He skimmed his fingertips over her chest, then they slid down her breast and across her nipple. The skin puckered at the touch and delightful sensations spread out from her mounded flesh but she drew back a bit, looking up into his face. His eyes were dark with his stare intent. He was even more handsome this close and yet the interaction had lost the rosy glow that had ringed the kiss moments before.
In every book she’d ever read, with every romantic kiss the hero had not slid his hand to the woman’s nipple. This wasn’t quite right.
Her mind was jelly, her knees nearly as bad, but a warning bell she couldn’t quite articulate sounded in her head. Gently, she pressed against his chest to push him back.
He slid his palm back to her shoulder and lifted his head. “That was nice,” he murmured, taking the book from her hand. “Thank you.”
Thank you? Her gaze narrowed as she looked up at him. Those might be the very last words she wanted to hear. Thank you? “You’re welcome?”
He gave her a relieved smile. “I shall enjoy the book tonight, I’m sure.” Then deliberately, he spread his fingers out on the small of her back and began leading her toward the spiral stairs. “What a delightful evening this has been.”
Perhaps it was the fact that she’d had a moment to recover from that kiss, but her mind snapped into focus. He hadn’t uttered the words I love you or even I want to marry you and certainly not I’d like to see you again. Had she kissed incorrectly? It was her first time. But she’d enjoyed the touch so much. Was it possible he hadn’t?
Surely, as a duke, he knew that a man did not go around kissing his host’s daughters unless he seriously considered marriage. But then again, he’d caressed her in a highly inappropriate way. Perhaps dukes had a different set of rules from other men? “I’m curious to know, Your Grace…” She stopped midway down the steps, keeping him from continuing down the stairs as she blocked the path. “What your plans are for tomorrow?”
He hesitated, standing on the stair above her. He towered over her but she kept her spine straight as she tilted her chin to look up at him. “I plan to continue on my journey as soon as the weather allows.”
She gasped in a sharp breath. This was exactly like the other times she’d allowed her imagination to get carried away. She’d pictured him the hero, her prince, and herself as the heroine ready for a romantic adventure. But that wasn’t what had just happened at all. She’d been just a rainy night’s distraction for him. Her heart, which had been slowly sinking back down to Earth, crashed on the floor.
Chapter Four
Chase sat in his room reading the fairy tale that Ophelia had recommended. It had to be well past midnight but tired as he was, he couldn’t sleep. The storm raged outside, battering the house with wind and rain as the ocean created a cacophony of waves. He hated the sound of an angry ocean. Memories plagued him now of his parents setting off for France. It was a short trip and he’d stayed home, due back at Oxford, but they’d promised to visit him at school once they’d returned.
Of course, he’d had three weeks before he’d had to be back. School had been an excuse to avoid the trip.
He never saw his parents again. A storm had risen in the channel passing, taking down their smaller vessel. He’d imagined a thousand times what their final moments must have been like and with each imagining, he hated the ocean a bit more. His chest was so tight, he clasped his hand over his heart. Why had he come this way at all?
But he knew. He’d set out to this party searching for something and somehow, he sensed the ocean held the answer.
Scrubbing his face, he looked down at the book in his hand. Here was a pure woman being abused by her stepmother. He could see the appeal and clearly both Mr. Moorish and his daughter had a penchant for stories. No wonder Ophelia liked this one. In the end the prince saved the girl. His mouth twisted. Had she pictured him to be her prince? What would she need to be saved from? Certainly not an abusive parent.
But still, she’d spent the rest of the evening, glaring at him as though he’d betrayed her. He likely had. He gave an audible sigh that the wind drowned out. He’d known he shouldn’t kiss a woman like her. She was too innocent, but Chase had gotten caught up in the moment too, which wasn’t like him at all. She was so beautiful, both in looks and personality, he’d wanted to steal just a small taste of that for himself. The problem was, despite how he’d dismissed her after the kiss, one taste hadn’t been nearly enough.
He scrubbed his face. A better man would just marry her after what he’d done. She was an earl’s granddaughter after all. And he doubted he’d get tired of bedding her. But then again, he was the sort of man who attended orgies, who bedded scores of women, who gambled and drank to his heart’s content. Who buried his grief over the loss of his parents in scores of meaningless sexual trysts. And Ophelia…well she was near perfect. That disappointment he’d seen in her eyes tonight after their kiss, it made him cringe to remember. Not that there was an alternative. Were he to succumb to guilt and marry a woman like her, he’d have to get used to such glances, he was bound to disappoint her.
It hadn’t always been this way. He stood, pacing the floor for about the tenth time since he’d come upstairs. He loved his parents but the world without them had been such a hard, cruel place. Yes, he had every material thing he needed to live in luxury, but his grief, the pain of losing them, had made his heart harder too. He stood at the window, tapping his foot as he stared out into the rain-soaked black night. He didn’t know if that boy was still inside him, the one who’d loved and been loved in return. Was that what was missing?
A soft knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. “Who is it?”
“Ophelia,” a soft high voice called back.
Desire, relief, and anticipation pulsed through him as he quickly crossed the room and opened the door. She stood on the other side, her hair in a loose plait dangling over one shoulder while several tendrils floated about her face. Her cheeks held that same rosy glow, her body wrapped in a dressing gown as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said before he could hold it back. Gone was the thin veneer of calm he’d held up between them after the kiss. All the memories that had flooded him had made him raw inside.
She wrinkled her nose. “And why is that?”
He stopped, noting the jaunty angle of her jaw, the downturn of her mouth. She wasn’t here to share another kiss, that was for certain. Disappointment settled heavily in his stomach. He’d likely never admit this to anyone, but that kiss had been the best in his life. She’d fit against him the way no other woman ever had and, for a moment, he’d lost his senses and nearly confessed being in love. Which was ridiculous. He was a seasoned rake, a duke, and a debaucher of the first order. He didn’t fall in love after a single kiss. “I like the book you lent me.”
She dropped her hands and her brows raised. “Really? Is the story what’s causing you to pace so excessively? Every time I fall asleep, you start up again.”
His lips parted in surprise. “You can hear me?”
“Your room is above mine,” she answered, crossing her arms again. “I beg you, if you’re going to continue your night wandering, do so in the library.” She tapped her foot. “You’ve already stolen my first kiss, you need not also rob me of an entire night’s sleep.”