Page 54 of Nothing Compares to the Duke
Rhys held his breath, wary of moving, though, God, how he wanted to. She was exploring, thinking, testing, and he never wanted her to stop. But he wanted more too. He knew exactly how easy it would be to tumble her onto her back, to slide her stockings down her legs and kiss every inch of skin he exposed. Images flashed in his mind.
His self-control had always been flimsy at best and it failed him now entirely. He slid one hand down to her thigh.
And all the delicious tender intimacy between them shattered.
Bella pushed away from him and began getting to her feet. She used his chest for leverage and he reached for her hand.
“Don’t.” He didn’t want her to go back to hiding behind rules and propriety.
“We should get back to the ledgers.”
She got to her feet next to him, dusting herself off and straightening her clothes. Rhys lifted onto his elbows and watched her.
They were locked in the same quiet study as they had been a moment before and yet everything hadchanged. He could feel it like the tremor of storm clouds in the air.
“Bella—”
“I was impulsive.” She tucked the daisy pendant back into her bodice, then worked to push waves of hair back into pins.
“I like you when you’re impulsive.”
“I’m not sure I do.”
Before he could say more, three short taps sounded at the study door.
Rhys growled out, “Come,” as he got to his feet.
One of the footmen stood in the hallway. “Your Grace, you have a caller who says the matter is urgent.”
“Did they mention why?” Villagers had been calling almost daily since his arrival, but aside from those Meg wished to entertain with tea and biscuits, he intended to put them off for as long as he could.
“He mentioned Mr. Radley.”
“Send him up.” Rhys cast a glance at Bella. She finished with her hair and stood behind the desk, ready to resume her study of the ledgers as if nothing had passed between them.
“The steward,” he told her by way of explanation. “The man was supposed to call days ago but never appeared. I’ve made inquiries about him and his whereabouts. I hope perhaps this caller has answers.”
She looked intrigued and far more composed than he felt. He could still taste her on his lips, smell her floral scent on his clothes.
The man rapped once on the study door and strode inside as if he was familiar with Edgecombe. He was short and burly and studied them both with searching black eyes.
“I presume you’re the Duke of Claremont,” he said to Rhys while taking him in from brow to boot.
“An accurate presumption.”
The older man cast a glance at Bella. “May we speak alone, Your Grace?”
Rhys bristled at the man’s tone. He had no intention of asking Bella to depart. He didn’t have to look at her to know how curious she’d be to hear what the man knew, but he glanced back at her anyway, just to see the flush that still lingered on her cheeks and lips.
“Miss Prescott is my betrothed and will remain to hear whatever you have to say. Start by telling us who you are.”
“The name is Macadams, Your Grace. Of Scotland Yard.” He’d offered Rhys a nod and was smart enough to offer Bella the same courtesy. Then he got straight to business, removing a small journal and pencil stub from the pocket of his overcoat. “You employ a man named Radley?”
“Have you found him?” Rhys loved the notion that Macadams had the man trussed up in a carriage somewhere or clapped in irons in London.
“Ah, I see.” The older man’s shoulders slumped. “I take it you’ve no notion where he is either, Your Grace?”
Well, bullocks. Rhys repressed a groan.
