her dignity. “About what just happened . . .”
“Nothing happened. I was proving a point.”
“Precisely.” She laughed, but it sounded hollow and forced. “It didn’t mean anything. It was merely a question mark and there’s nothing left to discover. Full stop. Carry on with the renovations. You’re doing God’s work. Helping bookish ladies and bluestockings for decades to come.”
She made an awkward exit and hurried upstairs.
Inside the reading room she inhaled deeply of the scent of scholarly tomes and unfinished dictionaries.
What in heaven’s name was the matter with her? Here she was surrounded by a carefully curated selection of ancient manuscripts and books, and all she could think about was kissing Ford, when she should be reveling in the freedom to be as scholarly as she pleased.
She also meant to reexamine her aunt’s letter. She felt certain that there was a hidden meaning she hadn’t uncovered yet. Her aunt had been trying to tell her something about her inheritance.
Ford. She tasted his name on her tongue. The Old English noun meant a shallow place where water could be crossed. Used as a verb, if one forded a river, one crossed a body of water by walking along the bottom.
Either way, the diminutive of his name denoted a passage, a crossing from one shore to another.
A transition.
She knew what his name meant, but what had the kiss meant? When presented with an unfamiliar word, Beatrice always broke it down into small increments, searching for the Latin, French, Greek, Old English, or Germanic roots in order to piece together an educated guess as to the meaning.
She had no educated guess about what the kiss had meant. It hadn’t been a frivolous or meaningless moment for her.
It had been a whole new vocabulary. A new language.
And it meant nothing to him. He kissed women all the time.
These alarming sparks of desire that he ignited in her were wholly uncharacteristic and should be dealt with immediately. She couldn’t ignore them, because they kept returning, growing stronger and more heated every time they met. She must deliberately stamp them out, douse them with cold water, until all that remained was a lingering scent of smoke.
There could never be a conflagration.
Ford felt like smashing something so it was a good thing he had a sledgehammer in his hands and a wall to bring down.
What the bloody hell had just happened?
He’d never meant to kiss her. Yes, he’d been thinking about kissing her, but he was always thinking about that when she was around. She was such an alluring combination of primness and passion.
Tension coiled in his body. Desire. The memory of her soft backside against his groin. The way she’d turned in his arms and tried to kiss him.
She was just so damned tempting. He kept catching these glimpses of the sensual woman beneath her proper facade. Today he’d caught more than a glimpse. He’d seen her hammering down walls like a warrior princess.
He’d liked that glimpse of her power.
He liked the lady far too much.
She was this creature fashioned from silk and lace and ambition. A lady whose determination bolstered a soaring intellect, like a flying buttress supporting the spires of a cathedral.
He was a man who swung a hammer.
They were from disparate worlds. Kissing was off limits. Anything beyond kissing was never even to be imagined.
He’d given her the hammer as a way for her to vent some frustration.
And then she’d kissed him. Her kiss had been surprising, inexpert, and electrifying.
All it had taken was one application of her soft pink lips and she’d obliterated his restraint.
He swung the hammer so hard that plaster flew against the far wall.
She was a highborn lady, sister to a duke.
A duke whose good opinion and trust he required. Giving in to the desire to kiss her back had been wrong. And bad.
Bad and wrong and . . . glorious.
He dismantled the wall blow by blow, stopping only to wipe dust out of his eyes. When it was finished, he scrubbed his fist across his brow.
Stick to the plan. It was simple enough. He fixed up her property and left England on his new ship, knowing that he’d not only obstructed his grandfather’s plans, but had made enough money to purchase a plot of land in the process.
When she got under his skin, he’d have to work harder to keep her out. And if she ever kissed him again, he’d remember all of the reasons why intimacy with the duke’s sister was forbidden.
No more untying of ribbons and