by Faye Pierce
She gasped at the sight before her.
She was not at the terrace at all but in the library.
Dark navy and maroon spines lined the rows of shelves; nearly the entire room was lined with bookcases packed full of literature. Alice's breath caught in her throat at the sight. Her father's library at home was certainly adequate, and she'd never run out of things that she wished to read, but this looked like heaven in front of her very eyes.
The light was warm and welcoming, and she was grateful for the quiet. It would be no hardship to hide away here, tuck into a novel and get cozy until the event had passed.
The comfort of the candlelight was inviting, but could she really stay here?
Perhaps she could simply borrow a book and bury herself in the corner of the ballroom, where she would not be noticed. She could fritter hours away in the company of only the pages in front of her, and once this whole thing was over with, it would be but a funny memory to Nancy and herself. Nancy would call her bookish, but not unkindly, and the two would laugh this whole thing away.
The thought was tempting.
She let her eyes roam the expansive room, wondering where the duke kept his novels, or if one such as a duke had novels at all, when her gaze rested on the desk in the center. There was a large leather reading chair resting behind it, cocked out as though someone had just scooted back.
Surely this was the duke's reading desk. She approached it cautiously as though it might bite her. Square in the center of the desk was a book with a cover she didn't recognize and an author she'd never heard of.
Curious, she thought. I wonder what kind of books a duke reads in his free time.
She let her hands rest on the cover, thinking to herself that she'd only pick it up. Once holding it, she told herself that she'd only open it to the first page, and having done that, was now flipping through it eagerly.
It was thick, and the print was small, but the more words she picked out, the quicker she realized that this was a work of fiction. Moreover, it seemed specifically like a romance.
Lord Williams took Gwendolyne's hands, kissing her fingertips lightly. The lady cooed in pleasure, her lips parting as though to speak, though no sound came from the rosebuds of her lips...
She looked up, surprised.
Who knew that such a strange duke could be such a romantic?
Perhaps he wasn't such a rogue after all. Alice wondered if maybe he'd gotten his eccentricities from reading works of romance. After all, that's where her father had told her she'd gotten hers, even though Alice didn't feel eccentric at all. She felt a little validated that someone as important as a duke would have reading habits similar to her own.
Alice nearly placed the book down, but something spurred her on. She wasn't sure if it was the fact that the author was unknown to her or perhaps the curiousness of the novel itself, but she found herself flipping forward to the middle of the work. Her eyes moved across the page until something snagged her eye that made her breath catch in her throat.
Lord Williams’ hands worked delicately at the lady's corset, loosening the hold on the fabric and the lady's inhibitions as well. The garment slipped down, revealing the mounds of Gwendolyne's breasts.
Lady Gwendolyne snaked her fingers through Lord Williams’ sleek black hair, feeling its silkiness on her skin. He was beautiful, truly, his dark eyes lustful and hungry. The lady ran her hands along his broad shoulders and the muscles she found there.
"You must know the truth," panted Gwendolyne, "I desire you more than any man I've ever known. Please, touch me..."
Alice felt her eyes go wide in scandalized shock.
A lady exposed in front of a gentleman? And to have written about it in such...descriptive language?
She knew she should put the book back now, knew she was doing something she shouldn't be by carrying on, but now she was mesmerized. Alice turned the page, her teeth working at her bottom lip as she consumed each word.
Lord Williams needed no further encouragement. He brought his mouth down upon Gwendolyne's nipple, pink and supple, and suckled on it gently until the lady was rocking her pale hips against his hardened body. She moaned his name lightly in the curl of his ear, and his fingers glided between her legs, sensually rubbing her most tender spot. Gwendolyne's cries were escalating in volume and in need.
Something was happening to Alice herself.
She almost felt as though she was quivering, her entire body, from the tips of her toes to the last hair on her head. She found it difficult to breathe, but strangely, not from nervousness this time. Somehow, she didn't feel a shred of anxiety, but still, she didn't feel quite right, quite normal.
She knew her face was red, but she couldn't stop her eyes from roving over the pages. She took in each word, turning the page quickly. She was strangely excited in a way she had never felt before and could barely find words to describe.
The countenance of the protagonist shifted in her mind to someone she had seen before, just moments ago. Her mind's eye conjured an image of the duke himself, his body bare, muscles visible and easily traceable with her hands. She could see his crop of black hair, her hands brushing through it. His dark eyes already looked devilish and lustful, as though they were made to gaze upon the form of a bare woman.
What would it feel like to have his lips on hers, kissing her neck, her breasts? What could it feel like for his lips and tongue to dare to slide lower?
The more she read, the easier it was to imagine him instead of the story's hero. There was a pleasant fluttering in her stomach, but between her thighs was the most curious sensation.
Alice had never felt such a tingling between her legs before; it was something nearly sinful, though something she wanted to explore further, but how could she? No book Alice had in her collection would ever be so profane and so strangely enticing; she knew Father would never allow such filthy words in their house, but somehow, she couldn't put it down.
"I had no idea a lady as cautious as you appear could enjoy such provocative literature so thoroughly," said a deep voice behind her.
Alice dropped the book, fumbling it in her hands before letting it finally fall. It hit the floor with a thwack, and she tucked her hands behind her back shamefully.
Standing in the doorway of the library was the Duke of Bedford.
"Your Grace!" Alice said, bending to pick up the book and place it back on his desk. "Ex-excuse me, my apologies!"
Alice moved to go around him, to be anywhere but mortified in his presence, but his hand caught her wrist in a tight grip. A sensation raced through her body, born where his skin met hers, and for a moment, Alice couldn’t make heads or tails of the thoughts galloping in her mind.
Her eyes trailed up his body to meet his dark ones looking back at her.
"Wait," the duke said, "Before you go, I'd like to know what you thought of my book. It's one of my personal favorites."
Alice dropped her head, ashamed, yet locked in his gaze, unable to answer right away. He raised one dark eyebrow at her, waiting for a reply.
Chapter Five
Henry watched as the young woman stumbled upon her words, clearly caught in the most humiliating act of her life.
Reading profane written works in the company of a gentleman, completely unchaperoned.
He would feel bad for her if he hadn't caught her sneaking around his private rooms. He'd caught sight of her right before she turned the corner, the edges of her burgundy dress floating out of sight. It had been difficult prying himself away from the hungry debutantes; that was an obstacle he had inadvertently created for himself.
It was quite a sight watching her voraciously consume each word, and the scene had had a surprisingly arousing effect on him. He had spoken the truth; that particular novel was one of his favorites, and he'd memorized much of it from multiple readings of the thing. The young mystery woman had turned the pages with a hunger and a need that had him feeling hungry and needy himself.
He surprised himself a lit
tle, lusting after such a plain-faced young woman. She wasn't the most stunning creature in the world, but it wasn't as though she were ugly. She simply had nothing outward that drew him in.
Not until now, anyway.
At the party, she seemed a little dull and perhaps a bit flighty. The only interesting thing about her had been the fact that she'd somehow made her way in without an invitation even.
But now...
Henry noticed that up close, she didn't seem quite as plain as he'd once initially thought. He liked the way her long dark lashes fell across her face and the way she nibbled at the pinkness of her lips in her nervousness around him.
But more than that, he liked the way she tore through his favorite novel so enthusiastically. He could tell that she was on a particularly delectable part by the way her fingers had trembled before she turned the page.
The girl twisted in his grip, unable to sneak her way past him. Her face was nearly as red as her dress, her hand flexing and unflexing.
"My apologies, Your Grace," she said again. She'd found her voice now after clearing her throat once more. It was high and slightly melodic in a way that he liked. "I—I should never have wandered away from the ball; I was simply feeling ill. Not like myself."
"Yes, not like yourself, indeed," Henry said. "You never did answer my question. Nor did you introduce yourself. I know the name of every young woman I've invited into my home tonight and I don't think that I know yours."
That was a blatant bluff, but she took the bait.
The young lady dragged her gaze up to look at him, and he found that he was stunned by the cornflower blue of her eyes. She could barely meet his eyes, but she wasn't demure; she was just truly mortified.
"My name is Alice, Your Grace," the young woman said, giving him as much of a curtsy as her trembling legs would allow, and Henry let go of her wrist. "Alice Egerton, daughter of the Viscount Falmouth. I apologize for being found in your...in your library."
"Yes, you've done so already," Henry said. "Did you come here specifically to rifle through my belongings?"
"Of course not," she said quickly, her eyes snapping up to look at him. "I'm no thief, if that's what you're implying."
"I'm simply saying that you've been found where you shouldn't have been," Henry said. "I shouldn't be the one defending myself in my own home. More so, I should be enjoying myself at the event I've planned instead of wandering about my home looking for an intruder."
The girl, Alice, drew herself up to her full height, though it didn't do her much good. Her lips turned down in a fierce frown, and she lifted her chin.
"Well," Alice said, offended. "I've already apologized, and I shan't do so again. I simply wanted to escape the natter of the party and perhaps find myself some fresh air upon a terrace somewhere."
"Yes," Henry said, gesturing to the shelves of books around them. "This certainly looks like a terrace. I, myself, have found the freshest of air in a dusty library."
"I'll be taking my leave now," Alice said, her voice high with indignation and embarrassment. "I thank you for your...lovely party, Your Grace—"
"A lovely party that you were not invited to, nor did you fully attend," Henry cut in. He was having too much fun teasing her; he liked the way she looked when the color flooded to her cheeks. She didn't look so pale and listless then. "If I'd have known you'd break into my home to read my naughty novel, I would have simply mailed it to you, Lady Alice Egerton, daughter of the Viscount Falmouth."
Her eyes tightened and, for a moment, she looked as though she would raise her voice, but she found her composure quickly. Her face settled into thin anger, and then she smiled at him, though it wasn't quite friendly.
"Your Grace, it was delightful to be in your presence, but now I think that I will see myself and my sister home," she said, her voice wobbling with fury. "I wish you all the success in your...endeavors, but I'm afraid that the Egerton daughters do not consort with scandalous, rakish dukes."
Henry felt surprised as her words and tone bit him. It seemed that he'd struck a nerve in goading her about the novel.
"I would like to remind one of the Egerton daughters that she was not invited to consort with a scandalous, rakish duke," Henry replied, not missing a beat. "And that she was, without a doubt, found in raptures over a novel that young, unmarried women shouldn't be reading. How utterly scandalous."
He watched her face on his emphasis of her presumed status. She blanched visibly, and Henry was shocked by how much he was able to get out of her by simply assuming.
Alice gathered her skirts about her, brushing past him angrily. She got about halfway down the hallway before she turned back.
"I hope you're happy with yourself, Your Grace," Alice said. "No one deserves such a...a cold-hearted man such as yourself. To send for all of these young ladies and put them in such a precarious position. Are you not ashamed?" She stomped one angry heel on the marble. "This entire event is absolutely ridiculous, and you have proven yourself to be such as well."
She turned on her heel at once without giving Henry the chance to reply and bustled away, leaving him with his whirlwind thoughts.
She wasn't at all like the courtesans and other lightskirts that Henry normally took to bed, but of course, she wouldn't be. In fact, she wasn't even like the rest of the young ladies just beyond earshot in the ballroom, either. She was quite unlike any woman he'd ever met. Her awkwardness charmed him; her fierceness charmed him. She somehow kept him guessing with her duality.
He had never had a woman snap at him so, other than his aunt, and he found with some surprise that he enjoyed that she wasn't simply simpering and fanning herself when he drew near. All the rest of the young ladies who he'd invited had done their very best to impress him; this young lady had insulted him and stormed off.
Henry followed where she'd stomped away, down the hallway, and stood on the balcony over his party. He caught sight of her burgundy dress just as she and another young lady billowed through the front door, back to their carriage.
Well.
Alice Egerton.
She was a difficult one, that was for sure. It was no wonder that she hadn't found herself a husband yet.
Either way, no woman had ever given him such grief before. He was beginning to feel something akin to the thrill of the chase, an intriguing thought that he couldn't set aside in his mind.
Henry always appreciated a young lady that knew what she wanted, and Alice Egerton was clearly enjoying that novel of his. If she appreciated it so much, well...
Perhaps if she could enjoy the novel in its entirety, then she would understand further what his intentions were.
A thought crossed his mind, and a smile threatened to tug on his lips, but he kept his face still.
He should go back down into the party, he knew. His cousin was conversing with several young ladies, who were all chattering around him animatedly. Robert caught his eye and was looking up at him questioningly, wondering why Henry wasn't socializing and enjoying the event that he had taken so much time and trouble to arrange.
More regrettable, though, was the fact that Lady Harrelson had also taken note of him standing alone at the top of the stairwell and was already making her way towards him.
"Henry, whatever do you think you're doing up here?" she asked. "Alone, antisocial. What am I to do about all of these young ladies?"
"I'll be back down presently, aunt," he said, hoping that he sounded reassuring and regretful. "I simply have something I forgot to do, and it must be taken care of right away, I'm sure you understand. It's not my wish at all to be missing such a..." He gestured vaguely at the party. "Such a lovely evening, but I take my duty to the duchy quite seriously."
He steered her back toward the party, the lady protesting all the while.
"I don't know what could be so serious that you would have your poor aunt entertain the entirety of the ton's most talkative daughters," Lady Harrelson complained. "I have several young ladies who I've told again and ag
ain that I would have you speak to, and they're becoming quite impatient, I can see it. Do not make a liar of me, Henry."
"Truly, I'll be back quite shortly," he said again. She turned back around at him, suspicious, but he smiled at her until she made her way back down the stairwell.
He would return to the party and his prospective brides, perhaps talk to this young lady or that. He would listen to them try to impress him with their musical abilities, their singing voices, their aptness in a foreign language. He would partake in perhaps one more glass of wine after the young ladies had all returned home and listen to his cousin go on about whomever he'd happened to meet.
