Gentlemen Prefer Spinsters (Spinsters Club #1)(49)

Easing out of the door, she made her way down the corridor to the source of the thud. Book in hand, she wielded it like a weapon, ready to strike. The house was dark. The only candles were lit in the study and little light emanated from there now she was farther into the depths of the house. Her mouth dried and her heart beat painfully hard. What would she do if she found an intruder? Beat him senseless? Tie him up perhaps? Find out why on earth this person was trying to hurt her.

Orion crept alongside her, apparently aware of the need for quiet. She had to surprise whoever it was if she wanted to defeat him.

A shadow loomed, another thud echoed. Merry held her breath and lunged forward, swinging the book with all her might. It connected with a body and there was a grunt of pain. Orion barked and dashed forward then stopped. Merry lifted her book, freezing as silvery evening light silhouetted the intruder. She released all the air from her lungs.

“Harry?”

“Yes.” He gave a groan. “What a fine welcome.”

“Oh no.” She grabbed his arm and lead him through into the study. Dressed in full finery, he struck a handsome figure, even with what looked to be a bruise forming on his forehead. She urged him over to the chair to sit down.

Orion looked contrite for his part in the attack and settled himself at Harry’s feet.

“Who knew books were so dangerous?” Harry looked pointedly at the book in her hand.

She set it hastily aside and pushed a lock of hair away from his forehead. “Some would say books were very dangerous, particularly to women’s minds.”

“I do not suppose any of those men who declared such a thing considered they could be just as dangerous in a woman’s hands.”

“I am sorry. I thought you were an intruder.” She lifted a candle and inspected the damage closer. “Why are you not at the ball?”

“I must have had an instinct that you were getting into trouble.”

“Well, as you can see, I’m not in any trouble at all.” He winced when she pressed fingers to the red mark on his head. “At least I was not until you turned up.” She eyed the mark. “I think this shall bruise. You really should not have been sneaking around in the dark. Will everyone not miss you?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. But there will be plenty more balls to attend in future, I’m sure.”

The thought of Harry dancing at more balls with yet more women made her heart twist.

She turned away. “I should find something cool to ease the swelling.”

Harry grabbed her wrist. “No.”

She let her eyes widen at his sudden touch. The feel of his warm fingers on her skin sent a shudder through her. The air around her stilled when she met his gaze. Even Orion must have felt it. From the corner of her eye, she saw the dog lift his head then turn away from them to close his eyes and settle.

A noose of tension tightened around her throat. She gave an experimental tug on his grip and found herself going nowhere. She was not sure if she could anyway. He had her captive. His gaze searched hers and he stood.

Damn him, why did he have to look so handsome in his finery? Why did he have to find her at this most vulnerable moment? But then, had she not been vulnerable since the first time he’d kissed her. He’d had her set off kilter since then, warring with herself against these feelings that would not seem to be pushed away, no matter what the stakes.

Your heart, that voice whispered. That was what was at risk. But that blasted whisper merely sounded eager, as though it wanted her to give it up to him once and for all. There was no denying it—Harry had been a feature in her life for too long for her to dismiss him fully. Yes, he was a rogue. Yes, he was far too charming for his own good. But who had been there for her since her father’s death? And even before that.

“Harry,” she whispered, answering her own question.

He tugged her close. Her limbs were warm, and she could feel the heat rise into her face at the feel of his body flush against hers. He lifted a hand and pressed it to her cheek. She could not help lean into the touch. It eased the empty ache that had been building tonight, as though his very presence could fill her up, could complete her. The thought was terrifying.

And too enticing. Merry closed her eyes.

Harry laced his fingers into her hair. She could feel the hotness of his breath near her cheek as he used the hold he had on her to gently tilt her head upward.

“Balls do not interest me,” he murmured. “How could they? Not when I could be holding you in my arms.” He gave a soft chuckle. “You have ruined me, Merry.”

Ruined. The word should terrify her. Ruination was the one thing that kept them all captive to Society and its whims. A ruined woman was no one. Yet the thought that she might hold such control over Harry sent a warm frisson of power through her. The feeling was fleeting, however. He reminded her who wielded the power by skimming the back of his other hand across her cheek. She felt each bumpy knuckle dancing over her skin with such reverence that her heart swelled to the point she feared it might explode or crack in half—such was the power he held over her.

She should not be allowing him such liberties. She should not even be alone with him. It was all so dangerous.

And enticing.

Her lips parted of their own accord. Harry slid a finger over her bottom lip, then traced the curve of the top. She could resist no longer and opened her eyes. His gaze was dark and intense. She was hard pressed to remember ever seeing such a look before. Could it be true? Could he really care for her as much as he had declared? Could she—plain, frizzy haired, bookish she—really inspire such desire in a man like Harry?