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Scrubbing his face, he looked down at the book in his hand. Here was a pure woman being abused by her stepmother. He could see the appeal and clearly both Mr. Moorish and his daughter had a penchant for stories. No wonder Ophelia liked this one. In the end the prince saved the girl. His mouth twisted. Had she pictured him to be her prince? What would she need to be saved from? Certainly not an abusive parent.
But still, she’d spent the rest of the evening, glaring at him as though he’d betrayed her. He likely had. He gave an audible sigh that the wind drowned out. He’d known he shouldn’t kiss a woman like her. She was too innocent, but Chase had gotten caught up in the moment too, which wasn’t like him at all. She was so beautiful, both in looks and personality, he’d wanted to steal just a small taste of that for himself. The problem was, despite how he’d dismissed her after the kiss, one taste hadn’t been nearly enough.
He scrubbed his face. A better man would just marry her after what he’d done. She was an earl’s granddaughter after all. And he doubted he’d get tired of bedding her. But then again, he was the sort of man who attended orgies, who bedded scores of women, who gambled and drank to his heart’s content. Who buried his grief over the loss of his parents in scores of meaningless sexual trysts. And Ophelia…well she was near perfect. That disappointment he’d seen in her eyes tonight after their kiss, it made him cringe to remember. Not that there was an alternative. Were he to succumb to guilt and marry a woman like her, he’d have to get used to such glances, he was bound to disappoint her.
It hadn’t always been this way. He stood, pacing the floor for about the tenth time since he’d come upstairs. He loved his parents but the world without them had been such a hard, cruel place. Yes, he had every material thing he needed to live in luxury, but his grief, the pain of losing them, had made his heart harder too. He stood at the window, tapping his foot as he stared out into the rain-soaked black night. He didn’t know if that boy was still inside him, the one who’d loved and been loved in return. Was
that what was missing?
A soft knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. “Who is it?”
“Ophelia,” a soft high voice called back.
Desire, relief, and anticipation pulsed through him as he quickly crossed the room and opened the door. She stood on the other side, her hair in a loose plait dangling over one shoulder while several tendrils floated about her face. Her cheeks held that same rosy glow, her body wrapped in a dressing gown as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said before he could hold it back. Gone was the thin veneer of calm he’d held up between them after the kiss. All the memories that had flooded him had made him raw inside.
She wrinkled her nose. “And why is that?”
He stopped, noting the jaunty angle of her jaw, the downturn of her mouth. She wasn’t here to share another kiss, that was for certain. Disappointment settled heavily in his stomach. He’d likely never admit this to anyone, but that kiss had been the best in his life. She’d fit against him the way no other woman ever had and, for a moment, he’d lost his senses and nearly confessed being in love. Which was ridiculous. He was a seasoned rake, a duke, and a debaucher of the first order. He didn’t fall in love after a single kiss. “I like the book you lent me.”
She dropped her hands and her brows raised. “Really? Is the story what’s causing you to pace so excessively? Every time I fall asleep, you start up again.”
His lips parted in surprise. “You can hear me?”
“Your room is above mine,” she answered, crossing her arms again. “I beg you, if you’re going to continue your night wandering, do so in the library.” She tapped her foot. “You’ve already stolen my first kiss, you need not also rob me of an entire night’s sleep.”
Those words hit him like a blow to the chest. That was her first kiss? Bloody hell, what would her second kiss be like? Her third? Damn, he had the distinct urge to pull her against him and find out. “My apologies for keeping you awake and for kissing you. I did not intend to steal anything. I—” He reached for her but she jerked away.
“Kindly do not touch me, Your Grace. Letting you do so is a mistake I will not make again.”
He lowered his hand, his insides twisting in regret. “You don’t think it will be a nice memory for both of us? That kiss we shared?” It would be for him. But then again, he wasn’t worth much as far as he could tell.
Her nose lifted higher into the air. “When my real Prince Charming arrives, you will be the devil he helps me overcome. He’ll be honorable and kind and surely teach me how it feels to be kissed by a man who truly values me.”
He pulled back his chin, digging his fingers into his thigh. Her words hurt more than he cared to admit, not that he didn’t deserve them. But she deserved to know the truth.
* * *
A surge of victory sang in her veins. Not every woman got the opportunity to tell the man who’d wronged her what a devil he was. She shot him another glare, sure that he’d be crestfallen from such a good put down.
Instead, he leaned casually against the frame of the door. She’d already noted that his jacket and cravat had been removed, and his shirt was undone at the neck, revealing a good bit of muscle and dark hair. The sort, she could confess, she’d like to run her fingers through. She curled her offending digits into her housecoat. She’d not touch this man ever again.
“That’s the thing that can be difficult to explain,” he said, his voice dropping lower in pitch so that his deep baritone absolutely vibrated through her. “Somehow the stolen kisses, the ones you shouldn’t have, are that much sweeter.” Then he pushed off the frame of the door and took a step closer. He didn’t touch her but he stood within an inch of her much smaller frame. His heat seeped through her clothes and she remembered the hard press of his body. She’d wager, not that she ever did, that he’d feel even better with less clothing between them.
“If you come any closer to me, I’ll scream.” Her breath hitched but it wasn’t because she was afraid. She likely should be. She was alone with a man who could ruin her or worse but somehow, she didn’t believe he’d actually hurt her. Instead, her pulse raced with excitement. Deep inside, she knew his words were the truth. He wasn’t quite her Prince Charming the way she’d first thought. There was something darker and a bit more dangerous behind his handsome charm and frankly, that bit of devil inside him was…exciting.
“There’s no need for screaming. I promise you I’ll never hurt you. Our kiss, though I am to blame, was given willingly from both parties.” He licked his lips. Not overtly, more like a nervous gesture someone did when thinking. It still made her insides pulse with desire. “All I want to say is that if you ever desire another secret kiss, one that steals your breath and curls your toes. then you find me. I’ll give you as much or as little as you wish, but give it to you I shall.”
She hadn’t realized she’d been backing up until she hit the wall behind her. Casually, he raised a hand and placed it on the plaster next to her head. Then he leaned toward her. She didn’t want him to kiss her again, she told herself. She was in search of a prince or a knight in shining armor who lifted her up out of her ordinary life and swept her into her own fairy tale of adventure and romance that settled into a binding union. One where they married and had a family but also loved each other fiercely and, in that love, had their own secret adventure. This man was no knight, she’d already learned that. The problem was, he was making her insides molten fire, burning with desire. Her chest rose and fell as he leaned close enough to nearly kiss her. “Do not touch me,” she managed to say through ragged breaths.
He frowned, one corner of his mouth drawing down. “Ophelia, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.” He pulled back a bit. “I’m simply telling you that you can trust me to obey any limits that you set forth. I liked your kiss more than I ever imagined and I’d very much like to kiss you again.” His jaw tightened a muscle twitching in his cheek. “I’m not the man to give you more but I wish—"
She lifted her eyebrows. If she were honest, she found his predatory stance rather intoxicating but that was because it was dangerous. “Back up,” she said, drawing in a long breath to steady her nerves.
He did, instantly. The ache between her legs pulsed again. Even more intoxicating than his dominant behavior was his obedience. She tried to calm her racing pulse. This was no fairy tale. What throbbed between them now was real and sharp and full of peril.
“I wish I could be the man you wanted. Good and light. A hero to carry you away…”
Ophelia gasped. How did he know what kind of man she wanted? “I never said—”
