Page 2 of A Duchess Worth Stealing (Saved by Scandal #2)

She rolled her eyes. “Not telling the truth means you have something to hide.”

“Don’t we all?” Now, he seemed even more entertained. “Rumors can tell you all you wish to know.”

“Rumors have been cruel,” she pointed out.

“Undoubtedly,” he agreed with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “They rarely flatter.”

“Except to me,” she reminded him. “Apparently, I am terrifying and well past my prime.”

“Well,” he repeated as if considering it, “you are terrifying.”

She couldn’t resist laughing, but it was short and sharp. This was a situation she never thought she would find herself in. “And I suppose that is meant to endear you to me?”

“Not at all,” he assured her. “It’s meant to tell you I am no fool. And perhaps, I find the prospect of terror rather thrilling.”

She studied the amused arch of his dark brows, the unbothered set of his wide shoulders. All of this was entertaining to him. It enraged her beyond measure.

“Well then, I do hope you enjoy the rest of your evening,” she said. “I am certain that the other guests miss you terribly.”

“Oh, must I leave so soon?” he inquired lightly. “But you haven’t even insulted my cravat.”

She looked at the mentioned cravat only for a moment. “It doesn’t seem worth the effort.”

“Then, you are not living up to your terrifying reputation of a wicked spinster,” he reminded her.

Cordelia flushed furiously. “Well, thank you for that charming summary,” she said crisply. “Do tell me what else you’ve heard.”

He laughed, and damn him, it was an actual, amused, horribly warm laugh. But that was exactly when he stepped forward, and she had to do something.

“No,” she said quickly, inserting herself again between him and her guardian’s unconscious body. “Don’t.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Don’t…?”

“Look,” she tried, inhaling deeply. “I may as well confess. I was… I was intrigued by you.”

He stopped.

She nodded to herself, committing to the game fully. “Yes. That’s why I was here in the library, lurking like a… a terribly curious raccoon.”

“A raccoon,” he repeated.

“Yes. One of those wild creatures from the Americas; they’re terribly curious! I heard you were visiting and I, well, I was caught… red-handed. I was hoping to see what sort of man you were. Because… I always dreamed of running into a handsome stranger in a library of all places.”

Cordelia, what on earth are you doing?

Her inner mind screamed, but all she could do was continue with this dangerous game she was playing.

“And now I have, so… mystery solved.” Her smile was wide and imploring.

Please leave. Please …

The man, however, did not leave, and worse yet, he was going to see the body.

Cordelia could see it all unfold in her mind: his sharp eyes falling on the chaise, the unflattering sprawl of Lord Vernon’s limp form, the peculiar angle of one leg that suggested either unconsciousness or mild death, and then, utter ruination!

There was no time, no thought, no plan.

She did the only sensible thing a woman of her wit, distress, and general lack of foresight might do in such a moment of calamity.

She kissed him.

It was not, in truth, a very good kiss. Her lips met his with the panicked precision of someone attempting to smother a fire with her face.

Oh heavens. What am I doing? Her lips were stiff, puckered, and alarmingly dry. She shut her eyes tightly as if that might lessen the horror of it. She could feel his surprise, his body going very still, his mouth unmoving against hers.

A mortifying heartbeat passed then two.

Then, suddenly, his hands came to rest at her waist, pulling her closer.

It was not a startled response to her awkward distraction.

It was not panicked or hurried. It was a tidal wave of heat that seemed to flood them both, melting them into each other, and all she could do was comply with the sensation.

He shifted, just slightly, and her lips softened without meaning to.

His mouth was warm, and his breath mingled with hers in a way that made her feel less like a murderer and more like a woman in a novel who had chosen this moment.

His warm breath spilled over her lips as she drank in his presence all around her.

She was enveloped into his arms, nestled in the sweet being of this stranger as he kissed her in a way she had only read in novels before.

There was no sarcasm in him now, only gentleness and a kind of quiet curiosity that pulled at something deep in her chest.

Cordelia’s mind, which had been shrieking since he entered the library, abruptly fell silent.

So, this is what kissing can be like, she thought to herself.

And then, of course, Lord Vernon coughed… loudly. He strained in an attempt to get up, only to blink heavily several times and drop down again.

She leapt back from him as though struck by lightning—or possibly divine judgment—and scrambled halfway across the rug. Her foot caught the edge of the hearth rug, and she nearly tripped, flailing in her escape.

“He’s alive!” she cried, pointing at the chaise with one trembling hand.

“ Alive ?” he echoed, completely stunned. “Why, of course he would be alive! Why on earth would a dead man be lounging in my library?”