And since he was certain no one else was near, he could think of nothing he’d rather do than show the scheming Miss Claremont what happened to young ladies who placed themselves alone with men in darkened rooms.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice rising. “Surely there’s no need to call attention…”
Her voice trailed off as Geoffrey drew the double doors closed. The audible click of the lock echoed in the now silent room.
Geoffrey turned to face her. Her eyes shone bright in the low light, and she glanced toward the opening in the bookshelves as if it offered escape. She visibly tensed and shifted on her feet. Good. She should be wary. He smiled as he advanced upon her.
“Why would I wish to call attention to us, Miss Claremont?” he asked lightly, stepping closer as she backed herself against a bookcase. “As I’ve made clear, I have no intention of being found in a compromising position.” He stopped directly in front of her and rested his hands on the shelves on either side of her waist.
Her amethyst eyes widened. With a directness that both surprised and inflamed him, she searched his face. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and her pink tongue darted out to wet her own lips. By God, the little minx was curious. Geoffrey sucked in a breath, curiosity tingling through him as well.
He suspected if he kissed her, she wouldn’t protest. She was nervous, yes, but he could see desire on her face, hear it in her breathing, smell it on her skin—a heady ambrosia that drew him. He leaned in closer and inhaled her scent. Apples and…lemon verbena? Unfamiliar with women’s fragrance, he could be sure only that she smelled clean and crisp.
Miss Claremont’s voice snagged as she asked, “A-and this is not compromising, my lord?”
“Ah,” he drawled, “that is the rub.” He brought one hand up to her nape, using his thumb to caress her cheek and jaw, steeling himself against the jolt of pleasure he received just from touching her. She would be the one learning a lesson here tonight, not him. “To be well and truly compromised in society’s eyes, my dear, one has to have a witness.”
Her eyes flew to his, uncertainty lightening them a shade to the most alluring lilac.
“As there is no one here but you and I,” he whispered, “I could taste you.” He brushed his lips against hers in a light caress. She trembled but did not jerk away. “Touch you,” he murmured, trailing a finger down her neck to nearly graze the swell of her bosom before detouring to her delicate collarbone. Her chest hitched beneath his touch. “Anywhere,” he purred as he took her lips in a kiss meant to scandalize.
Geoffrey swallowed her surprised gasp, coaxing her lips open with little effort. Apples and lemons enveloped him. Christ, he’d never get the scent of her out of his memory.
She accepted his tongue with a hesitation that told him she’d never been kissed. His instincts whispered to hold back, but then she returned the kiss with a fervor that fired his blood.
He couldn’t stop his hand from sliding into her silken hair, tugging it from its pins as he luxuriated in the feel of her tresses. His other hand held her still so he could explore her mouth fully. He couldn’t get enough, couldn’t get…
Only when he heard his own moan did Geoffrey recall where he was, and with whom. He sucked a deep breath through his nose and gentled the kiss.
He wasn’t a cad, after all. He just wanted to teach her a lesson in managing men, particularly him: Don’t even try it. He indulged himself with one last lingering taste, then stepped back from Miss Claremont, shaken at how ragged his breathing still was. He couldn’t let her see how she affected him. He waited until she opened her dazed eyes and smiled grimly.
“I can do all that and still not have to marry you in the morning,” he stated flatly.
Her gasp felt like a slap, so much so that Geoffrey grimaced.
She raised a trembling hand to her lips, her eyes accusing. The confusion and hurt Geoffrey saw in her expression stilled him, taking the edge off of his righteous anger. Damn, but she looked so innocent. Could he have been wrong about her intentions?
She lowered her arm, eyes narrowing as her hands fisted at her sides. “You scoundrel,” she uttered, low.
Geoffrey stood up straighter and gave her a curt nod. An apology formed on his lips just as a sharp spasm clinched his back, turning his words into an involuntary grunt of pain.
Miss Claremont’s eyes widened and her head tilted slightly to the side. Her gaze took on an assessing look he didn’t care for.
Now that his mind had once again seized upon the pain from his war injury, it sharpened. Geoffrey gritted his teeth, struggling to give no other outward sign of his discomfort. He needed to get off of his feet. He needed a drink. He needed Miss Claremont to leave.
“Just so,” he clipped. “Now, I suggest you return to your room. Un—” Another spasm seized him, stealing his breath. “Uncompromised.”
The euphoria that had coursed through Geoffrey while he’d kissed her quickly lost its hold as pain overrode his senses. He tried to relax the knotted muscles around his lower back, praying she quit the room before he disgraced himself by groaning aloud.
But she didn’t. Rather, she opened her mouth, seemed to think better of it and closed it again. Did she plan to give him a much deserved set down? Well, he bloody well wished she would get on with it and leave.
Instead, she uttered a disgusted sigh. “I hurt you when I fell from the ladder, didn’t I?”
Surprise lanced through him as surely as the burn speared through angry muscle. Whatever he’d expected her to say, it wasn’t that. Still, the last thing he needed was a rush of female pity right now. “I assure you, I am well—,” he said, only to be cut off as she stepped near and raised her hand to his brow. Her cool fingers barely skimmed his skin, bringing gooseflesh followed by a rush of heat.
“I recognize the signs of pain,” she murmured, her eyes on his briefly before sweeping him. “Your pupils are dilated more than the dim light accounts for and your skin is slightly clammy and cool to the touch despite your proximity to the fire.”
Her hand trailed down his neck, where she pressed gently. He swallowed, hard.
“Your heartbeat is still accelerated. Intoxication would cause such symptoms,” she said, removing her hand from him. “Yet judging from your reflexes as you caught me and the fact that I—” Her face turned nearly crimson in the firelight. “I…tasted no liquor on your lips, you aren’t the least bit intoxicated.”
He glanced at the decanter of brandy on the mantel, relief so tantalizingly close, yet so far away. “Not yet,” he grumbled.
Miss Claremont cleared her throat. “Well, while you don’t deserve it after behaving like such a…such a…bounder,” she said, finally settling on an insult, “I can’t, in good conscience, let you continue to suffer when you injured yourself catching me. Not when I can help.”
Geoffrey snorted. Why wouldn’t the woman just leave, so he could get intoxicated? It was the only thing he knew that would dull the agony. “You can help? What are you? Some kind of debutante doctor?”
Miss Claremont’s violet eyes flashed and her lips pursed. “Something like that.”