After an awkward moment of silence, the duke shuffled his feet. “Is there any other criticism you care to voice before I return to my guests?” he asked.
“You might try calling your granddaughter Kate, rather than Katharine. It might help break the ice, so to speak.”
“Hmmph.” He gave a curt nod and started to turn away.
“Just one more thing, Your Grace.”
Cluyne paused.
“It’s about the books. I… well, I don’t know quite what to say—and as you may have noticed, I am rarely rendered speechless.” Charlotte drew in an unsteady gulp of air and went on in a rush. “So I’ll simply say thank you. It was incredibly generous of you. And… thoughtful.”
The duke cleared his throat with a gruff growl. “I was merely returning them to their rightful owner, Lady Fenimore. You, at least, appreciate them more than most people. I daresay you won’t cut them up into pennyprints.”
“No,” said Charlotte, her voice a little breathless. “I won’t cut them up.”
Kate never heard her friend sound like a giddy schoolgirl. Angling a quick look at her grandfather, she saw that his expression had turned… odd.
Bashful?
Good Lord, the champagne must be affecting her head.
She blinked, and sure enough, her grandfather’s craggy features had their usual sharp edge. “I am glad to hear it.”
With that, he pivoted on his heel and walked away.
Charlotte slowly released the fisted fringe of her shawl and smoothed out the folds before following.
Kate leaned back against the books. Some mischievous ghost of Cluyne Close must have stirred up an ancient spell to plague this house party. She made a face. And whatever the black magic, it was awfully potent.
No scientific rationale could explain the mysterious force that was making opposites attract each other.
“Found a good book to read?”
Speak of the devil. Kate looked up at Marco. “I was actually looking for a volume on alchemy.”
“You wish to transform base metals into gold?” His gaze held a glint of amusement. “I was under the impression that fancy baubles were not to your taste.”
“I wish to transform plaguey rogues into perfect gentlemen.”
His low laugh tickled against her cheek. “I’m afraid that may be beyond the powers of any magic, black or otherwise. But you are welcome to try.”
The close confines of the alcove seemed to intensify his presence—his shoulders seemed even more muscular, his smile even more sensuous, his scent even more…
Masculine.
There was no other word for the heady mix of tobacco, brandy, and sandalwood shaving soap.
“As a scientist, I take pride in being a realist. Any experiment to change you would be a waste of time. I recognize a hopeless task when I see it.”
Marco shifted his stance, and suddenly his thigh was touching hers. “I thought scientists were not supposed to jump to conclusions.”
Her knees gave a little lurch.
“Aren’t you supposed to gather empirical evidence to prove your assumptions?” he pressed. Somehow, his terrible, tempting mouth was now only inches from hers.
“I’ve observed enough to make a logical deduction,” said Kate. “You are an incorrigible womanizer who hasn’t a serious bone in his body.”
“I’m not sure you explored my anatomy thoroughly enough to come to that conclusion.”
She couldn’t help but imagine what his lean, chiseled chest, stripped bare of wool and linen, would feel like against her hands. “You have just proved my point—”
His kiss was so swift that she wasn’t quite sure whether she had simply imagined the touch of his lips. “All that I have proved is the fact that your cheeks turn a very beguiling shade of pink whenever I get under your skin.”
A lick of heat teased up her spine. Kate told herself it was anger. And yet anger had never before stirred the strange sensation of butterflies beating their gossamer wings against her ribs.
“Bella,” he murmured.
“D-don’t call me that,” she whispered.
“Why? Does it remind you of your wicked past?”
Oh yes, she was wicked.
“Or your wicked present?”
She felt a little woozy and her ears began to ring.
“Ah, there is the bell summoning us to supper. Shall I escort you to the dining room?”
“I…” For an instant she was tempted to take his arm and lean her head against the muscled stretch of his shoulder. But then there was a sinful little flicker in his eye, as if he guessed at her thoughts, and she regretted her momentary weakness.
“I would prefer to go there on my own.” Gathering what remained of her dignity, Kate whisked her skirts free of his legs and hurried to join her grandfather’s guests.