Chapter 7

7

P hoebe was too hot. Her head too fluttery to think straight. Her heart raced, yet concurrently, time seemed to stand still. Lord Rockliffe had asked her a question; she knew that much to be true. But now, there was only an endless stretch of silence as he loomed in front of her, waiting for an answer she didn’t know how to give.

“ Shall I remind you of the book I’m referring to?” His voice came out low, clipped. “ Crimson cover. Richly illustrated interior. Why did you take it? Because you sure as hell didn’t intend to read it to Lady Emily .”

He knew. Of course he knew. She’d been foolish to delude herself into thinking he didn’t, what with the way she’d dropped the book on the floor of his study before scurrying out of sight. Her mind flashed to her clothespress, where the book remained buried beneath her stockings, waiting for her to find a discreet moment to return it. Or waiting for me to bring it to bed so I can study the pages one after another by the light of a lone flame . Lord Rockliffe couldn’t know the direction of her thoughts. Yet something about the way he looked at her made it seem like he did.

In her frustration—for he was so infuriatingly stubborn—she’d forgotten her place and said things a governess should never say to a marquess. The damage was done, and he’d be well within his right to end her employment. What more did she have to lose by telling the truth?

“ I took it because it intrigued me.” She didn’t look away when she spoke. Didn’t try to shrink further into the wall even though his heat felt ready to envelop her. “ You said I could borrow from the library for my own reading, did you not? As for that particular volume, I suppose I hid it for fear you wouldn’t approve of the subject matter.”

“ I placed no restrictions on what you could or couldn’t take.” He leaned in, his face aggravatingly unreadable. His lips perilously close to her ear again. “ Why don’t you tell me what you thought of the subject matter?”

Blood pounded in her ears. Between her legs. What would he say if she told him the illustrations had filled her head as she lay sleepless in bed last night? Except instead of imagining the couple on the page, she’d pictured him. Herself .

She swallowed, knowing he was close enough to hear, that he would notice each time her throat twitched. “ I found it very … informative.”

His palm came forward, pressing into the wall alongside her head. His body was like a cage, holding her in. And foolish creature she was, she had no desire to escape. “ I’m glad to hear it, Miss Windham . And do you feel informed enough that you’re ready to return it for another?”

“ No .” The word slipped out on a breath before she could think better of it. Yet she’d come this far with the truth that she may as well keep going. Leave him to do with it what he would. “ There are still pages I haven’t viewed, and I want to see all of them. Perhaps more than once.”

She fought the urge to lower her eyes to the floor, instead examining his face, waiting for a crease or tic to ripple across his features and show just how much she’d appalled him.

It didn’t come. There was only a hot trail of breath against her neck, and then, a single whispered word in the shell of her ear. “ Naughty .”

She shivered, a frisson of desire shooting straight to her core. He knew the truth, then—that she was wicked, lustful, indecent. The way he said it, though, didn’t sound like a condemnation. His mouth lingered, hovering just above the edge of her jaw, and maybe the suggestion of his kiss had rendered her nonsensical, for she could almost think the word contained praise.

She closed her eyes, trying to force the whirl of sensations to abate. Instead , darkness made his exhales feel hotter. The nearness—the largeness—of his body even more glaring. She’d lingered in his bedchamber for the sole purpose of speaking to him and making him see reason. However , reason didn’t seem to exist anymore. All she could think of was his bed waiting behind them. His lips. His body positioned atop a horse, his bare limbs gliding through water. Her own body quivering with need as she stood in the dusky library looking at images she wasn’t supposed to have.

A finger traced along her lower lip. Took hold of her chin, tilting it upward. She pushed up on her tiptoes to meet him, the movement causing her thigh to connect with hardness in his breeches. She couldn’t help the needy little cry that escaped. Now that they’d set this in motion, she was powerless to stop the wanting, the anticipation.

But his lips didn’t fall on hers. Instead , they returned to her ear, brushing over the sensitive skin. “ Tell me to stop,” he murmured, the words heavy and heated. “ Tell me you don’t want this.” His tongue flicked along her earlobe. “ Tell me I’m a man out of my fucking head and that I should leave you alone before I ravish you right here against the wall.” He grazed her with his teeth, an exhilarating shot of pleasure-pain. “ Because I promise you, sweet, I wouldn’t even make it as far as the bed.”

Her eyes flew open, the air rushing from her lungs. Was he trying to shock her? Scare her away? He succeeded only in sending another wicked thrill coursing through her. In making her think of all the ways they could give each other pleasure.

Because the things her relatives said about her were true. Shameful . Immoral . Still accurate after all this time, even when life had thrown her enough hard lessons that she should know better.

She acted on impulse. Let her desires lead her. Got herself into trouble. But it wasn’t too late to change that. To make a different choice—a proper choice—this time before the consequences of her actions threw her into scandal and shattered her world yet again.

“ St —”

She couldn’t do it. The protest died on her lips, another phrase rising instead. Ravish me, right here . No , it wasn’t wise in the least. But how could she turn down what her body craved as much as oxygen?

It was too late. With that suggestion of a syllable, he recoiled instantly, his fingers raking through his disheveled hair. He stared at her, his pupils wide, the blue rings around them blazing. A look of disbelief, confusion, regret, lust …

And then, before she could so much as blink, he was gone, his boots pounding down the corridor. Fading away.

She clung to the door jamb, her legs on the verge of buckling, and fought to catch her breath. Her body throbbed, aching because where she’d once been surrounded by the hardness and heat of him—the promise of everything she desired—she now had nothing.

She squeezed her eyes shut again, trying to make the world stop spinning. Everything had happened so quickly, so unexpectedly, so beyond the realm of probability that she could almost imagine herself tangled up in her sheets, awaking from a dream.

Yet when her eyelids flashed open, the fire roaring in the grate made it impossible to deny that she stood anywhere but Lord Rockliffe’s bedchamber.

Alone .