Chapter Thirteen
Two nights later
Christopher sat at the duke’s desk, the book Rob Roy open before him, but he didn’t see the words.
What he did see in his mind was Lady Sophie looking at him with far more knowledge than she should have.
It was that very look that had had him coming to the library the last couple of nights, unable to sleep.
Though he’d not spoken to her, he’d been unable to keep from observing her, the library balcony the perfect spot, since she was often among the bookcases or talking with her classmates in various alcoves.
He worried two days ago when his sister-in-law had taken Sophie out of the library, but a few conversational leads with his brother gave him the information he wanted.
Sophie’s mother had come to tell her about a possible husband prospect.
He should be happy for her, but he’d been relieved when she hadn’t rushed home to meet the gentleman.
He knew Lord Wilford, and he was a good man, but far too serious for Sophie.
She could be bold and tease a man, which did not fit Wilford at all.
No doubt her mother thought a scholar, such as Wilford, would be best for Sophie since she was a student at the Belinda School for Curious Ladies.
But he knew Sophie’s love of literature proved her values were less about studies and more about humans and their behavior.
He lifted the book before him. Stories such as the Waverley novels and Shakespeare’s plays and Fielding’s books were what stimulated her mind and fed her need for knowledge of humanity. In a way, it was far safer to read about them than to participate! He dropped the book.
Sophie studied literature much as she studied people while at a large gathering, as an observer, not as a participant. That was why she’d bumped into him as she sought to hide behind the column at the Twelfth Night ball.
Yet even then, with him, she’d been forward, playful, and completely captivating.
It was no wonder he found himself thinking about her every day.
She didn’t just intrigue him as a woman—she made him feel like he could accomplish whatever he wished.
There was no judgment. He’d even go so far as to call her a friend.
But he wanted more of her than friendship, and he couldn’t do that.
He had no home to offer yet, no stable life.
He rose from the chair and moved to the window, the dark night impossible to penetrate.
All he could see was his reflection in the glass and the side of the desk behind him.
One day, he was sure to find a woman as intriguing as Sophie.
He had years ahead of him, many that would be difficult.
He still needed to tell his brother about his new home. He just wasn’t sure when.
Movement in the window’s reflection caught his attention.
Sophie.
She wore a warm green velvet dressing gown. Her hair was in a long braid upon her chest as she padded around the desk on bare feet, making not a sound.
He turned quietly to watch her.
She lifted the book from the desk and frowned. Her delicate brow wrinkled in puzzlement. Then, as if by instinct, her head came up and swiveled toward him.
For a moment, it was as if the universe halted, no sound could be heard, no movement made, just him gazing at her and she at him, enigmatic, neither surprised nor frightened.
“Tam.” The word whispered from her lips like a prayer.
Without thought, he took one step. “Rosalind.”
Her body trembled as she took a long breath, the movement causing the dressing gown to open more, revealing her white shift.
It was then that he understood the precarious perch of time they stood upon.
His body tensed with yearning at the knowledge there was little covering her sweet form.
If either of them moved toward the other a single step more, life would change.
He forced himself to remain static, unmoving like the Greek statues the students of the school studied.
He felt as strong as Hercules yet as weak as Persephone, fated to live among the dead half the year.
And then she moved, placing the book back upon the desk, her gaze never leaving his, though her fingers remained upon the open page. The page he’d tried to read a dozen times. “I couldn’t sleep.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
He kept his own to match. “Neither could I.”
“Why?”
Her question, though broad, asked for the truth. He couldn’t deny her. “I was thinking of you.”
The smallest of smiles lifted the corner of her lips, the lips he couldn’t seem to resist. “I was thinking of you. Perhaps our thoughts were similar?”
Memories of the images of her that had plagued him raced through his mind, causing his tension to rise. “I don’t think so.”
Her fingers left the book and touched her jaw, even as deviltry flashed in her eyes. “No, perhaps not. My thoughts were about you with less clothing. I do doubt you would think about that.”
He opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t get a word past the constriction in his throat.
“I suppose you’re shocked, but you shouldn’t be. I was also thinking about your new estate, your choice of readings for the first-year students, and your popularity with your friends.”
He finally found his voice, relieved she’d moved to a topic he could broach. “You weren’t thinking of Lord Wilford?”
Her eyes widened. “You heard? Of course you did. No doubt Lord Sommerset told you. What do you think?”
“Think? You mean about Wilford?” At her nod, irritation began in his gut. He didn’t want to talk about Wilford. “He’s not for you.”
“My mother thinks so. Since I prefer books to dancing and quiet to debate, she believes we would fit well.”
He took a step forward then stopped, fisting his hands to resist moving any more. “No. You are far too alive for him.”
She clasped her hands before her. “Alive? That is an odd description. Are we not all alive?”
“Yes, but while some recede from the activity of life like Wilford, others embrace it.”
“Like you.”
He unclenched his fist and gestured toward her. “And you.”
Again, her eyes widened. “You think us alike in temperament?”
“I do.” Could she not see it?
She shook her head. “No. Though I don’t recede from life, as you stated, I prefer the fringes, to enjoy others living theirs.”
“That is not what I’ve observed.”
“I’m different with you. I don’t know why. I feel more comfortable talking to you than even my classmates.”
There it was, the reason he felt the same, as if he could tell her anything. As much as he wished to deny it, there was something, a connection, between them. He had to break it. “Perhaps it was my kisses that swayed you.” He hoped she’d stiffen and back away from his crass reminder.
Sophie—no, Rosalind—lifted two fingers to her lips, lightly touching them. “I liked your kisses.” She dropped her hand. “Do all men’s kisses feel the same?”
“No.” He took another step forward, then swore under his breath. He was too close. Three more steps and she’d be in his arms, where, right now, he wanted her more than breathing. “No, every man and woman is different. Have you not been kissed before?”
“Of course not. No one notices me, and I like it that way.”
Now she was back to being Sophie, but he just wanted her all the more. He would not take another step. “I noticed you.”
She shook her head, looking away. “No. You thought I was someone else.”
Not sure if he was more frustrated with her or himself, he snorted. “Perhaps at first, but when I found you again, I had to know you.”
Her gaze came up to meet his once more. “I don’t know whether to thank fate or curse her.”
He laughed quietly, not anxious to have a servant find them thus. “I feel the same. See, we have much in common.”
“I concede the point. Now, I should return to my room.”
He wasn’t sure what he’d hoped for, but her leaving was not it. That she was stronger at resisting their attraction to each other did not sit well with him, yet he still couldn’t seem to simply say goodnight. “Are you tired?”
“No. I find myself exceptionally awake.”
“As am I.”
She looked down at the book. “Is that why you were reading?”
He didn’t want to talk about the book. He didn’t want to talk about Lord Wilford. He didn’t want to talk at all. He wanted to kiss her. “I want to kiss you.” Even as the words came out, he wished them back.
“I want to kiss you, too. However, we both know that would lead to more.”
How did a virgin know what was more? Was it the biology studies of the first year that had her thinking she understood it all? Maybe if he scared her away, she would leave despite what he wished for. “And what would a kiss lead to?”
Even in the lantern light, he could see the blush that stole into her cheeks. “It would lead to seduction.”
Her words, said softly, almost wantonly, took the breath from him. Was she not a virgin?
She continued. “I believe that would entail kisses in other places and clothing being dispensed with until…”
At her hesitancy, he knew her to be pure yet well informed. He had to know what she thought. “Until what?”
She looked down at her now-clasped hands, one thumb rubbing the other. Then her head came up and her gaze met his. “Until we joined and found the ultimate pleasure.”
Even as he stood there astonished, he could feel himself growing hard. Did she know she tempted him beyond his own control? “How do you know this?”
A soft smile appeared. “A book. Is it truly so wonderful?”
Bloody hell. He gave a short nod.
She sighed. “I hope to experience it one day.”
Even as she said the words, an image of Lord Wilford helping her down from a coach filled his mind. No! His body shook with a flash of anger and in that moment he finally understood.
He loved Lady Sophie, his very own Rosalind.
Stunned by the revelation, he missed her movement until it was too late. She stood before him, her green eyes full of curiosity. “Is it the same no matter who you are with, like Lady Worcester?”