Page 41 of Reading the Viscount
Chapter Thirteen
Two nights later
Christopher sat atthe duke’s desk, the bookRob Royopen before him, but he didn’t see the words. What he did see in his mind was Lady Sophie looking at him with far more knowledge than she should have. It was that very look that had had him coming to the library the last couple of nights, unable to sleep.
Though he’d not spoken to her, he’d been unable to keep from observing her, the library balcony the perfect spot, since she was often among the bookcases or talking with her classmates in various alcoves. He worried two days ago when his sister-in-law had taken Sophie out of the library, but a few conversational leads with his brother gave him the information he wanted. Sophie’s mother had come to tell her about a possible husband prospect.
He should be happy for her, but he’d been relieved when she hadn’t rushed home to meet the gentleman. He knew Lord Wilford, and he was a good man, but far too serious for Sophie. She could be bold and tease a man, which did not fit Wilford at all. No doubt her mother thought a scholar, such as Wilford, would be best for Sophie since she was a student at the Belinda School for Curious Ladies. But he knew Sophie’s love of literature proved her values were less about studies and more about humans and their behavior.
He lifted the book before him. Stories such as the Waverley novels and Shakespeare’s plays and Fielding’s books were what stimulated hermind and fed her need for knowledge of humanity. In a way, it was far safer to read about them than to participate! He dropped the book.
Sophie studied literature much as she studied people while at a large gathering, as an observer, not as a participant. That was why she’d bumped into him as she sought to hide behind the column at the Twelfth Night ball.
Yet even then, with him, she’d been forward, playful, and completely captivating. It was no wonder he found himself thinking about her every day. She didn’t just intrigue him as a woman—she made him feel like he could accomplish whatever he wished. There was no judgment. He’d even go so far as to call her a friend. But he wanted more of her than friendship, and he couldn’t do that. He had no home to offer yet, no stable life.
He rose from the chair and moved to the window, the dark night impossible to penetrate. All he could see was his reflection in the glass and the side of the desk behind him. One day, he was sure to find a woman as intriguing as Sophie. He had years ahead of him, many that would be difficult. He still needed to tell his brother about his new home. He just wasn’t sure when.
Movement in the window’s reflection caught his attention.
Sophie.
She wore a warm green velvet dressing gown. Her hair was in a long braid upon her chest as she padded around the desk on bare feet, making not a sound.
He turned quietly to watch her.
She lifted the book from the desk and frowned. Her delicate brow wrinkled in puzzlement. Then, as if by instinct, her head came up and swiveled toward him.
For a moment, it was as if the universe halted, no sound could be heard, no movement made, just him gazing at her and she at him, enigmatic, neither surprised nor frightened.
“Tam.” The word whispered from her lips like a prayer.
Without thought, he took one step. “Rosalind.”
Her body trembled as she took a long breath, the movement causing the dressing gown to open more, revealing her white shift.
It was then that he understood the precarious perch of time they stood upon. His body tensed with yearning at the knowledge there was little covering her sweet form. If either of them moved toward the other a single step more, life would change. He forced himself to remain static, unmoving like the Greek statues the students of the school studied. He felt as strong as Hercules yet as weak as Persephone, fated to live among the dead half the year.
And then she moved, placing the book back upon the desk, her gaze never leaving his, though her fingers remained upon the open page. The page he’d tried to read a dozen times. “I couldn’t sleep.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
He kept his own to match. “Neither could I.”
“Why?”
Her question, though broad, asked for the truth. He couldn’t deny her. “I was thinking of you.”
The smallest of smiles lifted the corner of her lips, the lips he couldn’t seem to resist. “I was thinking of you. Perhaps our thoughts were similar?”
Memories of the images of her that had plagued him raced through his mind, causing his tension to rise. “I don’t think so.”
Her fingers left the book and touched her jaw, even as deviltry flashed in her eyes. “No, perhaps not. My thoughts were about you with less clothing. I do doubt you would think about that.”
He opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t get a word past the constriction in his throat.
“I suppose you’re shocked, but you shouldn’t be. I was also thinking about your new estate, your choice of readings for the first-year students, and your popularity with your friends.”
He finally found his voice, relieved she’d moved to a topic hecould broach. “You weren’t thinking of Lord Wilford?”
Her eyes widened. “You heard? Of course you did. No doubt Lord Sommerset told you. What do you think?”
