeated.
“I shouldn’t take advantage. I know better.”
She blinked rapidly. “Better than what?”
“I mean, you’ve been drinking, and you are an unmarried lady; this is very unseemly.” He ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. He was rock-hard and it was difficult to think. His instincts were howling in a way they hadn’t with Delphine. Kissing Ophelia seemed to have triggered something basic in him, some blood-deep need.
She licked her lips, and that made everything worse. And harder.
“I’m here for a reason, Julian.”
