But he had dined with Callie instead, and he had fallen asleep once more to thoughts of the woman kissing him back with all the fury infecting his soul. He had taken himself in hand.
Twice.
Still, he had risen this morning with a cockstand that had only abated through sheer force of will and the application of cold water. When she had entered and gone immediately to the writing machine, which he had deliberately had removed to the opposite end of the library once more, he had told himself it was for the best.
That the distance was necessary.
But then, she had dropped those damned papers all over the floor, and he had not been able to stay away. Staying away from her would be more impossible now that he knew how she came to life in his arms. Now that he knew how she tasted.
There was not a pin left to remove now. Her hair fell down her back in cascading waves, and still he kissed her with relentless hunger. His fingers found the line of buttons beginning at her high-necked bodice, just at the base of her throat. He began plucking, one by one.
This was no planned seduction. This was a maelstrom. He had lost control, and there was no stopping him now. It was wrong, he knew it, and yet he could not tear his mouth from hers. Could not end the kiss. He filled his left hand with her hair, angling her head as he wanted, allowing him greater access to her lips and to the skin he revealed at her throat.
With his right hand, he continued flicking the endless line of buttons from their moorings. At last, he felt her warm flesh, sleek and supple. He flattened his palm over her racing heart, absorbing the frantic thumps, reveling in the heat of her skin. Without ending their kiss, he caressed lower. He found his way beneath her chemise, inside her corset.
His hand curved around her breast. Her nipple was a hard little bud within. Lust roared to his cock. She whimpered into his kiss, straining toward him, arching her back. He rolled the stiff peak between his thumb and forefinger.
What a sensual creature she hid beneath all her layers. This Miss Hilgrove was a revelation. His mouth moved over hers, claiming, urging her response. He had never wanted to possess a woman more. He wanted to pull her to the floor, raise her skirts, and lose himself in her.
He had not believed himself capable of such savagery, but then neither had he ever experienced such passion. Something within him—the tattered shreds of his honor, his conscience—told him he needed to put an end to this madness. He should not undo one more button, should not give her one more kiss.
And he would stop, he promised himself. Soon. He would regain his senses. He would tear his lips from hers, take a step back. He would remember he was a gentleman, and a duke at that, and she was an unwed lady in his employ.
One more kiss turned into another.
And then another.
Until a different feminine gasp tore through the sensual haze fogging his mind.
Unlike the delicious, breathy sounds Miss Hilgrove made when he kissed her, however, this gasp was familiar. And it was coming from the threshold of the library.
Callie.
Damn and blast.
He stepped back from Miss Hilgrove, releasing her, but it was too late. His sister stood at the open door of the library, her face a mask of astonishment.
Instinctively, he positioned Miss Hilgrove behind him, hiding her dishabille from view. But whilst his sister could no longer see the buttons he had undone or the unbound curls rioting down Miss Hilgrove’s back, the damage had been done. Nor was there any use in pretending he had not just been kissing her senseless.
Good God. He was a hypocrite. Attempting to make his sister fit into society’s mold when he had just taken a bloody hammer to the damned plaster cast.
“Callie,” he managed to rasp past the overwhelming mixture of shame and desire clogging his throat, “this is not what it seems.”
He cast a look back at Miss Hilgrove. She stood as still as a statue, a hand pressed to her lips. Her eyes were wide, glassy from passion and from the shock of being unexpectedly interrupted. Perhaps more shock than that. After all, she was an innocent. Her hand clutched her bodice, bringing the twain ends together, but her expression was vacant.
Fucking hell. This was never what he had wanted. Never what he had intended. Indeed, perhaps that was the bloody problem. He had never had a plan where she was concerned. He had simply been wild for her. And his lust had been beyond his restraint. Out of his control.
“Benny,” said his sister then, forcing his gaze from Miss Hilgrove. “What have you done?”
He met Callie’s stare, unflinching. Another wave of shame swamped him. What had he done, indeed? He had never, in all his years, lost control like this. He was a regimented man. There was a time, a place, for seduction. But Miss Hilgrove made him mindless. Mad with wanting her. She made him forget right and wrong, made him abandon his honor, his restraint, everything. Just for one more kiss. One more touch of her lips to his.
What answer could he possibly give his sister?
There was no proper explanation to be had. Other than lust. Other than stupidity. Other than his base urges getting the better of him. Dear God, he had just sullied a lady whose reputation was in his care. Before his own sister. He could not possibly sink any lower…
“Callie, wait for me in my study, if you please,” he ordered grimly.
He would have to speak with her. Alone. He would also have to make certain his
