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shook her head and withdrew her wrist from his grasp. There. Much better. “I’m not certain you know anything at all, Mr. Lockwell.”
His brows rose, and he genuinely looked surprised at her accusation. “I beg your pardon?”
“ Perhaps this is all a ploy to get me alone. To…to steal my virtue.”
“ Do you want it to be stolen?”
Now it was Isabel’s turn to be surprised. What an odd question. Did she want to have her virtue stolen? The logical answer would have been absolutely not ! Then why wouldn’t the words make their way to her lips?
“ Wh-why would you ask such a question?” she asked instead.
Lockwell shrugged. “It’s just that you’re the one who brought me here to the library…where you knew we’d be alone.”
“ You promised to tell me what you knew of Lord Heathfield,” she said, trying to sound affronted, but knowing he had a point, and still somewhat flustered by the fact that she couldn’t actually say no to his original question.
His blue eyes blinked up at her, the reflection of the fire in the fireplace making it seem as if they burned…for her. “Heathfield is not betrothed,” he said finally.
“ He’s— you mean he lied?”
“ You ought not to sound so self-righteous about it. Your sister lied, too.”
Isabel nodded. “Yes, I know.” She sighed and plopped into the chair beside Lockwell. “It just seems so silly. These games they are playing.”
“ You don’t enjoy games, Lady Isabel?” He gave her a sly smile. Clearly, he enjoyed playing games.
She shook her head. “I can’t imagine games are any fun when one’s heart is at stake.”
He leaned forwards. “How would you know if you’ve never played?”
Isabel’s heart beat an erratic pattern with every inch that Lockwell moved closer to her. She hated the idea of games, she really did. But tonight—just this once—she thought she might actually want to play.
So when Lockwell moved so close that his lips were but a hairsbreadth away, Isabel didn’t pull back. She didn’t run, like her head yelled at her to do. She didn’t slap him across the cheek simply for moving closer to her. She didn’t chastise him for dragging her into his game. She just waited.
And then, as quickly as he’d invaded her senses and gotten her in a position of wanting, he leaned back in his chair, and said, “It’s really quite fun. You should try it sometime.”
~*~
There was a small part—a very miniscule piece of Damien—that felt bad for teasing Lady Isabel. But most of him truly loved dragging her into his game.
The truth of the matter was that he really wanted to kiss her in that moment. His longing was bulging beneath his trousers, as a matter of fact. However, he knew that oftentimes the anticipation of the kiss—or whatever debaucheries one chose to partake in—made it that much sweeter when one finally did engage in the kiss.
Besides, the look on her face was priceless. Her mouth opened and closed like a guppy fish, and her lashes batted with her surprise.
“ Well,” he said when it became evident that she was speechless. “You know what you needed to know. Shall we head back before we’re missed?”
“ Ehm, well…yes, I suppose we should.” She smoothed her skirts over her knees, perhaps in an effort to collect herself.
Damien didn’t move a muscle. He just sat there, smiling at her, waiting for her to notice.
She finally looked up. Their eyes locked. She took a breath and held it, her already ample chest puffed out like a bird.
“ Are you certain you want to go?” he asked her, keeping his voice quiet on purpose.
He expected her to stick her nose in the air and say something to the effect of, “Of course I am, you blackguard!” But she didn’t. Instead, she shook her head, very slowly, as if she didn’t want to shake it but some invisible force was making her do it.
“ What is it that you want, Isabel?”
“ I—I don’t know,” she stammered.
“ A smart girl like you? I
John B. Garvey, Mary Lou Widmer