It had taken years for people to stop calling him the forlorn duke afterward. Of course, nowadays they more often referred to him as the indecent duke, but that he could live with. He’d earned that title after years of debaucherous behavior. Sometimes he wondered if behaving badly was all he was good at.
He gave her waist a small squeeze, wishing that he could pull her close. She had a slightly sweet scent like strawberries warmed in the summer sun and he wondered how she’d taste.
The song ended all too soon and he was obligated to dance with her other sisters. Normally, he would have appreciated each one of them for their attributes but he couldn’t see anyone but Ophelia tonight. She’d entranced him with her beauty and charm. As the evening grew later, he’d wondered how he’d ever sleep. Between the weather and the storm Ophelia was creating in his head, he’d be up all night at this rate.
“Tell me.” He leaned over toward Ophelia, a bit of a plan hatching in his brain. “You said that you and your father are avid readers. Is there a library in your fine home? I fancy some reading before bed.”
“We do.” She gave him that wide, lovely smile that spoke of unreserved joy. Then she turned to her father. “Papa, His Grace would like to see the library. May I take him?”
Her father nodded. “Excellent idea. Bring Adrianna with you.”
Adrianna? Which one was she? He was having a difficult time keeping track of all the women but the shortest sister, a waifish blonde, rose from a chair.
She rolled her eyes. “Papa, you know I don’t like the library. Why can’t Juliet go?”
“Hush,” her father softly chastised. “Keep them company.” Then he brushed his hands through the air, shooing them out the door.
Adrianna trailed behind as Ophelia linked her hand in his arm. He heard Adrianna mutter something about the most boring duke ever and he pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. Ophelia led them into the library, and even he stopped in awe. The cavernous room rose two stories with a balcony all along with second level and two spiral staircases to reach the upper books. “I’m impressed.”
Ophelia tugged on his arm. “We’ve impressed a duke? That is something.”
His eyes strayed to her again. He was interested in more than the library. Adrianna plopped down in a chair and leaned back, closing her eyes. “Tell me when you’re done. I’m going to nap while I wait.”
He clenched his teeth together, a wolfish grin threatening to give away the game. Had Mr. Moorish known that his other daughter would be a lenient chaperone? How interesting. And while Ophelia was surely an innocent, he couldn’t help but want to touch her. Just a little.
“What would you like to read?” Ophelia asked, leading him toward the spiral stairs.
“I’m not certain,” he answered, sure he would make this meeting last as long as possible. “What are my options?”
“Let’s begin with fiction or nonfiction,” she said, stopping once again.
“For tonight, fiction. Something I can lose myself in and not think of what’s happening around me.”
She cocked her head to the side, studying him for a moment. “Excellent choice. Let’s go up the stairs to where the romance and mysteries are located.” Then she slipped her hand from his arm and started up one of the spiral stairs. He followed her keenly aware of the sway of her hips. Hellfire, the woman was built for sin. He wanted to reach out and grab that tiny waist again, pull her close to his body and feel his—
“Decision time,” she said, looking back at him over her shoulder. “Mysteries are to the left, romances to the right.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, the vision of her looking over her shoulder at him more than he could bare. Desire raged through his body, making his breeches uncomfortably tight. “Romance.”
She gave a little gasp. “That’s my favorite too.”
“Which Shakespeare work is Ophelia in? Remind me.” He knew, of course.
“Hamlet,” she said, stopping. “But that’s not a romance, it’s a tragedy. I’ve asked my father why he’d name me after such a sad character, but he’s convinced I’ll learn from her mistakes. Isn’t that odd?”
“Perhaps,” he said, paying it only half a mind. The much larger part of his brain was focused solely on the curve of her rear and the way her loose coif cascaded down her back.
“We’re back to what you might like to read.” She stopped and turned toward him.
Desire made his fist clench and he pressed the closed hand against his thigh. Had he been admiring her backside? One look at her porcelain skin and lips the color of the inside of a seashell and he never wanted to look at anything else ever again.
“What’s your favorite?” he asked. He didn’t care what book they left with. He just wanted this stolen time alone with her. She set down the candle she held and ran her finger along the spine of several books. He watched its delicate brush picturing those same fingers trailing down his bare chest.
“So many, it’s hard to choose. I like fairy tales.” She gave a long, sweet sigh that ruffled the nerves along his skin. “Cinderseat, for example. When the prince saves her from her wretched life.” She turned back to him. “It’s so wonderful.”
“I’ll read that one then,” he said quietly, but he dropped his voice low and deep as he stepped closer.
She pulled the book from the shelf, then handed it to him. As he took it, their fingers brushed again but this time he tightened his grip. They were in the dark, quiet second story of the library. And he ached for this woman the way he hadn’t wanted anything or anyone in ages.
What was the harm in one small kiss?
He argued that to a country woman like herself it might really mean something. But then again, she loved romance and perhaps, she wanted this stolen kiss as much as he did? Pulling her closer, he reached his other hand up to touch the velvety softness of her cheek. He skimmed his thumb over the lovely plump skin of her lower lip even as her warm breath blew across the sensitive fingertip.
Fitting her body against his, he lowered his head, reveling in the feel of her supple curves pressed against his hard angles. He couldn’t wait to find out how she’d taste.
In all her wildest imaginings, and she’d had many, Ophelia had never pictured such a perfect scenario for a first kiss. First, this wasn’t a boy from the village, or even a man from one of the local manors, but a handsome duke who’d landed on her doorstep during a storm. In addition, she and His Grace were in her favorite place in all the world, the library. Together, they were holding her most cherished story in their joined hands. His body pressed to hers and, in all her wondrous daydreams, she’d had no idea the male body would feel so…so…masculine. So hard, strong, warm to the point of near hot, and thrumming with an energy that made her pulse race.
Soft candlelight flickered about them as his warm breath, with the faintest scent of brandy and cigar, caressed her cheeks. This moment was so perfect, her hands shook with excitement as his lips descended toward hers.
Her breath came in short gasps and her heart pounded in her chest. This perfect moment was going to culminate in the most beautiful kiss. His lips touched hers, warm and firm, but oh so tender. The way his mouth moved over hers felt better than anything she’d dreamed. She held his biceps, her fingers digging into the bulging muscles to steady herself. Tingles raced through her body as he lifted his lips and then pressed them to hers again and again while sliding his hand down her neck and over her collarbone. Ophelia shivered at the light touch, goose pimples raising on her flesh. The moment was beautiful, exciting, intoxicating and she never wanted it to end.