Chapter Sixteen
The night air rushed by the dragon’s wings as he bore her through the darkness toward the castle.
A gibbous moon waxed o’er her head, hinting at fullness to come.
Nervousness and excitement knotted in her belly, and she thrilled to the glittering stars above.
Beneath her limbs, the powerful beast, her very own lethal weapon to command . . .
—The Dragon and the Blue Star by Analise Crewe
Where was she? Dex was growing increasingly desperate.
He’d checked the retiring room, the gardens, the balconies, and the ballroom again.
He prowled the hallways of Lady Chetwynd-Ellerton’s house, imagining sickening scenarios: Ana hiding from the unwelcome advances of Somersby—who was still nowhere to be found.
Dex had accounted him to be harmless before, but what if he’d developed a recent nasty streak after having been jilted by a young lady he’d pursued?
Where would a young lady like Ana go to hide? Of course! He should have thought of it sooner. She would run to her beloved books. He hurried to the library, opening the door so hard it slammed against the wall. “Ana, are you in here?”
Silence. A fire dying in the grate, firelight wavering over the gilded spines of books.
“Your Grace?” came a whisper from the vicinity of a large armchair occupying a reading nook.
“Ana?” He rushed behind the chair, relieved to find her sitting behind it, her back propped against the wall, knees hunched over her chest. “What are you doing in here?”
“Hiding.”
“I’m going to murder Somersby in cold blood if he harmed you in any way.”
He held out his hand and she took it, allowing him to help her to a standing position. “You’re safe now. Tell me what happened.”
“I’m not hiding from Sir Somersby. I’m hiding from Mr. Norwood.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Norwood, of Norwood & Pennington, the publishers. I’ve no idea why he’s here but he is and he can’t see me.”
“Ah . . . why can’t he see you?”
“Because he knows.”
“Knows what?”
“Where I was living when you found me. He had his staff research me before I met with him about my novel. If he tells anyone in this ballroom that I was living in the rookeries with the sister of a brothel madam, my debut in society will be short-lived indeed. I’ll be cast out, made a laughingstock. ”
He placed a hand on her shoulder and held her gaze. “No one’s casting you out or laughing at you. Not with me by your side.”
“Even you can’t save me if they learn the truth.
Do you really want such a scandal on your hands?
Lady Glynis would be mortified if I sullied your family name.
I told you this wouldn’t work. It’s not just that I’m not one of them—I’m tainted by the circumstances of my past. You may have silenced Lord Claridge, but you can’t silence everyone.
Someone who knew me in the rookeries will surface eventually.
I never should have come here tonight. I’ve no idea why I thought I could ever be published by the most respected and exclusive publisher in England. ”
“Stop, Ana. Just stop talking.” He realized he was using her first name, but it felt necessary in this instance. What she was saying was wrong. He would defend her against the gossips and he’d make damn sure she achieved her dream of publication. “You belong at this ball. You’re my ward.”
She closed her eyes, her voice shrinking to a whisper. “That’s not all. I told Mr. Norwood an untruth.”
“You told him you’d produce half of a new Clovercote novel in a fortnight’s time. If it takes longer than that, he’ll have to wait.”
When she opened those green eyes of hers, shimmering with unshed tears, he had to stop himself from moving his hand from her shoulder to caress the curve of her cheek, be at the ready to brush her tears away.
“I told him that I had a titled fiancé of ancient lineage. I made up a story about having to wait to announce our engagement because of his family’s objections.”
Dex cocked his head. “Why would you tell him that?”
“Because he was belittling and disparaging. He implied that a single lady with no connections, living in poverty, could never achieve the exalted heights of literary publication with his hallowed imprint. I said whatever I had to say to make myself a desirable author.”
“Ana. You didn’t.”
“It was beyond foolish. I’ve always had this tendency to exaggerate, to embroider the truth . . . let’s be honest, to tell outrageous lies. Now I’ll pay the price. I have no fiancé, no manuscript, and a scandalous past.”
“Damn.” Dex dropped his hand. He needed a drink. “Is there any brandy in this library?”
“Brandy won’t solve this problem.”
“No, I’ll solve it. I’ll go have a talk with Mr. Norwood.”
“That’s your solution to everything, isn’t it? Brute force, threats, bribery.”
“Do you have another solution?”
“Not presently, but I only need time to think. That’s what I was doing when you interrupted me.”
“You can’t write your way out of this one, I’m afraid. My way will be best. I’ll take him into the gardens and while we’re gone you’ll find Aunt Glynis and tell her you have a headache and must leave.”
“I can’t think of anything better.” She stared into the fire, her eyes troubled. “It’s an ignoble end to my first ball. Running away with my tail between my legs.”
“There will be other balls. At least you danced with several eligible suitors.”
“And you didn’t dance at all.”
“I’m not looking for a wife. And when I do, I’ll simply allow Aunt Glynis to prepare a list of candidates for a marriage of convenience. Sensible ladies of some years. I know my visage is frightening to some ladies. You fled from me the moment you saw me.”
“Because I thought you were attempting to purchase me.”
“You don’t find the sight of my scars gruesome?”
“It’s only startling upon first acquaintance. It didn’t deter Lady Lydia. She was eager to dance with you.”
“She’s eager to be a duchess and mistress of Drakefell Castle.”
“Don’t be so cynical. You have an allure all your own. This dark brooding air about you that makes people, ladies in particular, want to solve your mysteries, unlock the key to your heart.”
“Who told you that I have a heart?”
“You’ve been quite kind to me, in spite of all the bluster and commandments.”
“Enough about me. You danced with eligible gentlemen, what think you of Patrick?”
“He’s very handsome, obviously, and he was flirting with me, I think .
. . although I don’t have much experience with that.
He has a young son who needs a mother. There’s something very sad behind his eyes—it must have to do with his wife’s death.
He’s a fine figure of a man but . . . I felt nothing other than friendship. ”
He hid a pleased smile that threatened to betray how happy her words made him. “Then what of Lord Chetwynd-Ellerton? He’s scandal free and very well set up.”
“He’s bland, like a meal where the cook forgot the salt. If I were looking for a match, I certainly wouldn’t settle for bland. I’d want someone who challenged me, who gave me the frissons.”
“The what?”
“I’ve been searching for words to describe the pleasurable sensation of attraction for my novel.
I could call it the tingles, the shivers .
. . I like the French word frisson, it sounds better, think you not?
It has those soft s’s in it. My heroine, Miss Adora Dansey, will have the frissons when Lord Fortescue kisses her for the first time.
It’s difficult to describe something I’ve never felt. ”
“The Season has only just begun.”
“Yes, but I was expecting to have my first kiss this evening. I wanted to feel the frissons to describe them in my novel.”
“You’re not kissing anyone tonight. You’re begging a headache and going straight home.”
“Or perhaps I’ll take a detour first. I’ll allow Lord Somersby to lure me behind a curtain for my very first kiss.”
“I forbid it.”
She stuck out her chin. “What would happen if I defied you?”
“You don’t want to find out,” he growled.
“Lock me up in the tower of your castle? Feed me bread and water?”
“You’re provoking me deliberately.”
“Is it working? I love to see you lose your temper. It’s such fun.”
“You haven’t seen me lose control because I never do.”
“Never?”
“Even if I provoked you further?”
“You’re playing with fire, Ana. Tempting the devil.”
“Do you find me tempting?” She drew closer.
“Do you find this provoking?” She touched her chest to his, standing on her tiptoes.
“What if I kissed Lord Somersby? What if I slipped into the garden with him. What if it was dark and shadows striped his face and he had a hunger in his eyes that was thrilling. What if I wanted a handsome, dangerous man to kiss me in the garden of my very first society ball?”
He had to admire her bravery. She was a guileless novice, yet single-minded in her seduction, willing to explore whole new worlds in pursuit of artistic truth. She had no idea how effective the combination was. She wanted him to lose control, and he was precariously close.
“I forbid you to dance with him, tryst with him, and most especially to kiss him.”
“You’re always barking orders at me.”
“I was an army commander.”
“One could interpret your short sentences to mean any number of things. And the looks you give me. Something so wild and unbridled, the way you look at me something so fierce in your eyes. It’s giving me the frissons, I do believe.”
“I look at you protectively.” And lustfully if he was being honest. “I promised to protect your honor, not sully it.”
She moved closer. “Do you want to kiss me?”
Don’t answer that, just leave. March out of this library and fix this tangle.
“I’ll only ask someone else to kiss me if you don’t. It’s for my book. I’ve never been kissed and I want to experience it.”
“No.” He was fighting a losing battle. How did she have all the right words to say, the right way to look at him, to touch him?
She cocked her head, examining his face. “I want to savor this. I want to provoke you into losing that famous control of yours. The way you’re staring at me. You’re angry but there’s something else there. Desire. Desire flickering in your eyes, turning them from gray to glittering silver.”
He backed up until he hit the wall and still she advanced with that fire burning in her eyes. “I want to write the best kiss ever. I want my readers to feel the frissons, too. I want them turning pages, feeling as I’m feeling right now. This breathlessness.”
She rose onto her tiptoes, steadied herself with a palm against his chest. “If you won’t kiss me .
. .” She kissed his lips and twined her small hands around his neck.
He stayed absolutely still. Set her away from him.
Jump on his horse and ride away fast, anywhere far away from this enchantment.
Anywhere but here in this firelit room with this tempting innocent.
“You’re made of granite, just like the walls of this room. Nothing moves you. Nothing sways you. You’re immovable.”
He was made of granite. Yes. His body, his cock so hard she couldn’t fail to feel it.
“Enough.”
“Not enough,” she said stubbornly. “When I was in the ballroom I was at a remove. The scene was happening around me and I was viewing it with an eye to writing it all down. But when I’m with you .
. . it’s simply impossible to remain at a distance.
When I’m with you, I feel these violent emotions and there’s no way I could stay at a remove from you.
You have to be experienced. You make me so angry and you make me want .
. . I don’t know how to explain what I want. ”
He knew how to explain it. The flush on her cheeks. The light, questing brush of her fingers on his bicep. Patrick had been right. She was attracted to him.
Despite his scars, despite the cold way he treated her. He tried to be glacial because he needed to keep her at arm’s length. There was an undeniable pull between them he felt too, and now it had been confirmed.
“You want to kiss me, I know you do.” She leaned against his chest, her soft breasts brushing against him. “Do it . . .”
“I can’t. We can’t.” Let her tease him, let her test her power, let her provoke him. He’d never succumb. Never lose control.
She lifted her lips again, brushing them against his.
Something broke, some tenuous thread of decency that had been holding him back.
And then, suddenly, his iron control shattered.
He took her into his arms, crushed her against him, held her hands behind her back and kissed her.
Hard. Not a gentlemanly peck on her rosy lips.
He kissed her with intent to thrill. To seduce.
She’d slipped beneath his barriers and he had to taste her.
He lowered his lips to hers, taking her into his arms in a fierce embrace.
He wasn’t thinking anymore, or holding back.
He crushed her lips to his and slipped his tongue inside.
She tasted sweeter than spun sugar, sweeter than any dessert he’d ever had.
She moaned softly, surrendering to him, throwing her head back to give him better access to her lips. He slipped one hand behind her neck, closing his fingers around her slim neck. The other hand roamed inside her bodice, cupping the silken skin of one breast.
“Oh, that feels good,” she whispered, her eyes widening as she glanced down at his huge hand covering her breast.
He resumed the kiss, deeper now, claiming her, giving her a kiss to write about, to dream about.
“Warburton?” The voice, female, piercing, intruded in some dim region of his brain that still had the capacity to translate words into sentences.
He stopped the kiss. Fuck. Someone had entered the library. Aunt Glynis, and a strange man.
They were well and truly caught.