Reason surfaced gradually, penetrating the haze of pleasure surrounding Adam. What the hell was he doing?
He was jeopardizing everything, his position of majordomo, his assignment, not to mention his honor.
Shame should have suffused him as he stepped back. He should have immediately apologized, explained that it had been a while since he’d kissed a woman. Since he’d even wanted to kiss anyone.
Instead, he shook his head, the gesture substituting for all the words he couldn’t say.
She was a duchess and he was as far from the peerage as anyone could be.
She was going to say the words to dismiss him. He waited for them as the seconds ticked past. Instead, she stood there, her fingers pressed to her lips, looking at him as if she had never before seen a man.
“Why did you kiss me?” she asked.
“Do I need a reason?”
“Why, Adam?”
Very well, if she insisted on the truth, he would give it to her.
“Because you’re a beautiful woman,” he said. “And you’re very kissable.” As if that weren’t bad enough, he decided to give her another layer of honesty. “I’ve thought about doing it for days now.”
If she was going to dismiss him, let it be for cause.
“Have you?”
Her cheeks were turning pink again, a barometer of her emotions. He couldn’t tell, however, if she was feeling embarrassment or anger.
He reached out with both hands, gripped her shoulders, and pulled her gently to him.
“I have,” he said and bent to kiss her again. In for a penny, in for a pound.
She didn’t pull away. She didn’t strike him with her fists. She wrapped her arms around his waist as if afraid that he would leave her.
He had no intention of doing that. His thoughts were swirled and jumbled things. All he knew was that he needed to hold her, needed to kiss her, in a way that was elemental. His life depended on it.
Her palms were suddenly flat against his chest and she was pulling away.
He didn’t want to let her go, but he dropped his hands. His breathing was erratic, and every thought was centered not on his assignment or his role or even how he would explain to Mount why he’d been summarily dismissed. He was thinking about the pleasure she’d so effortlessly given him.
The image of her in his bed, her hair tousled, her lips swollen from his kisses, wouldn’t leave him. He wanted to disrobe her slowly. Were her breasts as large as they felt pressed against his chest? He imagined her long and perfectly formed legs wrapped around his waist.
He wanted to feel her, stroke her skin without layers of clothing between them. He wanted her hands all over him, her breath against his throat.
Staring down at the carpet was easier than looking at her. He couldn’t apologize and was as far from being sorry as he was from respecting the Duke of Marsley. He would be able to recall her in his arms for years, if not forever. That startled catch in her breath when he first kissed her would be something he’d always remember. How could he possibly regret kissing Suzanne?
She took another step back and he wanted to tell her that he wasn’t going to ravish her, at least not without her consent. She had nothing to fear from him, never mind that he’d kissed her. That was as far as his efforts of seduction would go. Not because of his assignment. Nor because she would surely dismiss him any second now, but because any relationship they had must be on equal footing. He didn’t want to overwhelm her. He didn’t want to seduce her. He wanted her, but he also hoped she wanted him.
That night in her bedroom, when he’d looked into her eyes and seen only anguish, the need had been born in him to give her comfort. But this, what he felt now, was different. He ached to lose himself in her, quiet all the memories swirling around in his head. For a few moments, the past had disappeared. When he held Suzanne all he’d been conscious of was her, him, and pleasure.
He thrust his hand into his jacket pocket, retrieved the brooch, and held out his hand, palm up.
“I found your brooch,” he said. “It’s what you were looking for the other day, wasn’t it?”
His voice didn’t sound like himself, almost as if it were difficult to speak.
She reached out and took the piece of jewelry, holding it between two fingers.
“It’s not a brooch,” she said, sounding different as well. Thankfully, however, there was no evidence of tears in her voice. “It’s a hair clip. You see?” She turned the brooch on its back and opened a clasp. “It slides onto my hair like that.”
“I am somewhat lacking in my knowledge of diamond hairpins, Your Grace.”
How effortlessly he had fallen back into his role. He was her servant. She was his employer. They should not forget such things. In addition, he was someone else. Someone she didn’t know about.
Standing there, however, he felt closer to his real self than he had for quite some time. Had a single kiss rendered him defenseless? Very well, two kisses. And more if she had allowed him. Perhaps it was a good thing that the portrait of her dead husband watched them.
She was staring at him, her eyes steady. Her color was still high. He concentrated on her lips. Those lips made him want to kiss her again.
“Do you want an apology?” he asked. “Shall I confess to my animalistic nature?”
“Do you have one?”
“Around you, evidently,” he said.
“The maids are safe, then?”
“Assuredly, Your Grace.”
“And me, Drummond? Am I safe?”
“Honesty compels me to say that I’m not entirely certain.”
Her eyebrows rose.
She probably thought he was teasing her, but he was being deadly serious.
“Then I should avoid you at all costs,” she said.
“It would probably be the best advice I could give you.”
“So if you came upon me in a parlor, for example, I should scream for assistance? If nothing else, I should ring for a maid?”
“Or perhaps you should have a chaperone at all times, Your Grace.”
“Strictly to prevent you from demonstrating your animalistic nature, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Drummond, you can’t say such things. I am no great beauty. Surely not someone to inspire a man like you to do wicked things.”
“Not wicked, Your Grace. Simply human nature. You have lips I want to kiss. And a form it gives me great pleasure to hold. As to your beauty, if you want compliments, I will endeavor to come up with a few. You should know your own attributes, however.”
“Drummond, you are the most extraordinary man and this has been the most extraordinary conversation.”
He only smiled at her.
“I don’t require an apology,” she said.
“Then any time you would wish to duplicate the experience, Your Grace, I stand ready to serve.”
They exchanged a very long look. He wasn’t entirely certain what she was thinking, but her smile was once more in evidence. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was a glint of humor in her eyes.
Good. Marble Marsley needed to be shattered until the woman within was revealed.
She nodded at him, just once, grabbed her skirt with both hands, and, with chin tilted up slightly, left the library.
She’d given him a bad turn when she’d asked if he was a spy. What kind of man set his daughter’s servants to watching her?
The more he learned about Edward Hackney, the more he thought that the ex-director of the East India Company bore watching as well.
He stared at the closed door for several minutes before he, too, left the room.