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Chapter 5
An oddly placed sound in the night had Christopher lowering the paper he’d been reading on early experimentation with electricity. The riveting article was forgotten as another sound rode the air. He glanced to his left and stared at his windows. The scratching sound came from there. There was a nudge, a grunt, and he belatedly realized someone was attempting to break into his townhouse through the windows by the side gardens leading to his library.
The sheer shock of it flummoxed him for precious seconds. Who would dare?
A cold chill of warning darted through him. He fleetingly considered outing the gas lamp and plunging the library into darkness. The idea was dismissed, for though the blue and silver drapes covering the windows were quite heavy, the sudden dousing of the light might shed a different hue and alert the intruder. But he carefully turned down the wick until the library was painted in more shadows than anything else. Then he moved from behind the desk, collected the poker by the dying fire, and positioned himself by the wall of bookcase far from the windows, a place with more shadows than light.
The heavy drapes parted, and a small booted foot slipped through the window with surprising stealth. The other foot came, then the firmly rounded buttocks, and slim shoulders. The hair and features were hidden by a cap and a handkerchief, which was tied around the intruder's lower mouth and knotted at the nape.
The intruder glanced around the room carefully, his gaze lingering within the dark pockets. Christopher could sense the nervousness of the lad. The burglar moved with impressive stealth over to his desk, opened the drawers and carefully searched the contents.
Christopher's heart jerked when the intruder picked up his book of erotic drawings. The pages were flipped open, and a breathy audible gasp rode the air. A sound which he’d heard a few weeks past, had been hearing in his head ever since, and now replacing every gasp he would hear. He knew what had been seen. That first page had a lady splayed on a divan, and a man knelt before her with his mouth pressed to her quim. The erotic drawings were done by him, and it was not something he made public. Instead of putting it back, a few more pages were skimmed.
It was slammed shut with such speed he almost chuckled. But he raised an eyebrow when the boy slowly opened it back - peeking at another drawing, and then several more.
Why was this person in his study…looking at his erotic drawings? Another audible gasp echoed in the room, and he could all but feel the young boy’s blush and mortification. That book held some of Christopher’s most lustful fantasies, some realized, and others were hungry dark urges he would wish to sate one day. Preferably with his duchess.
Taking another deep breath, the boy put back the book. A quick search of the other drawers revealed nothing, and the boy even took the time to glance at the article Christopher had been reading. It was interesting it did not seem as if he looked for money or valuables.
The intruder glanced about the room, his regard stopping on the ongoing chess game displayed before the sofa. He went over and bent low, assessing the placement of each piece. His clothing drew taut about his derriere as a delightful aroma filled Christopher’s nostrils. This wasn’t a boy. Only an imbecile would believe that those lovely curves, and that fragrant scent of roses belonged to a young man. It was not in him to define a woman solely by her physical charms, but Christopher would never in his lifetime forget that delectable backside—round, lush, pert, one of a kind, and he swore edible, and the breathy sounds of her gasps. After all, they’d been his companion for several weeks.
His intrepid burglar was Miss Pippa Cavanaugh. Or so the delightfully curved backside declared. He needed to confirm immediately, but he would have to tread with care. This smacked of a looming scandal of the unrecoverable type. And he felt protective of the damn, stupid girl. Her actions overwhelmed the bounds of propriety. Why would she take such a risk with a reputation already damaged?
She bent even lower, her lush backside arching even more. The handkerchief slipped, revealing the elegant curve to her jaw, the jut of her pointy chin, and those succulent lips. It was indeed Pippa Cavanaugh! A brutal shock of arousal arrowed through his body. Christopher swallowed. He hadn’t taken a lover in more than a year, but still, the quick reaction of his cock as if he were a randy lad was unpardonable. Mastering his response, he smiled without humor. It would serve her right if he kissed her senseless before the night was out.
“Oh, how clever!” she cried softly shifting to assess the board from another angle. “I wonder who your partner is. Each play is equally brilliant.”
With a low chuckle, he leaned the poker on the bookcase and stepped silently closer to her.
What she would do when he revealed himself, he could not anticipate. And he was almost startled by the mild amusement rushing through him. A slow curl of desire sped through his gut, hardening his length. He could ravish her here and now, and the world would be none the wiser.
Foolish, Miss Cavanaugh. Utterly silly and reckless.
“I play myself,” a voice drawled.
Pippa froze, the brilliance of the chess match forgotten. She didn’t dare breathe. She couldn’t breathe. The voice belonged to the duke! For no other would have a chess set in the library. Why was he at home? All research had said he would have been at his club, a place he visited every Tuesday evening for port and cigars with his cronies.
Bracing herself resolutely, she straightened and faced the voice. The sound of booted feet drifted closer, and her heart beat with such fright she almost fainted. Pippa could not believe, on her first-midnight adventure she'd been caught. Miss Tilby who'd become her friend and mentor
would be sorely disappointed.
Pippa was painfully aware she was alone with the man in his home. Rumors said he lived as a bachelor at his opulent townhouse, for his mother, the Duchess, had her own lavish abode in St. James’s Square. Pippa was frozen, trying her best to find the appropriate excuse. What would he believe?
“I believe I am in the wrong house,” she said with low huskiness, desperately hoping to disguise that she was a lady.
The man’s approach faltered, and she all but felt his amusement.
“So you meant to thieve from someone else, did you?”
“I’m not a thief,” she snapped indignantly, an odd shame burning through her.
"Just a burglar? Now, why does that make little to no sense?"
She frowned at the familiar tones.
The wick of the lamp was turned up, bathing the library in a bright, warm glow. She gasped as his features were revealed. “You!” she cried before she caught herself. She was so astonished that for a full minute she could only stare at him, her thoughts mush.
“Oh?” A mocking brow was arched. “Do we know each other?”
