6. Noah

6

Noah

I grasp my hands behind my back as I stare out the window in the drawing room. The landscape hardens at this time of year. Most of the leaves have fallen, branches like gnarled hands with sharp nails stealing life from the evergreens. There’s no snow on the ground yet, but the thick fog softens the harsh lines of winter like an invitation to a dream. It’s always been my favorite time of year, but it’s impossible to appreciate it when I can’t stop thinking about that infuriating woman. The way she felt in my arms, the way my pulse jumped when she swooned.

I’d mentally cursed my father the whole way back to her room, damning him for his recklessness. I had a mind to find the old man and tell him to his face, but it would have taken all night with Hammish’s sleeping habits. A different room every night, never telling anyone which one he’d choose, all to ensure his sons don’t kill him in his sleep. The distrustful bastard.

He’s right to worry. We’ve been trying to find a way to kill him for years. Professor Rose is just the most recent in a string of attempts to keep us in check. A symbol. A way to toy with his sons while also trying to stop her research.

I grind my teeth together like the millstones I wish I could hang around my father’s neck. Inviting Professor Rose here was rash and reckless. Drugging her was damn foolish. There’s only one reason I can think of that he would do such a thing, and it makes my blood boil. I stayed outside her room until well into the morning, just to ensure he didn’t act on such ideas. With the new moon party only two weeks away, it’s more than reasonable to expect him to wait for a more willing partner. Has he no patience?

Miss Rose isn’t like the guests who come to the new moon parties. She’s not one of the upper-crust men and women who come seeking a thrill by answering the call of a vice they’d never admit to in the light of day. They’re willing to hide their participation under the guise of forgetfulness and to protect their own reputations. Miss Rose won’t be so easy to manipulate.

She’ll talk if she discovers our secrets. If she even suspects she was drugged, she won’t be easily silenced. Her ethics and morals would forbid it. Even if I hadn’t read her papers, I’d know she’s the kind of woman to stand her ground and shout about injustice to the world. She worries about abducted women, for fuck’s sake. If she didn’t talk, she’d write about it for certain. She’s a hound with a scent.

If I could give her the grant she wants on my own, I would. But Hammish Roan keeps a tight leash on his estate and his purse strings, and my research has kept me from establishing my own assets. Besides, I don’t think the confounding woman would leave just because she got her grant. She’s too curious for that. From the way her last paper was criticized, I’m guessing she won’t leave until she’s found something in the library that will make her next paper stand out and win her the respect of her peers.

If she would just wake up, I could get this over with, but there are no footsteps in the hall, no prim swishing of skirts. I should have spent the morning with my research. As it is, I’ve lost half a day waiting on Miss Rose, and now I’ll lose the other half playing the part of her keeper. Or rather, keeping her from the things we can’t let her see.

My frustration boils over. “Fuck.”

A soft gasp tells me I’m no longer alone in the room. Her surprise entry just increases my vexation. She never would have been able to sneak up on me if I hadn’t been so engrossed in the frustration she’s caused.

Preparing myself, I turn and take her in. She’s wearing another of my sister’s frocks, and she looks stunning. The cut of the dress is modest with a high neck and long sleeves, but it leaves little to the imagination. The supple fabric clings to every curve, draped to accentuate her slim waist and flowing over her hips like a waterfall I want to dive under. The bustle collects excess fabric to veil what I imagine is a supple posterior. The modesty does nothing to quell the effect she has on me.

My father’s insistence in dressing Professor Rose in my sister’s clothes is yet another of his games. A reminder of the ways he holds us all hostage. The jab grates on me like sandpaper against newly carved wood.

The professor’s hand flutters to her throat. Her green eyes shine as bright as emeralds.

“Noah.”

The word is a breath on her lips most men wouldn’t have heard. But my senses are sharper than most. Usually . Her gaze flits away from me as her cheeks turn a stunning pink. I wonder if the coloring is from the haphazard curse she overheard or from something else.

She turns, shoulders back, head high, and walks across the room to the sideboard covered in delicacies the servants set out for afternoon tea. “Good morning. Or afternoon, I should say.”

“You look well,” I reply, finally recovering from the shock of seeing her.

My hands fist tighter, nails making half moons on my palms, the pain reminding me that this woman is off limits.

“Come,” I say, not wanting to waste more of the day with her than necessary. I turn and stalk away from the window, expecting her to follow.

Only, there are no footsteps behind me. When I reach the door and turn to check her progress, she just smiles, calmly sits down at the table, and reaches for the teapot.

“What are you doing?” I storm back into the room.

“I haven’t eaten yet, I have a terrible headache, and it would be a shame to waste a table full of food.”

“You were late.” As if this explains why I want her to go without breakfast, why I need to hurry the day so I can get away from her.

She gives me a piercing, insolent look. “No one woke me. And, as you know, your wine didn’t agree with me last night. Though I can’t for the life of me understand how one glass had such an effect.”

My jaw aches from how hard I’m clenching it. I force myself to breathe and relax.

Professor Rose brings the gold-lined teacup to her full lips. The muscles in her long throat move as she swallows. My own muscles mimic hers. Next, she reaches for a scone, adds a dollop of cream and lemon curd, and takes a delicate bite. Her tongue licks the crumbs from her lip as a small sigh slips out.

My own tongue slides across my teeth. I want to know how her lips taste, want to sink my teeth into them and make her moan. She takes another bite.

The sudden swelling of my cock reminds me I can’t just stand here and watch her eat. It’s obscene.

“I’ll have the food brought to the library.” I close the distance between us and gruffly pull out her seat, eliciting a stunned squeak. What other noises would she make if I took her by surprise and… fuck .

Slow breaths. In and out. I gain a modicum of control and offer my hand to help her up. She glares and daintily taps a napkin against her pink lips before she accepts.

Unfortunately, I miscalculated the maneuver. Her skin is bare, and though I had her in my arms last night, there were layers of fabric between us. Now, her smooth palm slides delicately against mine. My imagination bursts with thoughts of her, slick with sweat, slipping sensuously against me.

As soon as she’s on her feet, I drop her hand, flexing mine as I march towards the door. I lead her down the hall, over the parqueted floor of the ballroom, past the black and white checkerboard floor of the conservatory, and into the east wing. My steps are quick and determined as we make our way through the well-lit hall. Bright windows mock my moody thoughts. The thick gold carpet runner conceals our steps. I don’t bother to slow my pace for her. The more distance between us the better.

My hands clench and unclench at my sides, trying to erase the memory of her touch. She’s exactly the kind of woman I don’t want here. The kind that might tempt me. It’s dangerous for a woman to stay too long on Roan Island. Which is why I need to keep my hands to myself and get her out of here.

“Could you slow down?” Her voice comes out breathless from somewhere behind me. “Please?”

The sound of her breathy request tightens my balls and makes blood surge to my cock, which is particularly irritating since I only just got it under control. This woman is some kind of sorceress casting spells to bewitch my body. I enjoy women and have delighted in more of them than I can count, but this one inexplicably affects me in a way no other has before. She’s a craving in my blood.

There’s no way in hell I’m slowing down.

“Skirts and bustles aren’t made for running!” she calls out.

“I’m not running.”

She huffs, and a moment later she’s beside me. “I should have worn pants.” Her panting gasps draw my attention. Such beautiful sounds.

My step falters. She’s got her skirts bunched in her hands, pulled up to her mid-thigh like when she climbed the gate. Unlike yesterday, however, I’m now close enough to see the ruffled hem of her short bloomers, and for some reason that tease of fabric ignites a fire in my belly. She moves past me, and all my attention narrows on the back of her thighs and that ridiculous bustle shivering under the fabric as she walks. My mind conjures an image of her bent over in front of me, her ass in the air, that absurd woman’s fashion accessory bouncing as I pound into her from behind.

“Are you coming?” she asks over her shoulder with a coy smile, stopping to wait for me.

Goddess, those words. Oh, how I want to. I imagine closing the distance between us and pinning her roughly against the wall. Picture teasing the ruffle of those bloomers with my fingers, delving into them to find the treasure that’s between her legs, diving into her warmth to discover how she’d tighten around me. Fuck . My breath halts in my lungs, and I stop walking to allow it to catch up with me.

She still has her skirts lifted, and I want to wedge my thigh between her legs and lean into her. Better yet, drop to my knees and taste her through those goddess-damned bloomers. Why did this woman have to come so close to the new moon? I’ve always had a healthy appetite, but it’s been two weeks since the last new moon and my control is pulled too tight. Ready to snap.

“What game are you playing, Professor?”

“Not playing any game. Yet.” She cocks an eyebrow at me, the wench.

I move closer, slowly, feeling like the predator I am and knowing how dangerously I’m toeing the line. When I stop just in front of her, I hear her breath hitch. And still she holds up those damn skirts. Unable to resist, I lean closer, near enough to catch her scent but not as close as I want. “It might be a very dangerous game.”

I like that her eyes search mine. That her tongue darts out to wet her lips, coating them in a slick shine. She seems as affected by me as I am by her. I have half a mind to find out how wet she is for me right now. With patience I don’t feel, I reach out and run the back of my fingers against the back of her bare hand from her wrist to the knuckles. As I descend to feel her thigh–

“Isn’t this a pretty picture?”

I snap away from Miss Rose too quickly, revealing too much. I notice how she blinks, the slight tilt of her chin, and the way she shakes her head as if to clear it of confusion. It was careless of me to get carried away like that. Damn, reckless.

Jafeth laughs. “I love when you’re unsettled, Noah. It’s such a rarity.” He grins, and his gaze turns to Ruby.

She smoothes down her skirts, once again covering those tempting legs.

Next to Jafeth, Shemaiah takes in the scene with a tilted head and a frown. He’s always been observant, and right now, I’m sure he’s picked up on my craving for this woman.

I straighten my vest and clear my throat, hoping to expel whatever possessed me to lose my head. “Escort Miss Rose to the library. I’ve already pulled some books she might find interesting. They’re on the main table.”

Without looking back, I walk away, leaving Professor Ruby Rose behind. To hell with my father’s dictates that I keep an eye on her. There’s no reason my brothers can’t share that burden, and I have work to do. I stop briefly to lay a heavy hand on Shemaiah’s shoulder.

“Don’t let her out of your sight,” I whisper.

Duty done, I put as much distance as I can between myself and temptation.