The Bromance Book Club (Bromance Book Club, #1)(53)

“I’m sorry this evening didn’t turn out the way you’d hoped,” Irena said, irrationally nervous all of a sudden.

“I got to hold you in my arms. It turned out exactly as I’d hoped.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine and raised goose bumps along her arms. It was a miracle she could hear anything over the thud of her own heart. She was a fool for letting him get this close again, but she was also a fool for thinking she could continue holding him at bay. Not when her body demanded the same thing his did, and not when her heart seemed determined to follow.

The carriage slowed in front of their home. A footman opened the carriage door, and Benedict alighted himself to the cobblestone street. Turning, he extended his hand to help her down, and when he tucked her hand in his arm, the warmth of his body once again set hers ablaze. If things progressed as they had the previous two times they went out together, he would escort her to her room and bid her good night with a chaste kiss on her hand. And then, an hour later, he would join her in the library to read by the fire.

Something told her he would want more tonight.

Or maybe that was just her own desire talking.

He escorted her into the house and directly to the stairs. Neither spoke until they stood outside the closed door of her room.

“Thank you for seeing me to my room,” she said.

This should have been the point when he would raise her hand to his lips. Instead, he stepped closer. “Irena,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“Yes?” she breathed.

Benedict dipped his mouth close to her ear. “May I kiss you good night?” he murmured.

No. Her mind demanded she say the word. But when he nuzzled the tip of his nose against her jaw, her body acted on its own, turning her face to meet his.

The first brush of his lips was so feather-light, a mere mingling of breath, that she wondered if she’d imagined it. But then the pressure intensified as he molded his lips to hers, as his fingers wove into her hair, and as the fingers of his other hand laced with hers and curled it close to their hearts. And suddenly everything she’d been fighting—memories and longing and desire—waved the white flag of surrender. She surrendered.

Benedict leaned into her until her back pressed against the door of her bedroom. His mouth explored hers with a passion and tenderness that set her heart soaring to dangerous heights.

His brow came to rest on hers. “And now the evening is perfect.” He stepped back with a wink. “Meet you in our secret place?”

It was a silly routine for a married couple. But their secret rendezvous had quickly become her favorite part of the day. She nodded. “I will be there.”

By the time she walked into the library an hour later, he was already there. He had tossed several pillows from the couches onto the floor and spread a large blanket before the fireplace. Irena set her candle onto a nearby table and let him hold her hand as she lowered herself to the blanket. Then she watched as he crouched before the hearth and struck up a fire. An orange glow chased away the darkness.

Benedict sat down behind her and settled onto his back. With one arm propped behind his head, he displayed the sort of easy maleness that the other wallflowers giggled about at balls. He looked up at her and stretched his other arm across the blanket until his fingers brushed the fabric of her dressing gown. “I missed you,” he said quietly.

“It has been an hour.”

“That’s a long time.”

“What are we reading tonight?”

Benedict handed her a book she had never seen before. Her fingers traced the embossed title as a lump filled her throat. “How did you know?” she whispered.

“You mentioned once that you and Sophia used to dream of visiting America to see the wild horses. I ordered this book immediately. It only arrived today.”

Her heart shifted sideways in her chest at the gesture.

“Why did you wish to see the wild horses, love?”

Her throat thickened with unshed emotion. Did one ever truly get over the death of a beloved sister? “Because they were free,” Irena whispered. “We used to hatch secret plans late at night on how we could escape. We could dress as boys and stow away on a ship. Or we could book passage and pretend to be orphans seeking family across the sea. I would have gone. I would have done it for her.”

“Tell me about her,” Benedict said quietly.

“She loved horses as much as I do.”

“Was she as talented a rider as you?”

“No. She could have been, but she never had the freedom to explore that interest as I did.”

“Why not?”

“She was the oldest of three daughters. The expectation to marry well fell squarely on her shoulders. She was, after all, considered the beautiful one in the family.”

Benedict unleashed an inventive string of curse words that secretly delighted her. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Irena. The moment I set eyes upon you, I lost all ability to speak.”

“I do not require compliments, my lord. I’m well aware of my own attractiveness, which, of course, no lady is supposed to admit, but such is the world. English society seems to rest upon the requirement that women are pitted against each other until we all emerge envious of the other.”

He was silent at that. Only for a moment, though. “Were you envious of your older sister?”