Romancing the Duke (Castles Ever After #1)(58)

Well, he revised grudgingly, that wasn’t quite true tonight.

Right now, he was very much not alone. He couldn’t remember ever being so aware of a woman in his life. The rawness of his senses was painful. Izzy was killing him in a hundred tiny ways.

The fire she’d stoked was sending waves of heat in his direction, and they were all scented of her. Smoky and herbal. He felt drugged by her nearness.

He could hear her removing the pins from her hair. One by one, those slender bits of metal hit the side table. Each tap concussed his eardrums like a powder blast.

Then she sighed. Just the faintest, softest release of breath. The sound swept through his chest like a hurricane, with the force to topple trees.

The irony didn’t escape him.

They were alone. He was a little drunk, and she was more than a little vulnerable. This would have been the perfect time to continue with his ravishment scheme. He could lay siege to her virginal clothing. Ruthlessly dismantle her inhibitions. Steal an hour or two of fleeting pleasure before proving beyond a shadow of doubt: Romance is an exercise in willful delusion and nothing—nothing—ends happily. At least, not in this castle, and not with a man like him.

There was only one wrinkle in that scheme.

He liked her too much to go through with it.

“You need to retire for the night,” he said darkly. “Now.”

“Yes.” She yawned. “I suppose I should.”

But she didn’t leave straightaway. She rose from her chair and did some moving about. At first, he assumed she was gathering a candle to light her way upstairs. But that couldn’t possibly take her so long.

He listened to a solid minute’s worth of andirons rattling and fabric rustling and furniture inching over slate before the truth sank in.

“Stop.” He pushed to his feet. “Stop at once.”

“Stop what?” Her voice carried an unmistakable note of guilt.

“Stop what you’re doing.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.” He rose to his feet and moved in her direction. “You just pushed that chair toward the table. And before that, you hung my coat on the peg.”

“Very well, you caught me. Call the magistrate. Put me in the stocks for excessive tidiness.”

“That’s not tidiness, Goodnight. You know it’s not.”

She couldn’t get away with this. He knew exactly what she was doing. She was putting the room to rights before she left for the evening. Making certain every chair and pillow and fireplace poker was in its place.

For him.

That wasn’t mere tidiness. It was understanding and thoughtfulness. And considering his emotional state, tonight that behavior was dangerous. Any way she cared to spell it.

“I’ll see you to your turret.” He offered his arm before she could accuse him of chivalry or gallantry or anything else equally absurd. His motives were entirely disgusting.

He wanted to be close to her, shoulder to shoulder as they climbed the stairs to the next floor. He wanted to guide her down the corridor, sliding his hand across her waist and letting it settle just at the small of her back. He wanted to feel her unbound curls brushing against his exposed wrist.

He wanted . . .

God, he wanted her. All of her.

“Here we are.” She stopped at the archway that led to her turret room. “Good night, Ransom.”

He lingered, counting her steps as she climbed the stairs. One, two, three, four . . .

“Goodnight.”

She stopped. Then came back down a few steps. One, two . . .

“Was that a dismissal or a summons?” she asked. “ ‘Goodnight, come here’? or ‘Good night to you, now go away’? ”

Hell, Ransom didn’t even know. The word had just ripped from him. He suspected the sentiment behind it was something like, Goodnight, take off all your clothing and wrap your limbs around me and never let go.

“The fifteenth step,” he said. “It’s a bit more narrow than the rest.”

“And you don’t want me to fall and be hurt. How sweet.”

“It’s not sweet.” He gritted his teeth. “I already swept up one pile of bones today. I’d rather not contend with another.”

“Just the same.” Her hand touched his face. “Thank you.”

Her fingertips rested on his cheek, like a constellation of unexpected kindness. He encircled her wrist with his fingers, planning to wrench her touch away.

Instead, he brushed his thumb over the fluttering beat of her pulse. Her skin was so soft there. His mind’s eye bloomed with petals. In every shade of pink. And since it seemed he’d already crossed the border into sentimental madness, and he couldn’t possibly make it much worse—

He brought her wrist to his lips. And he kissed that tender, precious heartbeat, like a damn besotted fool.

Bless you.

He released her, squeezing his eyes shut. He was dangling by a thread already. If his eyesight miraculously returned to him at this moment, she would have no chance at all.

“Have mercy on a broken man. Just go to bed.”

He stood at the bottom of the stairs, listening to her light steps spiraling up to the turret. Everything in him ached to follow. He leaned against the archway and gripped the stone, wrestling his desire.