Page 20 of A Duke to Steal Her
After asking the evening butler about Lady Emily’s whereabouts, Ambrose found her in the library.
Moonlight spilled through the tall windows, illuminating Emily as she stood before one of his bookshelves, a volume open in her hands. She was so engrossed that she didn’t hear him enter.
Her profile in the moonlight was striking—the delicate slope of her nose, the fullness of her lower lip as she caught it between her teeth in concentration.
You’re lovely, Lady Emily.
The thought came unexpectedly, yet the truth of it was undeniable.
“You think you can uncover my secrets by rifling through old books?” he finally asked, his voice low and amused. “You won’t find much there. But I do enjoy watching you try.”
Emily startled, nearly dropping the book. She recovered quickly, squaring her shoulders as she turned to face him.
“And what do you enjoy about this?” she challenged, closing the book with a definitive snap. “Watching me fail? Or do you like the control you have over me?”
The directness of her questions caught him off guard. Not for the first time, Ambrose found himself impressed by her nerve. Most women of her station would be in hysterics by now, begging for release, attempting to charm their way to freedom, or seduce him to remain on his estate. Lady Emily did nothing of the sort.She confronted him head-on, her blue eyes fierce in the dim light.
He stepped further into the room, drawn toward her like a ship to a siren’s call. “Don’t you ever wish to relinquish control, my lady?”
Something shifted in her expression as he drew closer. A flicker of awareness, of heat that mirrored the tension coiling within his own body.
“I have no control to relinquish, Your Grace,” she said, but her voice had softened, grown husky.
He took another step, close enough now to catch the faint scent of lavender that clung to her skin. “Oh, I disagree. You’re holding onto control. Clinging to it. What if you surrendered for once? Surrendered to the freedom of giving up the need for control? You may find it… rather liberating.”
Her breath caught audibly. “Liberating? You think being at your mercy is liberating, Your Grace?”
The moonlight caught in her eyes, turning them into luminous pools. Ambrose felt a dangerous pull toward her.
He allowed his lips to curve into a knowing smile. “You might find it far more enjoyable than you think.”
Her lips parted slightly, her gaze dropping to his mouth for the briefest of moments. The air between them seemed to thicken and become charged with something inevitable. Ambrose leaned forward, his body acting of its own accord.
Their faces were mere inches apart when clarity struck him like a bucket of cold water.
This wasn’t part of the plan.
Emily was meant to be a means to an end, a way to strike at Peirce, not a… temptation.
With more effort than he cared to admit, Ambrose stepped back.
“Good night, my lady,” he said, his voice rougher than intended.
He turned and left before he could change his mind, before he could see the shock that crossed her face—shock that perhaps matched his own at how close he’d come to giving in to impulse.
As he strode down the corridor, Ambrose cursed under his breath. She’d been meant as bait in a trap for Peirce, not a trap for himself. Yet here he was, caught in the snare of his own making, wanting something he had no right to take.
Tomorrow, he would maintain his distance. Keep to the plan. Remember his purpose.
But even as he made these resolutions, Ambrose knew the memory of Emily in the moonlight would haunt his dreams.
Chapter Seven
The manor seemed different in the morning light, less imposing and more like the grand family home it had once been.
Emily moved through its corridors with purpose until she found what she was looking for on the second floor—a private sitting room that felt distinctly feminine despite years of disuse.
Rose silk wallpaper had faded to the color of old tea, and delicate furniture stood shrouded in Holland covers.
