'You lived with your grandfather, Molly said.'
'Yes, we had a cozy life but not an exciting one. Business and books, books and business. I'm sure you'd find it very boring.'
'I contend with my share of business as well, although my secretary, Shelby-I forgot to introduce you downstairs.' His smile reappeared. 'You turned my head completely and my manners went calling.'
'I love when I turn your head.'
'like you love books.'
She turned around to face him, her eyes wide. 'Not in the least, my lord Bathurst. In a completely tumultuous, tremulous way that defies description.'
'I know.'
'You do?'
'It's most odd.'
'But lovely,' she softly intoned, 'like a cozy fire on a cold night…'
'Not exactly.' There was nothing cozy about the lust drumming through his brain. 'Molly's told you what to expect tonight, hasn't she?'
'For an entire week, my lord. Oh, dear, have I kept you waiting with all my talk of books?'
'You needn't call me my lord. And you haven't kept me waiting,' he politely lied, discounting his week-long wait at Alworth with cavalier disregard.
'I suppose you'd rather do something else than listen to me prattle on about books, but I confess, I'm not exactly sure how to-begin. It's all well and good,' she nervously noted, 'to be schooled in seduction, but when one actually is onstage, as it were…'
'Come, sit and have your champagne. We'll decide how to begin later.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Please, my name is Dermott.'
'Yes, sir'-she fluttered her hands-'I mean Dermott.'
He'd not had a lover say Yes, sir to him before, and while Miss Leslie might be experiencing a degree of trepidation, he wasn't exactly on familiar ground either. 'Drink some champagne,' he noted, handing her the glass, 'and tell me about your map library.'
His deliberate effort to put her at her ease was successful, and within moments she was conversing in a completely natural way. He asked questions, she answered, and before long, he was refilling her glass and she was leaning back comfortably in her chair and smiling at him in a deliciously sweet way. It unnerved him transiently, sweetness having never been a trait that attracted him, but she was exceedingly sensual as well-Molly's choice of gown the merest wisp of fabric.
'So you see, if Magellan had had better maps, he might have survived.'
'Would you like to see those in my library?'
'Now?'
'We've plenty of time.' He had no intention of making love to a trembling virgin. In fact, on more than one occasion since meeting Miss Leslie, he'd tried to talk himself out of making love to her at all.
Taking their drinks with them, Dermott guided Isabella to a secret door concealed in the masonry of the fireplace surround, and holding her hand, preceded her down a narrow, curving staircase that opened into the library below. His maps were arranged in large, shallow drawers, and after Isabella had exclaimed over the rarest of his collection, he showed her the maps of India he was updating.
'I could help you,' she excitedly said, lightly touching some mountain elevations he'd added to a section of northern India. 'I've some very good inks that will last forever-well,' she added with a small grimace, 'when I return home, I'll be able to give them to you. Grandpapa had them specially mixed in Paris.'
Although she had no way of knowing, taking out the maps of India had been a watershed he'd not been able to cross since returning to England. Gazing down at her head bent low over the table, her golden hair shining in the lamplight, he felt an affection he'd not experienced since he'd lost his family. How could this slight young woman so touch his feelings when none of the scores of women he'd made love to since his return had so much as engaged his interest?
He moved away, not wishing to feel what he felt when the only woman he'd ever loved was dead. Replenishing his glass, he walked to the windows overlooking the terrace and stared out into the starry night.
'I've bored you again,' Isabella remarked, putting the maps away, the small sound of the drawer sliding shut forcing him to speak.
'I'm tired, I think.'
'I've said something wrong,' she said, coming up to him. 'I apologize.'
'It's nothing you said. Molly tells me I'm moody.'
'Then I shall entertain you,' she declared brightly.
'Surely, you're not thinking of singing.' A smile creased his face.
'I don't see a piano in sight.'
'Lucidly.'
'You don't like female entertainments?'
'Not of the cultural kind.'
'Ah… perhaps, then, I should show you how these bows open.' She reached up to her shoulders.
'Not yet.' Quickly placing his hands over hers, he arrested her action, not sure he was ready, not sure an artless virgin could fill the void in his black mood.
'Yes, sir… er-Dermott,' she softly corrected, the warmth of his hands on her shoulders, the weight of them, his closeness, making her tremble, her wanting him no longer casual, if it ever had been, no longer a practical decision, but deep, specific, and defenseless. 'When?'
Never, he should say, her virginity a vast deterrent, his own troubled memories disquieting.
'I want you… ever so much,' she whispered, gazing up at him with wistful blue eyes, taking a half step forward so her body brushed his.
'This could be a mistake.' Irresolute, skittish, he hesitated.
'You promised,' she pleaded.
The innocent longing in her eyes, the lush feel of her body against his, weakened his already equivocal resolve, his body automatically responding to her nearness, his erection rising between them.
'You
She was temptation incarnate, the look, the feel of her, and gripping her shoulders, he reluctantly pulled her closer. Her sweet scent filled his senses, her soft breasts pressed into his chest whetted his appetite for more, her hips brushing against his throbbing erection fed his lustful cravings.
She slid her hands from beneath his and, reaching up, placed them on his shoulders. 'I'm going to kiss you now, my lord,' she murmured as though she had a schedule to keep. And when she rose on tiptoe to reach his mouth, it was impossible to resist. His hands drifted lower, sliding down her back, cupping her bottom, and pulling her hard against his body. He growled softly, 'You'd better be sure.' His voice took on a faint drollery. 'Then at least one of us will be.'
'I'm sure.' Her eyes were clear blue, untouched by doubt, her mouth only inches away.
Wanting to be kissed.
He dropped his head slowly, as though she were dangerous.
'Kiss me,' she whispered, tightening her grip on his shoulders, drawing closer.
And he impetuously obliged, covering her mouth in a restless hotspur kiss that didn't charm or take heed of her innocence but fed his own rash urgency after a week of waiting-a greedy, incautious kiss that ravished and roused and tantalized.
She sighed into his mouth, unafraid, audacious in her wanting, reveling in his need. Melting against him she ate at his mouth, tasted him deeply, as though he were hers to savor and relish and he was the reason she'd waited so long for her first kiss.
It was half a lifetime away from Dermott's first kiss, and heated or not, flame hot or blazing, it wasn't enough.
He wanted more. When he shouldn't, when she might regret what she was doing, when he didn't want the
