Bound by Bliss (Bound and Determined #2)(9)

He took a step toward her, keeping his eyes locked on hers. It was time to track down his bride-to-be and have an honest discussion. She’d been avoiding him for far too long and it was time for that to end. It had been one thing when she was still a girl and he’d understood he must wait. It was a far different thing now, now that she was every inch a woman.

The sooner she admitted she was meant for him the better.

He’d been patient over the last years, letting her have the time she needed to mature—and if he was honest he’d wanted his own time, time to explore the demons that sometimes ran through him, time to play and explore all the possibilities of life before settling down with a wife in a much more proper fashion. It was not without sharp regret that he prepared himself to give up his games and adventures, but enough was enough. If Bliss were ready to explore her womanhood she would do it with him, even if the manner of their play might not be all that he desired. He could give up anything for the chance to have Bliss.

Eyes still locked, he began to stride across the room, unmindful of the milling crowd that hindered his progress.

—

Blast. And blast again. She was going to have to become more creative in her swearing if the matter of Duldon and marriage was not quickly resolved. Over the years a number of choice words had been whispered by her brothers, even Swanston had added to her knowledge once when he’d dropped a large account book on his foot, but she’d never thought to use such language herself until now.



Her heart sped in her chest as she watched Duldon approach. Why did he always succeed in making her feel like a chagrined schoolgirl? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. No other man had this effect on her, so why should he?

It hadn’t always been this way. Once she’d felt safe around him, safe and protected. And he’d been steady. Steady had been wonderful in the chaos of life that came with being a Danser.

But that had been years ago. She wasn’t sure what had changed these last years—no, that was not true—she knew exactly what had changed, and why. It just wasn’t something she allowed herself to think about.

He was getting closer.

She wasn’t going to cower before him. She wasn’t.

His steady blue gaze remained firm upon her as he made his way across the room. His high cheekbones appeared chiseled from stone in the shadows of the flickering candlelight. His lips drew taut as a dancing couple blocked his path, but his eyes never left her. She felt as pinned as an insect on a piece of parchment.

She would not cower, she would—she would flee.

Tearing her eyes from his, she turned and ran. Well, she walked very quickly. It was a rather crowded room. Luckily she’d attended many previous balls in the house and knew just where to turn and scamper. The ladies’ retiring room was up those stairs to the left. Duldon would never follow her in there, but he might just stand outside glowering at every woman who passed, and there was no other escape from the small closed room.

If she headed straight down the hall she could sneak out to the gardens through the library. Now that was a plan. Once she was in the gardens he would never find her and then she could circle back in. He couldn’t bother her once she was dancing with someone else. Drat. She should have thought of that a moment ago before she fled. There must have been some gentleman within grabbing distance who would have been happy to dance. Now it was too late.



Hurrying down the hallway, past countless pictures of countless ancestors, she came to the library door. A quick glance over her shoulder. No, he hadn’t made the turn and followed, at least not yet.

She placed her hand on the handle and paused before pushing down. The door squeaked. A sudden memory of its creaking sound came to her. She didn’t know why she remembered, but she did. Blast and drat. Pulling in a deep breath, she pressed down as slowly as she could. A soft whine sounded, but no more. Opening the door only enough to pass through, she slid sideways through it, easing it shut behind.

She released her breath quietly, almost soundlessly, closing her eyes and listening. There was no tap of footsteps in the hall. Perhaps she was safe.

Another breath and then she eased her eyes open, blinking as she adjusted to the dark. The high shelves of the library surrounded her, and across from her—she blinked again. She was not alone.

She was very, very far from alone.

She shut her eyes again. The image burned into her brain. For the briefest of moments she thought she was back in another time, another place—but that had been very, very different from this. Although it too had happened at a soirée.



She slitted her eyes, peered out, tightened them shut again. No, she had not been mistaken.

A woman, face alight with moonlight, gown pushed below her high firm breasts, stood pressed tight against the bookshelves. One of her hands rose, as Bliss watched, to circle a ripe berry of a nipple and then to pinch it hard. Her head fell back, her throat stretched, her mouth opened in a silent moan. Almost without thought Bliss felt her own hand rise to stroke her bodice, her own nipples rose to press against the fabric. What would it feel like to touch oneself like that? She washed herself, of course, but never had she stroked and pinched and plucked. Never seen her nipples stretch and darken. She couldn’t even imagine them that swollen, that wanting, that…

She peeked again.

The woman’s hand moved and Bliss felt as if her own breast were touched, the nipple pulled out and then released, the soft flicker of skin upon skin. Her belly tightened in a way she’d never imagined, a longing growing.