by Shana Galen
Ridiculous thought. Now she’d only made things awkward between them. She started to move back, but he lifted a hand and ran a finger along her cheek. The light, simple gesture made her freeze. Perhaps things were not quite so awkward as she’d feared.
“I have been wanting to kiss you since...”
“Since you first met me?”
“No.”
“Since you first saw me in a dress?”
“No.” Before she could speak again, he placed his finger over her lips. “Since I watched you stroll down the middle of a road, facing armed highwaymen.”
“Oh, that,” she mumbled, his finger still on her lips.
“I’ve never met a woman like you. I think I can hardly be blamed for wondering what it might be like to kiss such a woman.”
She wrapped a hand around his wrist and drew his finger down. “I think you should try it and see.”
“Here?”
“Yes.”
“Like this?”
“Yes. No choreography required.”
“But—”
She kissed him. All she had to do was lean forward and press her lips to his. Yes, the table between them was inconvenient. Yes, someone might enter at any moment and interrupt, but Rosalyn did not intend to lose her opportunity.
His mouth was warm and soft, and the act of placing her lips on his was quite nice. Initially, he seemed frozen in shock, but then he kissed her back, and that was quite nice as well. She didn’t have much experience kissing. She’d kissed a few boys here and there, but never a man. Never a duke. Now she’d have something to tell her grandchildren one day.
She drew back, smiling, but her grin faded when she saw the intensity of the duke’s look. “Did I do something wrong?” She rose. He rose as well and rounded the table. Now she was the one who took a step back. “Shouldn’t I have done that?”
“It was a bad idea.”
“Why?”
He stepped closer, and she stepped back again.
“Because now I want more.”
“More?”
“More.”
She stepped back again, but this time, he caught her arm and hauled her forward, against his chest. “Any farther back and you’ll step into the fire,” he explained.
She glanced over her shoulder and saw she’d almost backed into the hearth. “Thank you.”
“It was no trouble.” He was solid and warm against her, his strong arms enveloping her. “And since you are here.” He bent, and though she could see he intended to kiss her, she couldn’t quite believe it until his lips took hers. This kiss was not at all like the one they’d shared a moment ago. Then, she’d been teasing, testing him, really. But he was not teasing. His mouth took hers with a fierceness that surprised her and made her body catch fire all over. She half feared she had stepped into the hearth after all, because quite suddenly she felt so very, very warm.
His hand skated up her back and cupped the curve of her head, where her hair was pinned, then he deepened the kiss. She knew what he wanted, though she’d never done this herself. But she’d seen others do it. She opened her mouth to allow him entrance, and when his tongue licked inside, she gasped.
He pulled back, his blue eyes large and dark. “Should I stop?”
“Why would you stop?”
“I don’t want to scare you.”
“I assure you, Duke, the only thing I fear is that you won’t kiss me again.” The staid duke had hidden stores of passion.
With a smile that made her insides melt, he kissed her again. This time, she ventured into his mouth, her tongue tangling with his. It was his turn to catch his breath. He pulled back and looked down at her. “My name is Dominick.”
“Lovely.” She kissed him again, not caring what his name was, only wanting to feel his warm lips on hers again. His mouth slanted over hers, and she was not disappointed.
Until he pulled back again.
“May I call you by your Christian name?”
She rose on tiptoes to kiss him again, but he held her back, waiting for her answer.
“Yes, call me Rosalyn. And if you still feel like calling me Miss Dashner, I must be doing something wrong.”
His laugh turned to a groan when she took his head in her hands and kissed him deeply. Somehow, they had moved backward, and she felt the wall press against her back. She was relieved to have something to support her. Her legs felt wobbly, and her feet had lost all sensation. There was only the two of them and the way their mouths met, lips teasing and tasting.
And then the dratted man pulled away again. He braced a hand against the wall and, panting, looked down at her. “Rosalyn is a pretty name.”
Did he want to have a conversation? “Dominick is pretty too,” she said, then reached up again. But he took her shoulders in his hands and held her back. “This is not the time for a conversation, Dominick.”
He smiled, making her want to kiss him again. “I’d argue it’s exactly the time for a conversation. Otherwise, we may do something we’d both regret.”
She wasn’t so naïve she didn’t know what he meant, but she hadn’t considered the possibility that what had begun as an innocent kiss might turn into something much, much more. And if she enjoyed kissing him this much, then how much more might she enjoy what came after? But she was no wanton, and she neither wanted to be ruined by a duke nor bear his bastard. So she lowered her arms and took a fortifying breath. “You’re right. I should go to bed.”
“As should I. We have a long day tomorrow.”
“In that case, sleep well...” She wasn’t certain what to call him now that they were no longer touching. Your Grace? Duke? Dominick? “Sleep well.”
“You too, Rosalyn,” he said, as though he knew her dilemma.
She nodded and made her way on unsteady legs to the door. But she didn’t go immediately to her room. First, she stepped outside and pressed her hands to her cheeks and gulped the fresh air. But it would take more than a hay-scented breeze to take away the memory of his hands on her. And it would take sheer willpower to keep from kissing him the next time she saw him.
Chapter Six
DOMINICK STARED AT the ancient structure looming above them. They’d traveled through Cornwall all morning, until they’d finally reached what Dominick assumed must be the most remote area in all of England. The road—if one wanted to call it that—was flanked by cliffs on either side, and below the cliffs, the ocean slammed hard against craggy rocks worn and weathered by the centuries. Rising above it all at the end of a narrow peninsula was a gray structure with towers looming from all four corners and keyhole arrow slits cut into the stone.
“There it is. The Temples, Your Grace,” John Coachman announced, sitting back when he’d halted the carriage and an outrider had opened the doors.
“Why have we stopped here?” Dominick asked. The carriage stood a quarter mile or more from the entrance to the old building.
“It’s too narrow up ahead, and I don’t trust the ground. Could be dangerous for the horses, Your Grace.”
Dominick stepped down and surveyed the road himself. The coachman was correct. It would be dangerous for the horses and the carriage to continue. He turned to see Rosalyn descending the carriage steps. She wore a long cape that hid the male clothing she wore underneath, but he knew she was prepared to climb the wall of The Temples at his mere command.
“We walk from here,” he said, turning away from her. He waved off the outriders who would have accompanied them, as well as the maidservant. The fewer people who approached the mad earl the better. In fact, Dominick would have left Rosalyn at the carriage too, but she would need a close view of the building if she had to climb it later.
Of course, now, as he walked ahead of her along the rocky path, he was rethinking that plan. He shouldn’t have kissed her. He’d known it was a bad idea the moment he’d considered it, but he hadn’t been able to convince himself when she stood before him. But in the cold light of morning, when he’d been apart from her for
hours and able to evaluate the situation, he knew becoming personally involved with her had been a mistake. She was a servant, little more. He couldn’t afford to worry about her safety. If every time he looked up at the high steep walls of The Temples, he imagined her plummeting to her death on the wet rocks below, he would never allow her to scale them. And then he might never acquire the manuscript.
The manuscript was everything, not simply because he wanted to be able to present it to Professor Peebles, though that was important. The man had searched for the volume his whole life. There was no one more deserving. But the search was about more than that. It was about proving himself as a member of the Bibliomania Club. The club stood for truth and knowledge, and Dominick wanted to contribute to those lofty purposes by acquiring a volume that would shed light on the truth and knowledge as it had been viewed in the time of the book’s conception.
And, of course, he did not want to be the only one who failed. A Duke of Tremayne never failed.
Dominick glanced at The Temples again. He had to crane his neck to look up at the towers. The climb would be dangerous, and any mistake could mean a long, long fall. If Rosalyn made one false move while climbing that wall, he would never kiss her again. He would never hold her in his arms or inhale the fragrance that was hers alone.
He tried to remind himself there were plenty of other women who smelled just as sweet and felt just as good in his arms. But it wasn’t any use. He’d kissed other women, touched other women, and he’d never felt the way he felt when he held Rosalyn and pressed his lips to hers.
“What shall we do now?” she asked, coming to stand beside him. Dominick realized he’d been standing before the massive oak door of the castle for several moments.
“We knock.” He eyed the knocker, a tarnished gold ring fashioned into a design of a snake eating its own tail.
“Do you suppose anyone is at home?” she murmured. “It looks completely uninhabited.”
“There is but one way to find out.” He lifted the knocker and lowered it on the metal plate three times. The hollow sound that echoed back at them made Rosalyn shiver. Dominick resisted the urge to pull her close and reassure her. She was a servant. He was paying her to do a task. He had to remember that.
Five minutes or more passed, neither of them speaking as they stood before the door. Dominick reached for the knocker again, but Rosalyn put a hand on his arm. “Listen,” she whispered.
He listened, shook his head, and then froze. He’d heard what she must have as well. A distinct shuffling sound came closer and closer. Rosalyn’s hand tightened on his arm, and Dominick did exactly what his mind told him not to—he put his own hand over hers to comfort her.
Or, if he was being brutally honest, perhaps the action comforted him.
The clang and creak of locks turning and latches lifting echoed into the sunlit day behind them. But as the door scraped open, clouds seemed to sweep across the sun, casting everything and everyone into a gray gloom.
In the doorway stood a man of medium height with dark hair and dark eyes. He was dressed in black, his clothing tailored and clean. He looked every inch the typical butler. In fact, he looked so typical that Dominick did not hear him when he spoke.
Rosalyn poked him, and Dominick started. “I beg your pardon.”
The butler smiled as though he were used to this response. “I said, good afternoon and welcome to The Temples. I am Payne. How may I be of assistance?”
“I’ve come to pay a call on the Earl of Verney.” Dominick held out the card he had ready. “You may tell him the Duke of Tremayne and his companion are here.”
Mr. Payne did not seem as impressed by a duke coming all this way to call as Dominick might have hoped. The butler looked at the card then back at Dominick and Rosalyn. Finally, he stepped back, opening the door wider as he did. “Won’t you come inside and out of the rain?”
Dominick frowned. It was not raining. But as soon as he thought it, a raindrop plopped on the back of his neck and the boom of thunder rent the quiet. Rosalyn was staring back the way they’d come, and he turned to follow her gaze. Rain poured in sheets, soaking the horses and the outriders. Lightning flashed in the angry skies over the churning water.
“Storms arise quickly over the water,” Payne said. “Does your traveling party require shelter? I’m afraid we have no stable. It washed away several years ago.”
That meant Dominick would either have to let his party stand in the rain or send them back two miles to the last vestiges of civilization. He faced Payne. “They’ll be fine.”
Rosalyn gave him a disapproving look but didn’t speak. She stepped into the grand foyer just ahead of him, her neck craning to look up at the vaulted ceiling. The foyer was easily two stories, a massive chandelier hanging from the highest point. It was not lit, but the sconces burning around the chamber meant that the chandelier shed a wide shadow over the center of the floor. Though dark and musty, as many old buildings were, The Temples looked clean and well-kept. If a madman did indeed reside here, his madness had not interfered with basic housekeeping.
“This way,” Payne said, lifting a candelabra. He led them out of the foyer and through a dark, windowless passage. The passage ended before an arched wooden door. Payne extracted what looked like a skeleton key from his waistcoat, fitted it in the lock, turned it, and opened the door. The interior was dim, and when Rosalyn began to enter, Dominick grasped her shoulder, holding her back. He wasn’t certain whether this was a prison cell or a parlor, and though it might be customary to allow a lady to enter ahead of him, he felt the need to protect her.
Dominick strode into the room, noting the hearth had been lit, warding off some of the chill. It was not a prison cell, but a small parlor, furnished with tapestries and ornate wooden chairs that would have looked at home at the table of King Henry VIII. Rosalyn entered next, followed by Payne with the candelabra, which he set on a side table. “Would you care for refreshment?”
“No,” Dominick said. “We’d like to speak to the earl as soon as possible.”
“Of course.” Payne smiled. “If you will excuse me for a moment, I will see if the earl is at home.”
He left the room, closing the door behind him.
“Why do I have the urge to check whether he locked us in?” Rosalyn whispered.
“This isn’t a prison, Miss Dashner,” Dominick said, reminding himself as much as her.
“It looks quite normal on the inside,” she said, moving about the room to examine the tapestry. “I thought there would be spider webs and rusty suits of armor.”
Dominick wouldn’t admit it, but he’d envisioned far worse. “You are allowing your imagination to get the better of you.”
“I don’t have an imagination,” she countered. “And I didn’t imagine that storm that was summoned when you knocked on the door.”
“There is nothing supernatural here, Miss Dashner. My family owns at least one castle almost as old as this one, and though it is dark and crumbling, there are no ghosts.”
“Oh, that’s comforting. Now you have me worried about ghosts,” she grumbled. He almost smiled, then caught himself. He must treat her as a servant. Not as a woman he found clever and amusing.
“What is your opinion of the outer walls?” he asked, bringing his attention, and hopefully hers as well, back to the problem at hand.
She looked away from the tapestry and met his eyes with her lovely green ones. “I can climb them,” she said, sounding confident. “They’re not smooth or sheer. There are plenty of bricks that might serve as hand- and footholds. The problem is that there are no outer windows, only embrasures, and even I am not small enough to squeeze through one of those.”
“Then there was no reason for you to come.” He felt a sense of relief. She couldn’t enter The Temples by climbing the outside. She would not have to risk her life doing so.
“I didn’t say I couldn’t do it,” she snapped. “I only said there are no entrances on the walls. The roof is another ma
tter.”
“What do you mean?”
“This was a fortress meant to repel attacks coming from land or sea, correct?”
He nodded, beginning to see where she was leading him.
“There must be turrets along the roof where archers could stand and rain arrows down upon invaders. That means there is a way in from the roof. I only need to climb that high.”
Dominick did not want her to climb that high. He did not want to watch her small body dangle above him, while he stood on firm ground below and watched in safety. He couldn’t allow it. “Rosalyn,” he began.
Someone tapped on the door, and Dominick spun around, expecting to see the old earl, but he was greeted by an ancient woman carrying a silver tray. The tray looked heavy and the woman small and frail, and Rosalyn immediately raced to the servant’s aid. “Let me assist you!”
“I have it,” the old woman said in a papery voice. “I can still carry a tray or my name isn’t Clothilde Wright.”
Rosalyn glanced at Dominick, and he strode forward, taking a table with him. “Set it here, Mrs. Wright,” he said, placing the table directly in front of her.
“Thank you, sir.” She smiled, lifting the mass of wrinkles on her face. “Are you certain this is convenient? You should have tea by the hearth—” She made to lift the tray again, and Dominick shook his head.
“This is perfect. Please do not trouble yourself.”
She wiped her hands on her apron. “Very well. Is there anything else you require?”
They hadn’t asked for the tea and sandwiches on the tray. “Just the earl, Mrs. Wright. Can we expect him soon?”
“The earl?” The old woman looked confused. “I don’t know. I was told to fetch tea for our guests. So nice to have guests. And what a handsome couple you make. Is this your honeymoon?”
Dominick felt his cheeks heat. “No,” he said at the same time Rosalyn all but shouted, “No!” He scowled at her. “We came to call upon the earl.”
