Chapter Five

Ophelia hesitated, torn between not wanting to go anywhere with this cad, and wanting to do as he suggested so he would send for Eliza.

She could make a run for it, of course. Burst into that sinful den he called a ballroom and attempt to study the face of every single golden-haired female here. But they all had masks on and frankly, she didn’t relish the idea of being in a room full of the sort of carousing that made her blush just to think about it.

So, that left following this man with his devilish smile, and broad shoulders, and piercing blue eyes into his study where they’d be alone. Just the two of them.

Was it foolish? Indisputably.

Would he hurt her?

Strangely, and rather stupidly, she thought not.

The problem wasn’t that she feared him necessarily. No, she feared her attraction to him.

Something she’d never felt before. Something she had long since thought was nothing more than an excuse used by loose women like her mother to act in whatever manner they wished, uncaring about the consequences of their actions.

“By all means, stand here all night deliberating.”

His sarcastic drawl cut into Ophelia’s confused musings, and she scowled at him even though he wouldn’t be able to see the expression under her mask.

“I’ll be in my study in case you make a decision before sunrise.”

Her scowl only deepened at his quip, and she watched in shock as he turned his back on her and stalked away, leaving her standing like a dolt in the middle of the enormous hallway.

Casting a glance up and down the darkened corridor, Ophelia couldn’t help but notice that there wasn’t another soul about the place.

The butler, who’d tried to detain her before she’d slipped under his arm, had disappeared.

If she went in there, they’d be alone alone.

“Turn around and go home,” she whispered to herself. “Eliza will return at some point.”

Even as she said it, she knew she would not do it.

It wasn’t in Ophelia’s nature to abandon a young woman to her inevitable downfall.

And whilst the marquess awakened in her a wicked interest that made her a little apprehensive, she was an expert at resisting temptation.

In fact, Ophelia had only ever been kissed once in her five and twenty years on this earth, and that had been more than easy to resist and dismiss.

All it had done was anger her. And the merchant’s son who’d done it had earned himself a ringing slap for his efforts.

Ophelia shuddered, repulsed by the memories of his slobbering. His arms had felt like steel bands squeezing her. His tongue grotesque and unwelcome as he’d invaded her mouth.

The memory of that kiss and her reaction to it gave Ophelia the strength to follow the marquess into his study.

For it served as a reminder that she wasn’t like her mother. She wasn’t like women who felt passion and lust and desire.

She could keep herself safe from the clutches of a man such as the Marquess of Guilford.

And she could indubitably keep her wits about her.

She didn’t quite understand the shivery excitement she felt in his presence, but it was of no matter.

Ophelia had spent her life avoiding anything even resembling intimacy with the opposite sex. And she wasn’t about to change that now.

***

Damn, but she despised him.

It came off her in waves as she marched into the room.

He’d expected a hesitant, meek shuffle given how lost she’d looked in the hallway.

But even knowing nothing about the woman, he should have known that hesitant shuffles weren’t in her nature.

She stomped in as though she were going to war.

Perhaps she was.

Again, that excitement fluttered to life inside him. That interest that he hadn’t felt in years.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked as he poured one for himself then waved the bottle in her direction.

She stood poker straight, her hands clasped modestly in front of her, her chin tilted upwards.

“No,” she bit. “I would like you to send a footman for Miss Tr – for my charge.”

He eyed her carefully as her cheeks flushed.

She’d nearly given away a name.

Not for the first time, Caleb wondered how such a prim and proper miss had even heard about his parties.

Then he remembered that his name was splashed across the gossip pages on an almost daily basis.

Was she Quality then? He couldn’t imagine the serving classes giving a damn about what some marquess or other got up to.

Her speech was impeccable, and she carried herself like a lady.

A governess, perhaps. One of the genteel poor that was so common among their kind.

His mother would have ended up the same way if Caleb hadn’t stayed sober long enough to fix the family coffers after Gerald’s death.

“So, this girl – she’s what? Your charge? She seemed a little old for a governess.”

“Well, she’s certainly not old enough to be here with the likes of you,” she snapped back. “If she’s in danger, I –“

“I can’t pretend to know the proclivities of every man in that room,” Caleb cut across, instilling every ounce of sincerity he could in his tone. “But I can assure you that in my home, no harm comes to young ladies. Everyone is here by consent.” He paused and allowed himself a quick smile. “Excepting you, of course. But if she is a child, if she is –“

“She’s seventeen,” the lady interrupted, and Caleb couldn’t deny feeling a sense of relief at her words.

Though seventeen was still far too young to be here, and certainly far, far too young for him, it wasn’t unusual for young ladies of her age to be married to men almost treble their ages.

The nausea that had risen in his stomach at the idea of a child here subsided. But the discomfort remained.

He’d felt uncomfortable last night when the brazen chit had smiled at him with an invitation she likely didn’t even understand. And he felt that even more so now.

And suddenly, he was as anxious to get rid of the girl as her governess was. Or whatever this lady was to her.

Moving to his desk, Caleb rang for a footman.

They waited in silence, Caleb watching the masked woman, she still as a statue and avoiding eye contact.

After a stilted silence, the footman arrived, and Caleb quickly gave instructions to be passed on to Havers.

Havers kept watch of everyone who came and went here, especially young ladies who might need assistance.

If the girl was here, Havers would find her.

“What now?” Her impertinent tone cut through the awkward silence.

“Now, we wait,” Caleb answered smoothly. “If the girl is here, Havers will find her and bring her to us. Then you can take her home and lock her in a dungeon or something.”

He saw the rise of a single black brow from beneath the mask.

“Lock her in a dungeon?” she scoffed.

“Perhaps a tower,” he countered with a smile. “Certainly, somewhere with a heavy door and a sturdy lock. Perhaps then, you’ll be able to keep hold of her.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve met you twice. Both times you’ve managed to lose someone.”

He shrugged nonchalantly, enjoying himself immensely.

She stomped closer so there were only inches between them, her apparent hesitation clearly forgotten.

“I’ll have you know that I take great care of all of my girls. I make every effort to keep them away from – from blackguards like you.”

Perhaps he should be insulted, but he was only amused.

“Hmm. But you missed one, clearly,” he goaded.

She marched closer still, and Caleb was finally able to see her startling eyes. They were the lightest grey he’d ever seen, so piercing he felt as though they were looking right into his soul.

“I did not miss one,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “She – I – the girl is, is –“

“A nuisance?” he offered helpfully, though his mind was only half on the conversation.

Those eyes, those lips, that floral scent…they were deuced distracting.

“Strong-willed,” she countered piously, but he wasn’t fooled.

Caleb had been around long enough to know that ‘strong-willed’ meant nothing but trouble.

And he suddenly wondered just how strong-willed the woman in front of him was. What it would take to crack that rigid wall around her…

“All of your girls?” he questioned, fascinated by the widening of those incredible eyes beneath the mask, the sudden flush on her cheeks.

She couldn’t be talking about her own children, Caleb knew. She was far too young to be the mother of the tearaway who’d forced their introduction last night.

“You are governess to a veritable brood, then?” he asked, hoping to coax some answers from her.

His mind quickly ran through the people of his acquaintance, trying to remember if any of them had a rake of children.

He couldn’t imagine any of the Society wives he knew of being happy to have someone as intriguing as this lady under the same roof as their husbands.

There again, she could have a face like a horse’s behind.

“You assume I am a governess,” she answered, and it might have been Caleb’s imagination, but her voice sounded a little less steady than it had done before.

“If not a governess, then what?”

“That,” she bit out, but the sting was gone. “Is none of your business. Now, how long will it take for your man to find my charge?”

He couldn’t help but wonder if it was their proximity that had put that timbre in her tone.

There was one way to find out, he supposed.

Closing the last few inches between them, he tilted her chin so he could lock his eyes on hers.

“Long enough to have a little fun,” he whispered, before pressing his mouth to hers.