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Ford’s breathing was ragged, his mind gone blank. He hadn’t meant for this to happen, all he’d wanted to do was warn her about Mayhew, but now he had his lips inside her bodice.
He’d read her diary entry, felt the pain emblazoned in the words written by a young girl who had been ridiculed and bullied. The knowledge rolled through him like a summer squall on calm seas: this eloquent, lovely woman standing in front of him had no idea how exquisite she was.
He could show her.
He kissed the edge of her corset, touching his lips to the soft swell of her breasts. Her breathing quickened and her heart beat faster beneath his lips. Fingertips massaged the back of his neck in soft circles.
She had small breasts, perfect for her slight figure, framed by creamy silk with a pink bow in the middle and seed pearls sewn into the bodice edging, so fine, so delicate.
His fingers shook as he traced the bow.
He glanced up and she smiled at him.
That lopsided smile and the warmth in her hazel eyes was his undoing.
He tugged her bodice down, it required only a slight movement, and gorgeous nipples appeared over the edge of the silk.
Soaring cascades of tremulous notes spilled around them. The soprano sounded like she was singing about life, about death, about love.
He lowered his head and took one of her nipples between his lips, sucking gently. Her small gasp was more beautiful music than the aria.
Kissing her gave him so much pleasure, made his blood pump through his body, made him hard and ready. He felt more alive than he had in years. He had a clear and present purpose: give Beatrice pleasure. Make her body quiver and her heartbeat quicken.
Make her moan his name, the soft sound swallowed by the shimmering aria.
The last notes hovering in the air around them, fading to silence... no... just a moment longer.
She took a stuttering breath. “I—I must go.”
He helped her rearrange her bodice.
And then she was gone.
And he was back in the darkness. Adrift and alone.
Chapter Sixteen
The invitations kept arriving. Her mother was ecstatic, treating each new card that arrived as a small triumph in her grand scheme to marry Beatrice off in style.
Beatrice hadn’t anticipated that upholding her end of the bargain would make her quite this popular. Apparently the combination of dowry-plus-newly-docile was potent enough to send her straight to the top of everyone’s social calendars.
She hadn’t found any time to visit the bookshop in the last few days.
I won’t require your help,Ford had said, but she knew he hadn’t really meant it. He was there all alone, racing against a very strict deadline. He must be working night and day, repairing roof tiles and removing damaged floorboards.
She thought about him all the time.
About their kiss in the opera house. About his lips doing those wicked things. His hot breath against her skin, lips closing around her...
Don’t think about the opera.
They’d been alone in the darkness, swept away by the passionate music. He’d only done what aFord was born to do. She’d known he was a rogue, and an incorrigible flirt, when she’d hired him.
In order to maintain a proper and businesslike relationship, she must play her part more convincingly. The prim, unassailable spinster. The role she’d chosen in life.
As long as she kept any irrational desires locked away there was no reason to avoid the bookshop. Besides, she wanted to give Ford the good news. Her brother’s solicitor and Isobel had confirmed that because the property was not entailed, and because Beatrice was unmarried and had reached her majority, she owned the bookshop and could dispose of it as she pleased. Greenaway had begun drawing up the documents that would transfer the title to the ladies league for use as a clubhouse.
Perhaps Foxton had given up and moved on to another property, though she highly doubted that he would simply disappear. He owned the vacant buildings on either side of the bookshop, which could prove problematic.
