“Hamlet,” she said, stopping. “But that’s not a romance, it’s a tragedy. I’ve asked my father why he’d name me after such a sad character, but he’s convinced I’ll learn from her mistakes. Isn’t that odd?”
“Perhaps,” he said, paying it only half a mind. The much larger part of his brain was focused solely on the curve of her rear and the way her loose coif cascaded down her back.
“We’re back to what you might like to read.” She stopped and turned toward him.
Desire made his fist clench and he pressed the closed hand against his thigh. Had he been admiring her backside? One look at her porcelain skin and lips the color of the inside of a seashell and he never wanted to look at anything else ever again.
“What’s your favorite?” he asked. He didn’t care what book they left with. He just wanted this stolen time alone with her. She set down the candle she held and ran her finger along the spine of several books. He watched its delicate brush picturing those same fingers trailing down his bare chest.
“So many, it’s hard to choose. I like fairy tales.” She gave a long, sweet sigh that ruffled the nerves along his skin. “Cinderseat, for example. When the prince saves her from her wretched life.” She turned back to him. “It’s so wonderful.”
“I’ll read that one then,” he said quietly, but he dropped his voice low and deep as he stepped closer.
She pulled the book from the shelf, then handed it to him. As he took it, their fingers brushed again but this time he tightened his grip. They were in the dark, quiet second story of the library. And he ached for this woman the way he hadn’t wanted anything or anyone in ages.
What was the harm in one small kiss?
He argued that to a country woman like herself it might really mean something. But then again, she loved romance and perhaps, she wanted this stolen kiss as much as he did? Pulling her closer, he reached his other hand up to touch the velvety softness of her cheek. He skimmed his thumb over the lovely plump skin of her lower lip even as her warm breath blew across the sensitive fingertip.
Fitting her body against his, he lowered his head, reveling in the feel of her supple curves pressed against his hard angles. He couldn’t wait to find out how she’d taste.
* * *
In all her wildest imaginings, and she’d had many, Ophelia had never pictured such a perfect scenario for a first kiss. First, this wasn’t a boy from the village, or even a man from one of the local manors, but a handsome duke who’d landed on her doorstep during a storm. In addition, she and His Grace were in her favorite place in all the world, the library. Together, they were holding her most cherished story in their joined hands. His body pressed to hers and, in all her wondrous daydreams, she’d had no idea the male body would feel so…so…masculine. So hard, strong, warm to the point of near hot, and thrumming with an energy that made her pulse race.
Soft candlelight flickered about them as his warm breath, with the faintest scent of brandy and cigar, caressed her cheeks. This moment was so perfect, her hands shook with excitement as his lips descended toward hers.
Her breath came in short gasps and her heart pounded in her chest. This perfect moment was going to culminate in the most beautiful kiss. His lips touched hers, warm and firm, but oh so tender. The way his mouth moved over hers felt better than anything she’d dreamed. She held his biceps, her fingers digging into the bulging muscles to steady herself. Tingles raced through her body as he lifted his lips and then pressed them to hers again and again while sliding his hand down her neck and over her collarbone. Ophelia shivered at the light touch, goose pimples raising on her flesh. The moment was beautiful, exciting, intoxicating and she never wanted it to end.
He skimmed his fingertips over her chest, then they slid down her breast and across her nipple. The skin puckered at the touch and delightful sensations spread out from her mounded flesh but she drew back a bit, looking up into his face. His eyes were dark with his stare intent. He was even more handsome this close and yet the interaction had lost the rosy glow that had ringed the kiss moments before.
In every book she’d ever read, with every romantic kiss the hero had not slid his hand to the woman’s nipple. This wasn’t quite right.
Her mind was jelly, her knees nearly as bad, but a warning bell she couldn’t quite articulate sounded in her head. Gently, she pressed against his chest to push him back.
He slid his palm back to her shoulder and lifted his head. “That was nice,” he murmured, taking the book from her hand. “Thank you.”
Thank you? Her gaze narrowed as she looked up at him. Those might be the very last words she wanted to hear. Thank you? “You’re welcome?”
He gave her a relieved smile. “I shall enjoy the book tonight, I’m sure.” Then deliberately, he spread his fingers out on the small of her back and began leading her toward the spiral stairs. “What a delightful evening this has been.”
Perhaps it was the fact that she’d had a moment to recover from that kiss, but her mind snapped into focus. He hadn’t uttered the words I love you or even I want to marry you and certainly not I’d like to see you again. Had she kissed incorrectly? It was her first time. But she’d enjoyed the touch so much. Was it possible he hadn’t?
Surely, as a duke, he knew that a man did not go around kissing his host’s daughters unless he seriously considered marriage. But then again, he’d caressed her in a highly inappropriate way. Perhaps dukes had a different set of rules from other men? “I’m curious to know, Your Grace…” She stopped midway down the steps, keeping him from continuing down the stairs as she blocked the path. “What your plans are for tomorrow?”
He hesitated, standing on the stair above her. He towered over her but she kept her spine straight as she tilted her chin to look up at him. “I plan to continue on my journey as soon as the weather allows.”
She gasped in a sharp breath. This was exactly like the other times she’d allowed her imagination to get carried away. She’d pictured him the hero, her prince, and herself as the heroine ready for a romantic adventure. But that wasn’t what had just happened at all. She’d been just a rainy night’s distraction for him. Her heart, which had been slowly sinking back down to Earth, crashed on the floor.
Chapter Four
Chase sat in his room reading the fairy tale that Ophelia had recommended. It had to be well past midnight but tired as he was, he couldn’t sleep. The storm raged outside, battering the house with wind and rain as the ocean created a cacophony of waves. He hated the sound of an angry ocean. Memories plagued him now of his parents setting off for France. It was a short trip and he’d stayed home, due back at Oxford, but they’d promised to visit him at school once they’d returned.
Of course, he’d had three weeks before he’d had to be back. School had been an excuse to avoid the trip.
He never saw his parents again. A storm had risen in the channel passing, taking down their smaller vessel. He’d imagined a thousand times what their final moments must have been like and with each imagining, he hated the ocean a bit more. His chest was so tight, he clasped his hand over his heart. Why had he come this way at all?
But he knew. He’d set out to this party searching for something and somehow, he sensed the ocean held the answer.