Heat pooled between her thighs.
Mortified, she pressed them together, staving off the impending desire and the thoughts of that night both.
Once more, she felt his gaze upon her, searing her. When she met the duke’s stare, there was no doubt in her mind he was recalling every second of that evening as well. Those frenzied moments on the table, the scent of earth and blossoms and lust permeating the night. The desperation with which they had clawed at each other…
“The evening was an enlightening one, I am sure, Callie,” he said to his sister without breaking the contact of their gazes. “But the conjurer was a charlatan.”
Isabella forgot to breathe.
Callie’s laughter shattered the intensity of the moment, reminding them both they had an audience. She jerked her gaze back to her friend, who was watching the duke with an assessing look.
“The evening was most enlightening,” Callie agreed. “He produced a bowl of fire from beneath his coat, Benny. I do wish you could have seen it yourself.”
“I am certain it was a marvel, goose,” said the duke, the affection in his voice undeniable.
“It was,” his sister insisted. “But this morning, I do require the library for a meeting, I am afraid. Our Lady’s Suffrage Society is having another gathering to plan our strategies, and it is my turn to act the hostess. You do not mind terribly, do you, Benny?”
“It is an admirable cause,” he allowed, “and one which you know I favor. If you must have the library, Miss Hilgrove and I can adjourn to my study for the day.”
“Wonderful, my dearest brother.” Callie gave him a beatific smile. “Thank you. And Isabella, if you are able, you must join us as well, even for a moment. Supposing Benny can spare you, of course.”
Benny made a low sound in his throat. Isabella was reasonably certain it was a growl.
“Oh!” Callie exclaimed then. “And a goose I am, living up to my namesake. You will think me the silliest creature in all England, but I just realized I have forgotten to write in my journal this morning. I cannot begin my day properly until I have rectified my error. Do go down to breakfast without me, the two of you. I shall join you in a trice.”
Without waiting for either of them to answer, Callie turned and swept away, returning to her chamber. The door closed behind her with a quiet snick. Isabella was once more, and quite suddenly, alone with the Duke of Westmorland.
Benedict.
She looked to him, reasonably certain Callie had intentionally deserted them. More matchmaking? Perhaps. But if so, for what purpose? Isabella was an independent woman. The duke was, well, the duke.
And that was that.
Was it not?
He was still watching his sister’s closed door with a rueful air, passing his hand over his jaw. He was so handsome, a pang went through her. Sometimes, it was easier to appreciate the dazzling nature of his masculine beauty when she was not the focus of his arresting blue gaze.
“You love your sister very much, don’t you?” she asked softly.
Having no siblings herself, Isabella admired the relationship between brother and sister. Callie was a butterfly flitting about, and the duke seemed content to allow her to fly.
The full force of his attention returned to her then, seeming to suck all the air from the hall. “I would give my life for hers. That is the truest definition of love, is it not?”
She knew an instant of envy for Callie before she struck down the sensation.
“In a perfect world, you would not need to give your life in exchange for someone you love,” she pointed out.
“Ah, but my dear Isabella,” he said, a sad smile twisting his lips, “our world is so very far from perfect.”
That was certainly true.
If the world were perfect, she would not be falling in love with the Duke of Westmorland.
“You are right, of course,” she agreed, doing her best to keep the emotions rioting within from her voice and expression.
He offered her his arm, his countenance impassive. “On to breakfast, Miss Hilgrove?”
How she wished he would call her Isabella.
She summoned a false smile and placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Of course.”
Chapter Fourteen
Benedict was regretting the haste with which he had accepted his meddlesome sister’s commandeering of the library. Not an hour into working with Isabella in his study, and all he could think about was kissing her. Touching her. Beneath the cover of his desk, he was sporting a massive cockstand.
He pored over a report of intelligence newly arrived that morning from his agents in Philadelphia. But the words were a sea of uninteresting garble beneath his distracted eyes. He blamed his lack of devotion to his duty upon the proximity in which he was currently working with the icy-blonde goddess whom he had assisted in the bath just the night before.
The woman who haunted his dreams and all his daytime thoughts too.
Her scent lingered on the air, orris root and the sweetness of the soap from her bath. She must have brought her perfume with her. Good God, it was intoxicating. Not even the steady tapping of her fingers on the keys could distract him from how badly he wanted her.
If anything, it made him want her more.
He could not seem to keep himself from stealing glances toward her, from watching her dainty fingers flying over the keys. Watching her work was erotic. Perhaps he was going mad. He was envisioning those hands on his body. Touching him. Grasping his cock. Those pink, too-wide lips of hers swallowing his cock.
It would seem the gentlemanly concern he had clung to yesterday had been diminished by a restless, fitful night during which he had been plagued by thoughts of her sleeping, just across the hall. Out of reach and yet so damned close. Worse, he
