Page 13 of A Duke's Sinful Bargain
As Tom descended the staircase, lost in thought regarding the new assignment he would surely be given, he encountered a lady sitting there, whom he could only assume was Lady Ravenscroft lady’s maid, elegantly poised in her cloak and glove. She looked utterly ravishing in the soft sunlight that fluttered from a nearby window. As he passed her by, he couldn’t stop staring at her. Her beauty left him breathless.
“Miss,” he said with a smile as he neared her. “Good day to you.”
She turned to him, slightly flustered, for she obviously was not expecting to have anyone walk up to her. But the moment their eyes locked, she responded with a beaming smile, her eyes reflecting a warmth that beckoned him to see what other beautiful things she hid underneath those eyelashes.
“To you as well,” she replied, her voice soft and melodious.
This brief exchange held an unspoken chemistry, a subtle acknowledgment of shared moments that could take place, and Tom could not explain it in any other way but the knowledge that fate had placed him here, in her presence.
He threw one more glance at her before proceeding toward the door, hoping this would not be the last time they met, as her smile remained in his mind a tantalizing promise of unspoken connections.
Several moments later, Alexander was descending the stairs, following the same path, only his led him to the drawing room. As soon as he entered, his senses heightened at the radiant presence of Lady Anna Ravenscroft. The interplay of light accentuated her features, casting a delicate glow upon her pale skin and rendering her more enchanting than ever.
“Lady Ravenscroft,” he greeted her cordially, bowing respectfully before her, his mind a whirlwind of questions.
What was she doing here? Had she come because of the debt? Or was there something else on her mind? One glance her way assured him that she did not seem apprehensive. On the contrary, she seemed to be in perfect control of herself, something not many women could boast, in Alexander’s experience.
“Lord Blackthorn,” she greeted him back.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” he inquired, unable to sustain his curiosity.
Only then did he notice that she was holding a book in her hand, which she was now offering to him. “I got the impression that you needed to improve on your existing knowledge on Shakespeare.”
His gaze traveled down to the book, noticing that it was none other thanMuch Ado About Nothing. She was obviously teasing him in reference to the conversation they had had during the ball several days ago, but no matter what Alexander did, he could not get this mysterious lady out of his mind.
As she offered him the book, their fingers grazed ever so gently, but enough to stir every nerve ending in his entire body. All his senses awakened, demanding more, alert and yearning. He pulled the book quickly, his fingers feeling scorched where she had touched him.
He wondered how soft her skin would feel underneath the tips of his fingers, how fragrant and delectable it would taste under his tongue. But he quickly banished that thought, knowing how dangerous it might be for them both to even consider something like that.
“Is that so?” he asked, unable to resist chuckling. He turned the book in his hands, opening it. It was a rare edition, one he could certainly not find just anywhere. His gaze flew back to her. “This is quite a find. Are you certain you wish to give it away?”
She shrugged. “I have several copies. I gave one to the orphanage. I kept one for myself. I don’t really need a third.”
He wanted to suggest to her that she could sell it. It would be far away from settling her late husband’s debts, but it was at least something. Fortunately, he managed to bite his tongue before saying something that might end up offending her, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.
Instead, he gazed at her, in awe of seeing her here. He found himself immersed in the implicit dance of their eyes, of their gestures, of what was left unspoken. Behind the façade of social niceties, a current of desire surged within him.
But at the same time, a question lingered in his mind. Did Lady Ravenscroft know of her late husband’s substantial debts to him? If she did, did she know the extent of those same debts? Yet amid the verbal repartee, his gaze could not help but wander, focusing on her lips with inexplicable fascination.
“This…” he gestured at her with the book as he spoke, “is very nice of you. Thank you.”
“You left,” she said, ignoring his comment of gratitude.
“I left?” he wondered, caught off guard.
“The ball,” she explained succinctly, looking around, as if she had been invited here and now was still deciding whether she would be staying. She was truly skilled at concealing emotions.
Because he was certain that she did not feel indifferent being here, with him. Yet the air of aloofness about her was astonishing. She was either a very skillful master of her own thoughts or she truly had no hidden agenda, which would make this quite a curious encounter indeed. Either way, he was more than amused to see her.
“Ah, yes.” He nodded, hiding the book behind his back as if he had stolen it. He wasn’t particularly keen on explaining to her that he had had enough of people, that he wanted to be alone, but perhaps, alone with her. Those words he could never say out loud, no matter how attracted he was to her.
“You know, I was actually hoping to have one more dance with you,” she said boldly, taking him by surprise.
A quiet battle waged within him. His every instinct urged him to lean closer, to bridge the delicate gap that separated them, and to taste the sweetness of a forbidden kiss.
Yet a staunch resolve held him back, a testament to the strength of the internal struggle that raged on inside of him. Instead, their exchange became a silent symphony of glances and subtle gestures, each laden with the unspoken language of attraction neither of them could deny, no matter how they might try to.
How could he give in to temptation, knowing fully well that it would not satiate his hunger for her, but rather would open up a whole new level of yearning, one that a mere kiss would never be able to satisfy? How could he stand there and look her in the eyes, knowing he had taken himself into his hands at night on several occasions, thinking only of her?
