The Scoundrel and I - Katharine Ashe Page 0,25

knew what to say.”

“Nothing, I should hope!”

“Bulgarian could be similar to Hungarian, I suppose. What a disaster. How will I avoid understanding him the next time?” But she was laughing and abruptly he needed to be out of the crowded ballroom. Anywhere else. With her.

He drew her toward a doorway. “You need air.”

“I do?”

“You do.”

“But I was—”

“Trust me, Princess.”

And she did, allowing him to guide her through the press of guests, down a corridor, and through a closed door into an empty chamber. The summer evening was warm and no fire in the hearth lit the room, only a lantern from a terrace beyond the windows illumining shelves upon shelves of—

“Books,” she breathed, pulling away from him and gliding like a ghost toward a wall stacked with books from floor to ceiling. “What an absolutely magnificent library.”

A library. Of all the rooms in this mansion to bring her to, he’d stumbled upon a room full of the printed word.

“Good heavens!” she exclaimed. “If I am not mistaken, this is an early edition of Thomas More’s Utopia. Here! Sitting like any other book on an open shelf.”

“You don’t say?” He attempted nonchalance.

She came to him. “Look at the fine tooling of the binding. And the cut of the letters.” She opened the volume and ran her fingertips along the edge of a page, stroking it like a lover. “After centuries the ink is still clear and crisp. It is simply magnificent.”

“Not the only thing that’s magnificent here.”

Her chin snapped up, her gaze met his, and the book was forgotten.

“I—” Her gaze dipped to his mouth and her sweet lips snapped shut.

Tony smiled. “Enjoyed yourself out there, did you?”

“I wiled an invitation to tea at your uncle’s house on Friday. Once he learned I was a princess, it was like taking sweets from a child.” Her cheeks were flushed with roses again.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, did you?”

“In truth, no. I think it is all the opulence. To be surrounded by so much beauty and wealth, and to be the only person who knows who I am, except Seraphina . . . and you . . .” She was breathing quickly now, the creamy swells of her breasts pressing against her shimmery gown. “To be playing the same sort of game of anonymity that Lady Justice plays,” she said. “It has made me feel especially daring. Reckless,” she added upon a whisper.

With his fingertips beneath her chin he tilted her face up. The room was dark, her eyes glittering, and he was feeling decidedly reckless himself. He couldn’t resist. And he was fairly certain she didn’t want him to.

Chapter Seven

In the blue of his eyes shone desire that Elle did not want to deny any longer.

“There is so little light in this room.” Her voice wobbled. “I cannot see properly.”

“Well, there’s the lucky part of it.” He drew the book from her fingers and set it aside. “You don’t need to see for this.”

“This?”

“This,” he whispered huskily and bent his head.

It was perfect—barely touching, the sweetest, most tantalizing brushing of his lips against hers, and the stirring of every fiber of desire within her. It was poetry. It was beauty. There was quite a lot of trembling, entirely on her side.

Then it was over.

He drew back a few inches and looked into her eyes, truly into her eyes, as though he wanted to see right inside her head, into the deepest part of her brain where all the secrets hid, including the secret that she knew must not be very secret anymore since it was probably written all over her face.

And then his perfect lips curved ever so slightly and he kissed her again.

At first he kissed her carefully, as though learning her lips as he was allowing her to learn his. His lips were surprisingly soft, delicious, tasting her with one gentle exploration after another. Sweet, heady longing grew in her, an ache of need that these modest caresses fed but did not satisfy. Pressing her lips to his more fervently, she reached for more.

Upon a sound in his chest that made her entire body heat, he took her mouth entirely.

It required very little encouragement for her to open to his kiss, and even less for her to reach up to his shoulders and cling there. His hand cupped her face, then he was coaxing her lips apart, drinking kisses from her lips and then—oh heaven—her tongue. He kissed her again and again, his mouth hot and hungry and