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"How am I looking at you?" he asked, supporting one of his arms across the shelf to prevent her from leaving.

"You..." Daphne's voice faltered as she met his gaze, and she realized, with a jolt, that he was staring at her differently than anyone had ever looked at her before. "You fully well know the answer to that. You look at me as though I am out of place, an imposition."

Ambrose looked at her as if she had uttered something wholly ridiculous.

"You have no idea, do you?" he murmured. "You think I'm judging you, looking down on you, but you're wrong." He paused, searching her eyes.

"I admire you, Daphne."

"You..." she had to force herself to squeeze the words out of her throat. He admires me?

"You've never cared about what anyone else thinks," he continued, his tone almost reverent. "You've never backed down, not even when I—a duke—challenged you. You are... remarkable."

Daphne's head was swimming now. She had never once in her life expected that Ambrose – of all people – would hold this opinion of her, much less admit it to her face. She almost pinched herself, thinking that this is nothing more than a dream.

But he moved even closer to her, still holding her arm. His touch burned like fire against her skin, and was a reminder that this was no dream. This was happening.

And it was happening too fast for her to understand.

Ambrose continued to lean in, his eyes flickering to her lips. They had far surpassed what would be considered an acceptable distance between two unmarried individuals. But despite that, she didn't move. She couldn't.

"And you make me..." He didn't finish the sentence. Instead, Ambrose closed the space between them and kissed her.

As soon as his lips came into contact with hers, the world seemed to fall away behind her. His kiss was soft at first – a kind of gentle that felt so contrary to the hardness of his personality. But soon, it gave away to something more urgent.

As though the both of them were channeling their pent up emotions, those long moments of unresolved tension by nearly devouring each other.

No. It was not something that she had ever thought of herself being capable of doing, not with him. Kisses like this could cost her the reputation she had been so eager to build.

Somehow, though, she did not care.

"Ambrose," she muttered against his lips in between the kiss.

Hearing her say his name in that low tone, no mention of his title, jolted him back to reality.

And just as quickly as the kiss had begun, it ended. Ambrose pulled back, his breath ragged as he took a step away, releasing her hand.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice tight with regret. "I shouldn't have done that."

Daphne blinked, still caught in the haze of what had just happened, her lips tingling where his had been. "Ambrose..."

She could hardly think straight, let alone talk to him about.

"This was a mistake," he interrupted, shaking his head. His gaze shifted away from her, almost as if he couldn't bear to look at her any longer.

"I..." the words died in her throat. What was she meant to say? By all things considered, it was a mistake. Even though her entire body told her differently. He had lit her up on fire, in a way that no one in her life had ever managed to do.

Ambrose took another few steps backwards, rubbing the side of his face. "From now on, I shall promise to never get involved with you again. I will not intervene anymore between yours and Richard's affairs... I.."

He caught her gaze, "I shall leave you here now," he straightened his back, masking the vulnerability that he had displayed to her just a moment ago.

Cold air rushed to the space left behind by him. It was the sensation of being wrapped in a blanket on a torrid winter night, finding that you quite enjoy the warmth and then having the blanket snatched away in a flash.

That was the only thing that Daphne could draw a comparison to when Ambrose stepped back.

He did not utter another word, turning to his heel and leaving her alone in the library.

In his wake, she raised a hesitant hand to her lips.

Kissing him had been one of the most intense moments of her life.

The idea that she may never get to do it again – not even considering whether it was right or wrong – filled her up with grief that arose from the bottom of her stomach, and sunk deep into her legs.

Her knees buckled, and Daphne found herself sliding down against the wooden frame of the shelf. The strength had drained from her limbs, as if the weight of what had just happened had completely overpowered her. She sank to the floor, her back resting against the hard wood.

A hollow ache spread through her chest, the kind of ache that settled deep and refused to leave.

Ambrose's kiss had stirred something in her, something she hadn't been prepared for. And now, all she could feel was heartbreak—a deep, overwhelming sense of loss that made her chest feel tight, like she could hardly breathe.

"It was a mistake for him," her whispered words came out as more of a choked sob.

Daphne closed her eyes, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

Her heart was breaking, piece by fragile piece.

And the worst part was that she didn't know why it hurt so much.

Just days ago, she couldn't stand him. He was everything she had vowed to stay away from: cold, arrogant, infuriating. But now... now, she wasn't sure.

But he was. He was sure that she was only a mistake for him, someone who does not even deserve his attention.

The thought made her stomach twist painfully.

She wanted to scream, to cry, to tear down every book in this blasted library, but she knew none of it would make a difference.

Ambrose had walked away. He had left her, and with that single act, he had left her with an unbearable truth: she was falling for him. Falling hard.

And she had no idea what to do with that.