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“I’m not sure that means yes.” He frowned, his brows drawing together.
She shook her head. “It doesn’t.”
The frown deepened. “Are you angry that I kissed you?”
“No.” She stopped trying to pull away. “The kiss was wonderful. The single best moment of my life.” How did she explain that the kiss they’d shared held all the romance and passion she’d dreamed of, read about, wished for all her life? And his proposal was decidedly lacking in that same emotion.
“I don’t think I understand.” Then his brows lifted. “You’re upset about the party. Or about my past being so…colorful.”
She cocked her head considering his words. “Maybe. In fairness, I tend to paint my life with a romantic brush and when you left this morning…I realized this wasn’t a grand gesture on your part. But I still thought to help you with your grief. You haven’t had anyone for that.” She drew in a deep breath. “But when I learned you left me to go tup whomever you planned to tup, well…I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m not the woman for the job. I’m no match for such an experienced lord.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “You are better for the job than any woman I’ve ever met.”
That surprised her and she had to confess the tiniest seed of hope bloomed in her chest. It might be foolish on her part, likely was, but she wondered if she could help him still. And by some miracle, perhaps, in helping him, real love could develop between them. She sucked in her breath. That was an adventure of a different kind but an adventure still.
Chapter Ten
Chase sat in a dark corner of the library watching the door. Mr. Moorish hadn’t arrived home until after eleven and then he’d begged forgiveness from Chase but he was dead tired and requested they speak in the morning.
Chase had agreed.
Mr. Moorish had rubbed his eyes and muttered something about an unusual proliferation of lords.
Chase had winced and choked back a laugh in the same moment. Mr. Moorish was absolutely correct and even worse, they were lords of the worst ilk. Though, he might count himself as a recently reformed rake. He had no desire to touch anyone other than Ophelia. And he wanted to touch her often and everywhere.
Which was why he now sat in the library. He happened to know this was her favorite room and eventually she’d come in search of a book. Perhaps not tonight but as he wasn’t likely to sleep anyhow, he might as well wait on the off chance she arrived.
He should be exhausted. He’d been up most of the night last night and had travelled all day. But he’d never been less inclined to sleep in his life. Every nerve ending was ablaze as he remembered the feel of Ophelia pressed against him when she’d tripped that afternoon.
He pictured her lush lips, her sparkling eyes, the feel of her curves. While she hadn’t said yes to his proposal, she hadn’t said no either. And, former rake that he was, he had decided to use her attraction to him against her. He knew when a woman wanted him…she did…and how to touch her in all the ways that would override her better judgment.
His morals pricked at the thought. This sinful behavior was what he’d been running from most of his life. He seduced first and considered the consequences later, but in this case, he didn’t think he was being rash. The consequence was marriage to one of the most wholesome of people. Something that was sure to be good for him.
A rustling by the door pulled him from his thoughts and he sat straighter in his chair, squinting his eyes toward the entrance.
Ophelia appeared to float into the room, a gauzy night rail skimming down her body as she held a single candle aloft.
He caught his breath as he noted her loosely braided hair that cascaded over one creamy shoulder. She appeared almost magical, as though she’d risen from one of the fairy tales she loved so much and he stared in wonder as her fingertips skimmed along the spines of several books. It must be a habit of hers for he’d witnessed her do the same thing the previous night, but it was no less entrancing.
Her fingers were long and tapered, her touch exceedingly gentle, her gaze dreamy… Or was he imagining that?
He nearly laughed to himself, thinking that Ophelia was rewriting his own preferences because the library was fast becoming the most erotic place in the world.
Slowly, he pushed up from the chair. She stopped, setting down her candle and then pulling a book from the shelf. Ophelia cracked open the binding and skimmed a few pages before she put the title away again. “Which of you will help me sleep?” she asked, tilting her head up to scan the shelves.
“I will,” he answered, moving into the circle of her light the candle shown.
She gave a yelp and spun about to face him but he was quick and circled her waist with his hands to steady her.
She frowned. “You frightened me.”
“Apologies, my sweet. You told me last night to do my pacing in the library since I couldn’t sleep.” He flashed her his best smile. “I was attempting to guard your sleep.”
First surprise flitted across her features, widening her eyes, and then understanding softened them, her lips curving up into a smile. “I did say that, didn’t I?” She shook her head. “I couldn’t sleep either.”
“Why not?” He fitted her against his frame as she looked away at the shelves of books.
“It was an interesting day.”
