Page 30 of Married to the Rake

He did not answer for a moment. Something odd flickered in his gaze before vanishing behind that charming grin.

“If you wish to discuss our fathers meeting, I could think of better places to do it,” she said hastily. “Plenty of my father’s friends frequent here. In fact, I think I saw Mr. Johnson heading this way earlier. And of course Mr. Bramley knows my father well. He shall report back to him if he sees us together. I really do think—”

“Chloe.”

She clamped her lips together. She was rambling like a fool and it was all because she was standing in one square foot with Brook Waverley, known rake, and a man entirely in another league to her.

“Is it so hard to believe that I might actually wish to spend time with you? And, given our parents’ disagreement, I could never do that in the traditional manner.”

“But—” She scowled.

There was no hint of charm or guile in his words. In fact, he seemed almost frustrated that she might think he had other motives. Before she could come up with a reply, the bell on the front door jangled. She peered toward the front of the shop and sucked in a breath. “It’s Mr. Johnson,” she gasped. Though she had been talking nonsense, Mr. Johnson was indeed one of her father’s close friends and one who could be considered on the ‘Larkin side’. He would surely tell her father if he spotted her with Brook.

Brook grasped her arm and dragged her deep into the recesses of the building. A small door leading to what was likely a storage room was tucked between shelves of books. She had seen the shopkeeper come in and out with new books from there. Brook turned the handle and tucked her in, shutting the door behind them.

Darkness enveloped them, and she could not tell how big the room was. Given Brook’s proximity, she suspected it was small indeed, no larger than a cupboard.

“We cannot stay here all day,” she whispered.

“I could think of worse ways to spend my day.”

“Well—”

Brook pressed fingers to her lips at the sound of voices nearing. She stilled, recognizing the voice of Mr. Johnson and the shopkeeper.

“Oh Lord.” Surely they did not need to come in the room? If they did, Chloe would be utterly ruined and she certainly would not expect Brook to step in and do the right thing.

She frowned to herself in the darkness. Would she? He was charming and certainly roguish but the more she came to know him, the more she had begun to wonder—was he really the rake that she had read about in the gossip columns?

What silly thoughts these were. Brook would never marry someone like her! Goodness, Mr. Brook Waverley would likely never marry at all or have some clever arrangement to ensure that he still had his freedom as well as heirs.

Her throat grew dry and she fought the urge to cough. The air in the storage room was dusty and smelled of dry paper. Only the scent of soap coming from Brook broke through it. Fighting the desire to inhale that smell deeply was difficult indeed, especially when it would most certainly bring on a coughing fit.

The voices faded and she released the air from her lungs. It was only then that she realised that Brook had her by both arms and they were mere inches apart. Instead of slowing, the heart beat that pounded fiercely in her ears grew more voracious.

Though she could not make out his features, she felt as though his gaze was upon her. She longed to be in the sunlight, able to see what was in his eyes. But would she even see what she wanted? She licked her lips. “Brook…” she whispered.

His fingers came back to her mouth but not to shush her this time. No, this time he traced the shape of her lips and let that finger slip down, over her chin and down her neck to where she could feel her pulse beat wildly. His fingers curved fully around her neck, pushing under her hair while his other hand felt warm on her arm, as though his fingers were on fire and penetrating through all layers of her clothing.

She waited, lips parted. She might be ignorant in the ways of men in the world, but she was not wrong about this, was she? There was only one reason a man might take a woman in his arms like this.

And for the life of her, she could not find any reason for him not to kiss her.

“Chloe,” he murmured, his tone almost as raspy as hers had been. The sound of her name on his lips sent the tiny hairs on her arms standing on end.

She leaned into him—her way of telling him,yes, I want this too.

He must have understood her. Somehow, by some miracle, this roguish man actually understood her—the bookish recluse whom everyone was more than happy to ignore.

His lips upon hers came as a shock and she jolted. He dropped back. “Forgive me.”

“No, please…I mean…” Curses, he had taken her shock for refusal. “Kiss me, Brook.”

He chuckled likely because her tone was demanding. She had not meant to be but she needed this more than she had ever needed anything in her life. Even if it was only one kiss, it would be one kiss to carry her through the rest of her spinsterhood.

She waited what felt like an eternity in the darkness but must have been mere seconds. His lips touched hers tentatively and she managed to remain still. They were warm and seeking, moving across her mouth with expert tenderness. Chloe remained with her hands balled into fists at her side. The riot of sensation rolled through her and her mind froze. Gone were the questions as to why and how this would happen.

He kissed her again, curving his thumb up her jawline and gently angling her head. He broke away briefly, resting his forehead against hers. “Chloe, you can kiss me back, you know.”

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