Page 81 of Teach a Rogue New Tricks
“About the heart, Ada.”
The words knocked the breath out of her, and she nearly fell back into her chair once more.
He chuckled. “I saw that. I nearly knocked you flat. You are like me.”
“What about the heart, Papa?” she grumbled.
He clapped a hand on her shoulder. “It doesn’t break as easily as you think. It’s a flexible thing. And as you learn to love a million new places, you’ll find you can leave your heart everywhere all at once and keep it in your chest, too.” He cleared his throat. “It can, for example, thump at the sight of a desert sunset all the while it rests entirely inside the cozy halls of an English manor house. Do you understand?”
Perhaps she did, and in doing so, she also finally understood her father. She felt she would soon know exactly what he meant. For while her heart might burst to watch the sun set beyond the sea while she stood at the bow of a ship, it would also wonder, with every beat, what curse words a certain viscount spewed, whether his book progressed, and whether or not he woke happy each morning.
Papa hooked his arm through her own. “You’ll conquer the world, Ada girl. But first, you must conquer a ballroom.”
She hid her fear of that gauntlet behind a wide smile. She’d rather skip the ball and go directly to the boat. Attending the ball meant stepping inside Aunt Lola’s house and coming face-to-face with a sleepy-eyed rogue who’d asked her to marry him.
Papa might have one thing right. She felt a bit of fear. Because after last night in Cass’s bed, she wanted him almost as much as she wanted the world. She should have asked him to come with her. But he would have said no. And just the conjecture of his rejection felt like a blacksmith’s hammer smashing her heart to pieces.
And—ah, there—something to run from.
Perhaps she resembled her father, after all, unable to face the most difficult truths.
No. She crumpled that thought up like a dirty rag and tossed it away. Her situation bore no resemblance to his own. When she left England, she would not leave behind a houseful of children needing the arms and smiles of love. If someone needed her, truly needed her, she’d help them.
And to ensure she left for the right reason, she’d visit a certain gentleman this evening after the house turned quiet and tame. She’d ensure he had no need of her, and maybe, if she found the courage, she’d ask him to step with her into the world.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Casssat up in bed, his legs stretched out in front of him, arms crossed behind his head, his notebook open on his lap, thinking. Brooding? No matter. He wasn’t sleeping. How could he with Ada nestled cozy in a bed down the hall. She (presumably) slept, preparing for the ball tomorrow night with a restful, restorative slumber here since her own home fair exploded with family.
Would she miss it when she left, that explosion of family? Or would she soon forget those she left behind, including him? He should have stayed at his parents’ house. But the events of the day had seemed so miraculous, a flimsy bubble that could pop if he prodded it even the tiniest bit. He’d been given a second chance, and he would not,would notruin that.
So here he lay, once more in his room at Lola and Nathan’s but not sleeping. Likely wouldn’t sleep.
A scratch fell upon Cass’s door. It reminded him of the sound his cat at Graceling made when he demanded entrance to any room. Scritch. Scratch. Pause. Scriiiiitch. Scraaatch. Cass blinked away his contemplative state, threw his notebook onto a nearby table, swung his legs over the bed, and stood.
Scratch.
He went to let the cat in, remembering once his hand grabbed the door that Lola had no cat.
He flung the door open, and there in the darkness—Ada. No light illuminated the hall but her skin glowed, her eyes glowed. Her soul bloody glowed. She smiled, a shy thing, funny considering how far they’d come with one another.
“May I come in?” she asked, her voice low, her quick glances left and right fervent.
For answer, he circled her wrist and tugged her in the room. He shut the door softly so it made not a sound, then whirled her, pressed her back against the door, and cupped her face in his hands. Tangling his fingers in her hair, he kissed her like she was his very air. Because damn it, she was. He pulled back, wanting to see her, to memorize every inch of her face.
She reached up and swept hair out of his eyes, letting her index finger burrow into his hairline and trace the edge of his ear.
Her touch shot through him like the first fleeting moment of absolute joy. When nothing had ever seemed so perfect as this thing making his heart ache. Nothing had ever been so perfect as her, and his heart did ache, a tender pain only she could soothe.
She seemed to know it. Her hand trailed from his naked neck down his chest. Her palm pressed flat there, right over his heart.
And he kissed her again, harder because he hurt so damned much.
She gasped, then she joined him, her leg lifting, climbing his body and hitching one side of her skirts up. When her knee brushed against his hip bone, he clasped her outer thigh and pulled it higher. His other arm wrapped around her until he could clasp her arse. He squeezed and pulled her soft, melting core tight against his hardening shaft.
“I dare not ask what you’re doing here,” he said, the words coming in pants and between hard kisses.
“I came for you. I came because I need you.”
