there was not enough light to find Ovid. She would need a candle after all. Whereâ
She heard a step in the hall.
Damn! Some randy gentleman was likely on the prowl. She didnât want to be discovered. Where could she hide? He would be in the library in a moment.
The window curtainsâthey would have to do. She darted behind their generous folds just as the door opened.
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Damian stepped into the library. Thank God the room was empty; heâd no desire to encounter any of the other guests.
No, that was a lie. He had a burning desire to encounter Miss Atworthy. Far too burningâheâd been tossing and turning for the last half hour, and hearing people creeping up and down the corridor had only thrown kindling on the coals. He could imagine in painful detail exactly what everyone else was doing in bed, and it wasnât sleeping or reading.
Except Miss Atworthy. She must be lying demurely between her virginal sheets, sound asleep, unless she was bothered by salacious nightmares. The poor womanâs eyes had almost started from her head during dinner.
Dinner had been quite a deplorable show. Even when heâd reigned as Prince of Hearts, heâd avoided such things. But then again, perhaps the appalling spectacle had done some good. Stephen had looked almost as disapproving as Miss Atworthy. Lady Noughton was doing an excellent job of killing his enthusiasm for her.
Damian frowned. The widow wasnât stupid. She must think she had a solid plan to trap Stephen. What could it be? He kept turning that question over in his mind, but he wasnât coming up with any answers.
Ah well, he wasnât going to solve the puzzle tonight. He needed to get some sleep so he could be alert tomorrow. A good book might distract himâhe certainly hoped so. He walked farther into the library, lifting his candle to illuminate the bookcases.
Either the Greyhams werenât readers, or they kept their more entertaining books elsewhere. He had no interest in examining Recipes to Ensure Improved Digestion or A Short Discussion of Sheep Shearing . Short? This tome was a good three inches thick. A long discussion might crush an unwary reader. Perhaps if heâ
Damn, were those voices? Yes, a manâs and a womanâs, loud and slurred. They were drunk and coming closer. He snuffed his candle. Bloody hell, heâd neglected to shut the door. The moment the couple reached the room, theyâd see him. He had to hide and quickly, but where? He looked around. There was only one option.
He jumped behind the window curtainâand into a soft, feminine body.
âEeââ
He silenced the womanâs startled shriek in the quickest, most efficient manner he could think of: he put his candlestick-free hand on her back, pulled her against him, and covered her mouth with his.
She stiffened.
Who the hell was he kissing? None of the women at this party cared whom they frolicked with.
None except Miss Atworthy.
The height and the feel . . . and the innocent taste . . . of the woman were right, as was her scentâclean and fresh with a hint of lemon. His body certainly recognized her. It was reacting most enthusiastically.
She relaxed and opened her lips on a small sigh. He did not need a second invitation; his tongue swept into her warm, moist mouth while his hand slid down her back.
Mmm. It was definitely Miss Atworthy. No one else had such a lovely body. She was in her nightclothes, her stays discardedâand he was wearing only shirt and breeches, pulled on hurriedly over his nakedness. He could feel her every soft curve....
He drew his hips back quickly so she wouldnât feel his suddenly hard curve. She might be older than most debutantes, but she was clearly inexperienced.
Heâd very much like to remedy that situation, immediately if possible. He could carry her up to his bed or just lay her down on the couch heâd noticed by the fire andâ
And heâd