“Think nothing of it, Soames. I arrived earlier than expected.” His deep baritone had its customary effect on her, even wedged as she was beneath his bed, the Axminster tickling her cheek.
Heat unfurled in her belly. Unwanted, vexing heat.
“Ames had a question on the matter of the library, sir,” Soames began.
The library? Virtue held her breath, straining to hear more. Surely the duke didn’t intend to burn the books after all?
The rustle of clothing suggested Ridgely had moved his upper body. “Later, if you please, Soames. That will be all for now, I should think.”
“You have no further need of me, Your Grace?” the valet asked.
“Not presently.” Ridgely’s tone was light. He was moving again, turning to face his valet, his boots moving a few paces. “Thank you, Soames.”
More of the duke’s body had come into view once more. Buff trousers tucked into those high, gleaming boots. He wore a waistcoat only, putting his backside on display. She told herself not to look, but then she reasoned that there really was no other means of distraction, save closing her eyes. Any movement on her part risked discovery.
The valet was gone now, the door shut.
Ridgely crossed the chamber to the hearth, and there was another unmistakable rustle of cloth. She could see almost all of him now, those long legs, well-muscled thighs, his rump—heavens. She had never bothered to take note of the male form often, for there had been none near enough in age to her at Greycote Abbey, but Ridgely’s was a thing of beauty. More of that deuced infuriating heat swept over her, like warm honey being poured all over. Sticky and messy. That was how she felt, how Ridgely made her feel.
Angry, too. Irritated beyond redemption.
She had never expected to be shuffled into the care of a guardian, and particularly not one likehim. Her awareness of Ridgely as a man was an unending source of disappointment.
But Virtue was trapped here, and the duke was moving with calm, efficient motions. Unbuttoning his waistcoat, she realized as he shrugged the garment from broad shoulders and laid it across the back of a chair. He was notdisrobing, was he? He remained a mystery, an enigma, halfway across the room, only a portion of his fine figure visible to her. An intriguing one.
Her wicked eyes would not close. He had a lean waist, his shirt tucked into those trousers with perfect care, delineating the effect of the hours he spent at Angelo’s each week. The hushed glide of more fabric denoted the removal of his cravat, which he draped atop the discarded waistcoat.
Oh no. Ohdear. He truly was removing his garments, one piece at a time.
Now.
Here.
Whilst she watched.
His movements indicated more buttons being undone. She knew precisely how many there were—three—sliding from their moorings. Virtue held her breath, waiting for him to grasp twin handfuls of that shirt and haul it over his head.
Sinful excitement trilled down her spine. She was about to see the Duke of Ridgely’s naked back. Or a portion of it. Half. Three-quarters if she were to press her face deeper into the pile…
No. Virtue ought to announce her presence. Honor demanded it. Yes, she must. It was wrong to allow him to conduct such an intimate act as she watched without his consent. She would have to slide from beneath the bed in ignominy, admit to her trespass, and face the consequences for her actions. But then, he could hardly punish her more than he had. He’d taken her books, curse him, and her access to the library as well. She had nothing left of value to lose.
She was about to shift, to slide from under the bed and reveal herself, but then his shoulders flexed beneath the brilliant white muslin, and up the shirt went. Over his head. And beneath was nothing but skin. Sleek, male skin. The Duke of Ridgely’s skin.
She hadn’t supposed a man’s back would be so glorious to behold. Perhaps not every man’s was. But Ridgely’s back was masculine and strong and endlessly fascinating. There went that inconvenient warmth again, this time pooling between her thighs and making her feel restless and breathless all at once. Her avid gaze drank in every detail. His flesh was smooth—how soft it looked. And yet, beneath was the evidence of his power: the long line of his spine, his ribcage delineated as he stretched, his shoulder blades protruding delightfully, and all those muscles tensing and moving in a miracle of motion.
What a marvel man was, hiding beneath the trappings of society. Her fingers longed to touch. To trace the planes and curves and hollows, all the sharp parts of him. To learn the landscape of his body and know the feel of his bare skin against hers.
It was a foolish yearning, a dangerous one.
She tamped it down as he draped his shirt over the chair and spoke, shattering the stillness of the chamber and the illusion that she was hidden.
“You may as well come out from beneath my bed now.”
CHAPTER4
Trevor turned to face his ward’s hiding place, willing the strong tide of desire that had been rising within, almost out of control, to abate. Silence reigned from beneath his bed, but he knew she was there. He couldfeelit. His body was ridiculously aware of hers. There had been a tingling down his spine when he’d crossed the threshold, then the faint floral scent of her. The stack of books which had been recently trifled with had been the final, telling clue.
He had dismissed Soames, deciding to carry on with this little game, initiated by her. To see how far she would take it. And she’d taken it quite far. Farther than he had suspected, it was true.
