She twisted around until her breasts met the solid planes of his chest. She stared at his lips, the sensual curve of the upper lip. The glowering look in his eyes, the grip of his hand on her waist.
“Your Grace...” she whispered.I want you to give me my first kiss.
His face closer now. Lips nearly touching . . .
Silence. Only their breathing. Only this dimly lit space, this world unto them.
“Yes?”
“The . . . ladies are gone, I believe.”
He immediately released his hold on her waist and without another word, left her alone behind the screen. Not a moment too soon. She heard the dressmaker greet the duke, and then she was behind the screen, arms filled with delicate silk and lace.
“Your guardian is waiting for you. Here.” She lifted Ana’s arms and then slipped the gown over her head. “Ah, it is perfect.” She made some final adjustments, smoothing the gown over Ana’s breasts and hips and tying the sash at the back. She led Ana out from behind the screen by the hand.
“What say you, Your Grace?”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. A faint sheen of sweat on his brow. That dark hair falling like sin into his eyes.
“She looks well enough.” His words were so nonchalant but his eyes told her another story. They lingered on her face, her body. Was he back behind the screen? Imagining the same thing she’d so fervently desired?
“Does not the color of the sash bring out the green of her eyes?” asked the dressmaker.
“It does.” He cleared his throat. “I should be going, before Aunt Glynis returns.”
“Stay a moment,” Ana said. “Why not choose a new waistcoat?”
“Perhaps one to match your ward’s sash?” the dressmaker asked.
“Absolutely not.”
“This would look well on you,” Ana said, fingering a bolt of light blue silk with a silvery sheen. “You’re always wearing plain, severe clothing. Why not introduce a small sliver of frivolity?”
“I’ll leave the frivolous colors to the pretty ladies.”
“Your Grace,” she said archly. “Was that a compliment?”
“You’re a pretty girl, and you know it.”
She didn’t know it. She knew that men had wanted her. Had wanted to own her. She hadn’t seen this in their eyes. This tortured reverence. This longing. And she wondered if he could read the same thing in her eyes.
There was a moment where they simply stood, staring into each other’s eyes. The dressmaker busied herself with something at the counter.
“Warburton, I didn’t think to find you here.” Aunt Glynis cast a suspicious glance at them.
He abruptly stepped backward, putting distance between them. “I was returning Miss Crewe’s fan, which she left at the club.”
“You have blood on your collar. You’re not fit to be seen in public.”
He bowed. “Then I will leave you, ladies.”
Back at her desk, writing by the light of a lamp because the house was dark and silent, Ana attempted to describe the scene she’d witnessed at the club.
Lord Fortescue and Sir Falconer, stripped to the waist, pummeling each other with their fists. Bareknuckle boxing was an acceptable sport for gentlemen to indulge in but there didn’t seem to be anything gentlemanly about it. What Ana had witnessed had been raw, primal. Frightening. And she’d hurled herself forward, unheeding of her own safety, to catch the duke as he staggered and fell. What had possessed her? She’d been worried he might have been seriously injured, that was all.
That wasn’t all.
The entire day had been most confusing. First the sight of him shirtless, shaking her to the core, sparking the most carnal of thoughts. And then the tenderness he’d shown to Odysseus and to her in the stables. How was she meant to reconcile the two? The rare glimpse into his mind, his heart, had destabilized her far more than his body pinning her to the ground. Was he a good, kind man beneath that harsh, forbidding exterior?