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She stayed. “Do you want to know the real reason that my friends were staring at you like that?”
Don’t answer thatquestion...“Tell me.”
“I told them about our conversation. How you insulted my dictionary and said it wasn’t much fun.”
“I don’t think that’s the reason they stared. I think you told them that you thought about kissing me.”
“That’s preposterous. I’m not a ninnyhammer. I’ve never imagined kissing you. I’m not imagining kissing you right now.”
The last said in a husky whisper accompanied by a heated gaze upon his lips.
“You’redefinitelyimagining kissing me right now.”
“Don’t you wish that were true?”
This conversation was all kinds of wrong and veering toward wicked.
Somehow the distance between them had melted away. It would be so easy to tumble her down upon the bed and set to work destroying that carefully constructed tower of hair. His fingers itched to unravel her copper curls and test their silken texture between his fingers.
“If I kissed you right now, princess, it wouldn’t be a safe little taste. I’d kiss you so well that you’d remember it for the rest of your life.”
“Does that line usually work?”
“I’ve been remarkably successful. We all have our skills. I repair ships and houses... and I give unforgettable kisses.”
“So do I,” she whispered. “Hypothetically. But I know you would never take advantage of me.”
“How can you be so certain? You’re alone in a bedchamber with a notorious rogue.”
“A rogue with a moral code. I asked the housekeeper at Thornhill about you, and she told me thatyou were an incorrigible flirt, but an honorable one. As far as she knew, you’d debauched no innocents at the estate. Therefore, I’m quite safe with you.”
“Is that a challenge, princess?”
Damn it, he was going to have to kiss her now. He needed to kiss her so that he could forget about her. Because now, with this new episode of almost-kissing in front of a big, soft bed, he’d have fodder for years of fantasies to come.
He cupped her chin and tilted her face toward him and... the shop bell rang, a faint tinkling sound.
A warning bell.
He dropped his hand.
“We should go downstairs,” he said gruffly. “I thought the bookshop was closed.”
Her hand rested against her belly, her bosom rising and falling rapidly. “Perhaps Isobel or Viola forgot something and they are back to collect it.”
She walked swiftly to the door.
The moment was gone. The danger had been averted. He could make his escape, and not a moment too soon. What was it about this prim, bookish lady that ripped his resolve to shreds like a gale tearing at a canvas sail?
When they reached the showroom, Mrs. Kettle rushed toward them. “They just entered the shop without warning. I tried to ask them to leave, but they began walking around as if they own the place.”
“Where’s Coggins?” Lady Beatrice asked.
“He went to buy more candles,” said Mrs. Kettle, her eyes worried.
“I’ll handle this, Mrs. Kettle,” said Ford. “You may go back to the kitchens.”
Ford approached the gaunt, tall man, made even taller by a black top hat, who stood with his back to them, discussing something with a shorter man wearing workman’s coarse woolen clothing.
