The Scoundrel and I - Katharine Ashe Page 0,39
service to the people of England.”
“You deserve better, Elle. You should be publishing pamphlets of your own, or books or what have you, not correcting others’ work.”
“I want to slap you for saying that.”
“For saying that?” He grinned. “Among everything I’ve said to you . . . and done?” The intensity returned to his gaze that now strafed the shoulder he had kissed the night of the ball.
“No one has ever called me clever before.” Her tongue had a will of its own. “Or articulate.”
“’Bout time they begin. Everybody. Friends, acquaintances, passersby on the street. You deserve it.”
Her lips twitched. “Passersby?”
“I’ll put an ad in the paper. Every soul who publicly declares you clever and articulate gets a guinea and a pint of ale.”
“You will bribe strangers to compliment me?”
“Whatever it requires.”
“Whatever it requires to accomplish what?”
“Whatever it requires to wipe the care from those pretty eyes forever.”
They stared at each other. An astonishing, powerful pulse seemed to course between them. Her heart pounded.
She snapped the logbook shut, shoved it onto the shelf, and moved across the room. Away from him. Away from temptation. Away from certain misery. Miracles did not happen every day, at least not to her. She refused to voluntarily compound her misfortune.
“If you will be so kind as to convey me to Brittle and Sons, Captain, I will be much obliged.”
“Can’t do that,” he said, remaining where he stood. “We’ve got the matter of fifty-three pieces of type to replace in the next four days. Rather, forty now.”
“No, we do not.”
“Yes, we do.”
“Captain—”
“Anthony.”
“Captain—”
“Call me captain once more, woman, and I’ll—”
“You will what? Keelhaul me? Or make me walk the plank?”
He crossed his big, muscular arms over his chest. “Been considering it.”
“Which?”
“Yes, you are a witch. But I don’t hold it against you.”
“That was which, as in—”
He chuckled.
Her teeth clamped together.
“You are so prim at times,” he said with such obvious affection that it wrapped around her and made her feel warm and safe and good. “Can’t resist teasing.”
“You are a scoundrel.”
“You say that so often I’m starting to think you wish I were,” he said in an abruptly deep voice. And then he smiled a smile that set off an explosion of heat inside her.
As if he knew what was happening in her body, his eyes changed.
She bolted for the door.
“By God, you’re difficult,” he said behind her.
“Fortunately for you, you need not contend with my difficultness any longer.”
“Difficultness isn’t a word.”
“Oh, look who’s Captain Vocabulary now. It most certainly is a word and—”
“You set every inch of every surface of my skin on fire.”
She spun around to him. He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling jerkily.
“W-What does that mean?” she said.
“You feel it too.”
No, no, no. “F-Feel what?”
“You’re stuttering. At the ball you kissed me.”
“You kissed me.”
“You kissed me back, and you’ve been pretending it didn’t happen, but it did.” He searched her eyes. “Don’t try to tell me this is only me.”
“Only I,” she whispered.
“What’s holding you back, Elle?”
Their vast disparity of rank. Her wary heart. Everything except the way she felt when she was with him.
“I want to go now,” she said upon a note of urgency.
For another long moment they stood entirely still, staring at each other as uncertainty crackled between them. Then he broke the paralysis, passing her by and moving toward the door.
Elle turned to follow. He swung around, grabbed her shoulders, and captured her mouth beneath his.
Chapter Ten
It was neither a short kiss nor a tentative kiss, nor really just one kiss. It was long, intoxicating, hungry, and it went on and on. Air was not necessary, only lips touching, caressing, needing, and hands finding shoulders, cheeks. His fingers speared through her hair, holding her to him as he consumed her lips. Her hands delved beneath his coat and spread over his chest, and he groaned and sought her deeper. They kissed and she wanted it to never end, to fly away to a place where this was everything, everything in the world here in his mouth, his hands.
Which was insanity beyond insanity.
She pushed him away. “I cannot kiss you. I—I must go.”
“Good idea.” He raked his hand through his hair and she ached with wanting to do it for him. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “In a bachelor’s house. What in the devil are you doing here?”
“What am I—You brought me here! You made me come inside.”
“Out of my mind. I was out of my mind. Good God.” He ushered her toward the front door,