Romancing the Duke (Castles Ever After #1)(19)

He swept a touch up her spine, and his hand brushed aside her plaited hair to settle on her bare neck.

A rush of power went through her, magnificent and intoxicating.

“Who lets a woman like this go untested?” He caressed her nape. “I won’t believe no man’s tried.”

“Oh, you know how it is,” she said lightly. “It must be the stunning degree of my beauty. It puts them off.” Surely, he would catch her joking tone. And if he did take her to be serious . . . Whom could it possibly hurt? “I suppose all the gentlemen are intimidated.”

His thumb rubbed over her lips. “I’m not intimidated.”

Suddenly, she didn’t feel quite so bold.

“Goodness, think of the hour,” she said. “If I’m going to set about improving this place tomorrow, I suppose tonight I ought to return to my—”

A drop of molten wax rolled downward, singeing her hand. Izzy dropped the candle. The flame was extinguished before it even hit the floor.

The turret was instantly plunged into darkness.

Her heartbeat began to race. Oh, drat. And just when she’d been holding her own with him. So much for being a woman in his eyes. So much for being his temptress. He’d laugh at her if he knew how she felt. How could this little girl hold a claim to any castle? She was a ninny who swooned in the rain and shrieked at bats and quivered helplessly in the dark.

Perhaps he wouldn’t notice the quivering part.

His hands went to her shoulders. “You’re shaking.”

Drat, drat, drat.

“I’m fine. I just dropped the candle, that’s all. If you’d just be so good as . . .” She swallowed hard. “As to show me back downstairs.”

“I don’t think so.”

Oh, Lord. The bottom dropped out of her stomach. He was going to leave her here. Alone. In this tiny room, up thirty-four steps, in the miserable, moving blackness. And that would teach her, wouldn’t it?

But he didn’t leave her. Instead, he took her in his arms.

And pulled her close.

Izzy didn’t know how to resist. Those strong hands . . . they were her only anchor in the spinning dark. She was reeling with surprise, so very frightened.

Then suddenly . . .

She was so very kissed.

Chapter Six

Ransom kissed her.

Framed her face in his hands, held her still, and claimed her lips with his own. No prelude, no finesse. Just a strong, unyielding press of his lips against hers.

She needed to understand a few things, and he was done trying to explain them with words.

The girl was so damned innocent. She’d grown up on tales of chivalry and romance. She hadn’t a clue what danger a man like Ransom could pose.

Very well. No great pain for him to demonstrate. This one uninvited kiss should send her fleeing to her chamber tonight—and then, in the morning, away.

“There,” he said, breaking the kiss. “You seem to have me confused with some innately decent man. I hope that clears matters up for you.”

He released her, giving her the space to run away.

Instead, she fisted her hands in his shirt and clung tight. “Do it again.”

He couldn’t speak for a moment. Nothing made sense.

“Do it again,” she whispered. “Quickly. And this time do it right.”

“What on earth are you on about?”

“That was my first kiss. Do you know how long I’ve been dreaming of my first kiss?”

Ransom didn’t know. He couldn’t care less.

“All my life.” Her fists pounded his chest for emphasis. “And so help me, Your Grace, I won’t let you ruin it.”

“You don’t seem to understand. Destroying your romantic fancies was rather the point of that little exercise.”

“No, you don’t understand.” She drew closer, still clutching tight. “I’ve always tried to make the best of what life gave me. When I was a girl, I longed for a kitten. Instead, I got a weasel. Not the pet I wanted, but I’ve done my best to love Snowdrop just the same.”

He took a step back.

She moved with him.

“Since my father died, I’ve been desperate for a place to call home. The humblest cottage would do. Instead, I’ve inherited a haunted, infested castle in Nowhere, Northumberland. Not the house I wanted, but I’m determined to make it a home.”

She tilted her face to his. He could feel her breath against his neck. Soft wisps of heat.

“And ever since I was a girl,” she whispered, “I’ve dreamed of my first kiss. I just knew in my heart that it would be romantic and tender and knee-meltingly sweet.”

“Well, now you know you were wrong. By this age, you should be accustomed to disappointment.”

“That’s where you’re mistaken.” Her grip tightened on his shirtfront. “I’ve started fighting against it. You’re not going to ruin my first kiss. I won’t let you. You’re going to kiss me again, right now. And make it better.”

He shook his head, incredulous. “It’s over. It’s already done. Even if I did kiss you again, it wouldn’t be your first kiss anymore.”

“It counts,” she said. “So long as it’s part of the same embrace, it all counts as one.”

Bloody hell. Where did women come up with these rules? Did they keep them in a book somewhere? Sometimes he wondered if women were all lawyers, with an extensive code of Romantic Law that they kept stubbornly hidden from men.