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Julian, Duke of Haverford, is hosting a house party for the sole purpose of finding a husband for his sister. Elizabeth Windham has been sent to the same gathering for the sole purpose of finding a husband… though she insists all she’s truly interested in is locating a good book in Haverford’s vast library collection….
“Miss Windham, good morning,” Julian said.
The lady was Miss Windham now, not Julian’s Elizabeth of the towering oak and summer sunshine, not the charming phantasm of his dreams, and yet he wanted to kiss her again. She wore a simple green dress that hinted at the curves beneath, especially as she strode across the library and began wrestling with a window.
“Lady Glenys must instruct the footmen to open these windows each evening after the card parties break up,” she said. “The cigar smoke isn’t good for the books or the portraiture.”
“The footmen should also be soaping and oiling the window hardware,” Julian replied, reaching past her to shove the window open. Cool air bearing a hint of the sea wafted into the room and blended with the scent of lily of the valley on Miss Windham’s person.
Julian moved away lest he stand about like an idiot, his nose pressed to Miss Windham’s neck.
“I’ve come to find a book to take with me to our picnic across the lake,” she said, surveying rows and rows of literature. “I finished the three you lent me.”
“You’d rather spend this afternoon here with the books than socializing on the lakeshore. You love books.” And Julian loved knowing this about her.
“I love what books can do,” she said, moving to another window. Julian let her struggle a bit, because he liked the lines of the dress from the back almost as much as he did from the front.
Almost. The window gave and she moved to the next.
In defense of his dignity, he opened the two windows on the far side of the fireplace rather than again assist the lady.
“Books,” she said, dusting her hands, “can reach from beyond the grave and provide comfort and knowledge from somebody long dead. Books can instruct and entertain, they can—well, you must treasure them as I do, for you’ve amassed a fortune in books.”
Julian had no fortune whatsoever unless acres of Welsh countryside counted. “The first Marquess of Haverford was a bibliophile, and his descendants have maintained and added to his collection as a family tradition. I doubt many of these books have been read since my father’s birth.”
Elizabeth would read them, though. If she were his duchess, winter by winter, shelf by shelf, she’d learn the depth and breadth of all three of the collections. Julian would learn too, for she’d read to him, and he to her.
And then they’d read to their children.
“You do not behold your library with any joy,” Elizabeth said, when all the windows were open. “Or perhaps, like me, it’s the prospect of the afternoon’s activities that dims your pleasure in the day. Do you realize that all of the coachmen, footmen, grooms, and porters who came with your guests are idling about the carriage house, the attics, and the stables when they ought to be assisting your own staff?”
“I’ve been too busy with the bachelors and young ladies idling about to notice the outer reaches of my domain doing likewise.” Too busy noticing the exact rhythm of Elizabeth Windham’s strides.
She had a vocabulary of walks. In the out of doors, she moved quite freely, and inside the house, she could set a good pace too. She also had a ladylike saunter suitable for strolling the gardens or accompanying another guest into the breakfast parlor.
“Have a word with your butler, and get the idlers off their backsides,” she said, swiping a finger over the bottom of the marquess’s portrait. “As soon as this party concludes, you will have his lordship’s portrait cleaned, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Yes, Your Grace, for truly, Elizabeth Windham was meant to be a duchess.
“Tell me about Mr. Sherbourne. He was intent on making an entrance in the breakfast parlor this morning, and your sister says he might not even have been invited.”
Sherbourne owns my soul. “I can guarantee you he wasn’t invited, for no acceptance of an invitation has shown up in my correspondence, and he’d best not be directing mail to my unmarried sister. If she invited him personally, he still has no excuse for arriving a day late.”
Elizabeth took a window seat, sunshine slanting over her shoulder and making the simple green gown shimmer like new leaves in a morning breeze.
“I told Lady Glenys that,” she said. “I gather she’s been too overwhelmed planning this event to keep track of every detail. You must be certain to praise her for how smoothly she handled Sherbourne’s arrival at breakfast.”
When was the last time Julian had praised his sister for anything? “Who praises you, Elizabeth?”
“You said you like my kisses.”
Didn’t see that one coming. “I adore your kisses. Let’s find you another a book, shall we?”
The library door stood wide open, the windows stood open, and from down the corridor, Julian heard the last of his guests finishing their breakfasts. He held out a hand to Elizabeth and she joined him between the bookshelves.
His kissed her, or she kissed him. The undertaking was gratifyingly mutual.
In the first instant their kiss proved to Julian that dreams and recollections did not match reality. Elizabeth Windham put together two concepts that in Julian’s experience had no connection. She was both sweet and fierce, attractive in her soft curves and tender overtures, and compelling for the sheer determination of her grip on his arse.
She hauled him closer and her tongue danced across his mouth. He reciprocated, and a stolen kiss became an utter rout of his self-restraint. Julian backed Elizabeth up against the shelves—biographies, the last rational corner of his mind noted—and drew her as close as a man could hold a woman.
She held him even closer and wrapped her leg around his thigh. Elizabeth would delight in pleasures taken amid the scent of books and forever after, Julian would look more fondly on his collection of biographies.
The lady eased her mouth away and rested against him.
“The door is open,” she whispered.
Julian’s first thought was, “The door to opportunity…” but reason returned in the next moment. The door to the library stood open, assuring that sensible people would commit no improprieties therein. He and Elizabeth were not visible from the corridor, of course, but one of them really ought to move.
He was a duke, the host of the gathering, and responsible for protecting her reputation. All of that was very true, but what inspired Julian to prudence was a nascent erotic interest that needed only a hint of inspiration to become obvious arousal.
He eased away, even as he stole a parting kiss. Elizabeth looked as tidy as a dowager’s sewing box, while Julian felt as if he’d fallen headfirst from the mighty oak. Rather than stare into her eyes, his gaze landed on the books behind her.
“We’ve upset the biographies,” he said, taking another step back. “Some of those volumes recount the illustrious doings of my ancestors.”
She turned, presenting the elegant line of her shoulders and back, and began setting the books to rights.
Saved by the books, Julian thought, forcing himself put more distance between himself and the nape of Elizabeth Windham’s neck.
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