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Her delicate innuendo wasn’t lost on him, but it didn’t apply in this case. He finished off his whisky with a long swallow and stood. “It was a mistake for me to come here.”
She also stood, depositing her glass on the low table between them as she did so. “Where are you going?”
He hadn’t thought that far. Part of him wanted to hunt down all the men who’d clogged Nora’s dance card tonight and thrash them. Of course he wouldn’t. Besides, he’d already drawn enough notice by going to that damned ball in the first place. Why had he done that? Because he’d wanted to see Nora. Needed to. After their kiss, he’d been utterly consumed with thoughts of her.
Isabelle came around the table and stood before him. She touched his chest, gingerly at first, then pressing her palm against his coat. “You could stay.”
He put his hand over hers and gently guided it away from him. “Thank you, but no. I think you should take a new protector. I’ll take care of you until you find one.”
She pouted, but in a thoroughly attractive fashion, as if she’d perfected the expression through years of practice. “I would rather keep you.”
“I’m afraid that is not an option. I am sorry.” He moved away from her and walked to the doorway to the hall.
“I’m sorry too. She’s a lucky woman.”
He almost laughed. She’d been anything but. Until now. Now, she was cresting a wave that would see her settled in the life she’d always wanted. A life he wouldn’t be a part of.
Nora couldn’t sleep. She ought to be in the arms of Morpheus, but her brain simply wouldn’t turn off. She kept replaying her time at the ball with Titus. And their kiss.
She crept downstairs to the library to find a book. Maybe that would help her relax.
The opposite happened as she opened the door and froze. Titus was standing in front of the bookshelves, a glass of whisky dangling from his fingertips.
He looked at her standing on the threshold, and his eyes dipped over her. The perusal was slow, deliberate, intoxicating. “Good evening again, Miss Lockhart.”
“What are you doing here?” she blurted and immediately damned her loose tongue for the thousandth time. “I’m sure it’s none of my concern. I’ll leave you to it.” She turned, but felt the air shift. Then his hand was on her arm.
“Stay.” He often spoke in single words, yet managed to color them with such inflection that they carried far more meaning. Or so her fanciful mind believed. He said, “Stay,” but she heard warmth and something more—something beyond a simple invitation. Something akin to what she felt: need.
She tilted her head and looked down at where his fingers caressed the sleeve of her night robe. She realized she was barely garbed. This was beyond scandalous.
She turned toward him. “I should not.”
He shrugged. “No one will know.” He glanced down at the glass in his other hand. “Would you care for a drink?”
She looked up into his eyes. “That is hardly appropriate.”
“Nothing about this is, so why should we care?” He gently tugged her farther into the room and then left her briefly to close the door. No, there was absolutely nothing appropriate about any of this. She ought to leave, but she simply couldn’t. She wanted this moment for herself. Certainly she’d earned it.
“Whisky?” she asked.
“Yes.” He went to the sideboard. “Is that all right, or would you prefer sherry?”
Sherry was the more feminine choice, but she’d sampled whisky with her father a time or two. “I should say sherry, but I believe I’ll take whisky.”
He chuckled. She loved that sound. Not just because it was a delicious blend of dark and intoxicating but because she was fairly certain he didn’t do it in front of most people. She’d somehow breached his outer wall. It was a singular thrill.
He handed her the glass, and their fingers briefly touched. Their eyes connected, but that was also far too brief. He went back to the bookshelf. “To answer your question, I came to get a book.”
She sipped from the glass and stifled a sputter as the fiery liquid burned over her tongue and awakened her senses. “You don’t have books?”
He turned to look at her. “Of course I do. I’ve simply read them all.”
“All of them?”
He gestured toward the bookshelf. “And unfortunately nearly all of these.”
“What of your library at Lakemoor? Have you read all of those too?”
