Page 37 of Teach a Rogue New Tricks
“A rhyme to amuse you. Or annoy you.”
Her gaze snapped to his, suddenly sparkling. “Yes. Please do.” She slanted him a skeptical look. “If you can.”
“I’m up to the challenge, I think, Miss Cavendish.” He leaned against the Tower wall and crossed his arms over his chest, thinking.
She joined him, rolling onto her shoulder, and looking up at him.
He rolled to the side as well, so he could face her. “Ready?”
“Done with your composition so soon?”
He nodded. “I’m a natural poet, inspired by the muses themselves.”
“Please, do delight me, Lord Poet.”
He composed his features into a serious mask. “The monk in the Tower is dressed with class. In order to see it, you must look at his—”
“Cassius!”
She’d used his given name again. It seemed to come naturally to her lips when she chided him. Made a fellow want to misbehave even more. He grinned. “The meter not to your liking? Couldn’t be the content. Hmm. Let me try again.”
“I think not. Poetry inspires you to misbehave. You should avoid it at all costs.”
“If you command it, so shall it be. Let me write that down.” He scribbled the command in his notebook.
She shook her head but chuckled, and her bonnet tilted out of place.
“Your bonnet’s come untied.” He reached for the ribbons at her neck, untied them, straightened them, and tied them tight, focusing on the bow appearing against her sun-kissed skin. “You are outdoors quite often.”
“I am. In the country.” Her voice sounded deeper than usual, the type of lust-roughened rasp he remembered hearing in candle-shadowed bedrooms under body-heated sheets
He lifted his gaze from the bow to her face. Her skin was flushed, her eyes bright. She breathed heavy. Had his touch so affected her, then? Had she enjoyed his kiss? The question necessitated an experiment. He flicked his fingers against the smooth skin of her neck as he gave the bow a final tug to tighten it. Her breath caught, and when it started again, it shook her.
Yes, his touchdidhave an effect on her.
He had no clue what to do with that information. Nothing, likely. He’d decided to be good, after all. But if he leaned over and kissed her, would she chide him? Cassius, she’d hiss, do not.And that might very well make him want to kiss her more. He stepped away from her and held his breath.
She swayed toward him, her eyelids fluttering closed.
An invitation.
He reached for her. His fingers landed lightly on her wrist, and he leaned forward. So did she. Until the narrowest of shadows separated their lips. Another kiss. And this time not to scare her off, but to—
“Ada!” Her name boomed out across the courtyard in surly, worried tones. “Ada!”
They jolted away from one another. Ada raised a trembling hand to her lips, her eyes locked with his.
“Ada!”
Her head whipped toward the voice, and she ran out from behind the statue. “Yes, Papa? Here!”
Cass groaned and dropped his face into his palms, his knees buckling. He’d been about to kiss her, truly kiss her this time. For all the right reasons.
Right reasons? What werethose?
“What were you doing back there?” Baron Eaden—her father—boomed. “And who is that behind there with you?”
Worse. The situation had just become the absolute worst it could be. The only event that could heighten the tragedy would be for his brother to pop up alongside the baron. Then they could pummel him into the earth together.
