She stared at him and he stared back, their gazes locked. A moment passed, then two, three. “My preferred genre includes all things gothic,” she suddenly blurted.
He almost laughed. It really couldn’t be helped. She was so wonderfully surprising, he probably would have kissed her again if they’d been somewhere more private. Heaven only knew he’d been able to think of little else but that one kiss they’d shared since it had happened. Her response had been remarkable and the hunger he’d experienced… God, it was enough to drive a man mad.
He cleared his throat, allowed a crooked smile. “Then I would expect you to have a greater appreciation for my home than you do.” It was meant as a joke of sorts, but she did not laugh or smile in response.
“The books I read tend to include supernatural occurrences and the macabre.” Her voice faltered. She clasped her hands together. Swallowed. “While I enjoy such stories, I have no interest in experiencing them for myself.”
“Of course not. Who would?”
She stared at him and he caught something in her eyes, something fleeting in her expression – a hint of interest almost entirely obscured by whatever uncertainty plagued her.
He cleared his throat. “Have you read Northanger Abbey?”
“By Miss Austen?” She scrunched her nose. “I’m not a big fan of romance.”
He smiled. And then, because the shopkeeper and Miss Harlow were quite engrossed in a lengthy poetic discussion, he grabbed Angelica by her hand and pulled her toward the back of the shop.
She gasped. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to seduce you?” He glanced back over his shoulder at her. “What do you think? Perfect spot for it, is it not?”
The edge of her mouth twitched, her lips began quivering, and then, for the first time in two days, she actually laughed. The sound punched him squarely in his chest, and God help him if it didn’t feel good or right. Whatever her worries might be, most likely pertaining to her mother’s financial straits and her own need for marriage, perhaps with a touch of doubt relating to him, he’d convince her they were unfounded. They would be good together. They had to be because otherwise…
He supposed he could always travel to London, endure a Season while taking his time to select someone else. Except he didn’t want anyone else. He wanted her – Lady Angelica with her lack of pretense and forthright honesty. A woman ready to champion those who could not defend themselves, who voiced her opinion without apology and kissed him back with fervor.
“Here we are,” he said once they reached the part of the shop where they’d find the book he sought. Four bookcases stood between them and Miss Harlow, offering them the sort of privacy they ought not to be permitted. Still holding Angelica’s hand, he placed it against the spine of the book he wanted her to select. “This is not the average romance novel. Indeed, it stands apart from all of Miss Austen’s other works to the point where I dare say you’d find it intriguing.”
Her gloved fingers traced the gold embossed title on the first volume. And then she glanced up at him with the sort of profound curiosity that threatened to either stop his heart or make it race faster. “Have you read it yourself?”
Lost in the depth of her golden eyes, he was only able to nod.
She blinked. Her lips parted as if she meant to say something more, but whatever was on her mind must have flittered away, leaving her standing there much as he, utterly still and very aware.
Slowly, lest he startle her into motion and ruin the moment, he raised his palm to her cheek. Her eyes fluttered shut and a sigh, so wrought with longing he knew he risked losing control, swept past her lips to tickle his wrist, right where the edge of his glove ended.
Randolph’s chest tightened. “Angelica.” He loved her name, loved the way it felt on his tongue as he spoke it and how it seemed to remind him of all that was good and right with the world.
One quick glance in Miss Harlow’s direction, just to be sure there was no risk of being discovered, and then he kissed her, stealing her breath and inhaling her scent, reveling in the small moan of pleasure she made in her throat. God, how he wanted and Christ, how he needed. After more than two years of him not touching a woman, Angelica was warm and willing and utterly delicious.
Her one hand was still on Northanger Abbey, but the other… The other clutched at his arm, holding on fast as he moved in closer, sandwiching her between him and the bookcase until he could feel the entire length of her body pressing against him in just the right places.
He nipped her lower lip with his teeth, urging her to open for him and delighting in the taste of her the moment she did. Lord, he could kiss her for hours, days, months, years. Hell, he could kiss her forever without getting tired.
“Angelica, you really must come and see what I’ve found.”
It was Miss Harlow. Her voice, louder than necessary, forced Randolph to take a step back. “You should join her.”
“Yes.” She blinked in rapid succession.
He smiled, dropped his hand, and forced himself to step aside. “I’m sure she called you for a good reason.”
“Yes,” she repeated as if slightly dazed.
How could he not feel ten feet tall when she reacted to him with such innocent wonder? A comforting warmth unfurled right over his heart. “You should go.”
As if recalling herself, she snatched the volumes of Northanger Abbey from the shelf and hastened toward the front of the shop, arriving there right before her mother came through the door. “I bought some lovely pieces of lace,” Lady Bloomfield said. She paused and Randolph imagined her looking around. “Where’s Lord Sterling?”
“At the back somewhere,” Miss Harlow informed her. “I’m sure he’ll join us once he’s ready.”
Randolph smiled to himself. He’d known he could count on her helping him out. Grabbing the book he’d come to purchase – a new account of Egyptian relics – he approached the ladies with what he hoped looked like an amicable smile.
The last thing he wished was for Lady Bloomfield to notice the desperate desire he felt for her daughter or to suspect they’d just been kissing. Not because he minded the repercussions. He meant to marry Angelica; his mind was firmly made up. But he sensed she needed more time to adjust, time to understand what was happening between them, and time to realize that he could fulfill her every need and make her gloriously happy. She would not appreciate being forced into something she wasn’t yet sure of.
“I hope you like strawberry tarts,” he said once they’d finished making their purchases. “The teashop I mentioned serves the best I’ve ever tasted.”
“I gather you have a sweet tooth, my lord?” The question was posed by Lady Bloomfield.
Randolph discreetly brushed his fingers against Angelica’s, grabbing them only briefly before releasing them once again and adding distance. “There are some confections I cannot resist.”
Angelica’s cheeks turned a bright shade of red. She gave him a chastising look, but all he could do was grin. He was enjoying himself far too much and considering the kiss they’d just shared, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to manage a serious demeanor even if his life depended on it.