Page 59 of The Rogue’s Offer

“Why did you really come to the library, Ophelia?”

“I told you why. Your brother asked me to meet him here.”

The stubborn tilt of her chin pulled a growl of anger out of his chest. She didn’t flinch at the sound, but he heard the soft intake of air into her lungs. The sharp breath echoed with trepidation, and it made him doubt her words. Jaw clenched with determination, he lowered his head and closed the small space between them until the warmth of her breath brushed across his face.

“Very well, for the sake of the argument, let us assume my brother did invite you to meet him here.” Mathias watched her expression carefully as he spoke. “It still doesn’t explain why you came here.”

“I came because I thought…” Her voice faded away as a look of fear widened her eyes. Ophelia turned her head away for a brief moment before she glared at him with a defiant arch of her delicate eyebrows. “I came because it was a summons, not a request.”

“Why do I think you’re lying? Why do I think you were the one to instigate a meeting?”

“I am not a liar, and you have noright to question my comings and goings,” she snapped as she tried to break free of his grasp.

“When it comes to protecting my brother’s honor, I have every right to question you,” he snarled. “Whatever plot you’ve devised, I can assure you it will not come to fruition.”

“If I were plotting anything, it would be your downfall.” The scornful look on her face as she looked him up and down was like taking a bitter medicine.

“My downfall? For what reason,” he said with a laugh of disgust.

“For lying to me. For making—” Her angry reply ended suddenly as she sucked in a sharp breath of air and grew pale.

“For making you what, Ophelia?”

At his question, a look of vulnerability darkened her eyes as she turned her head away. The fragile air about her softened his anger. Had she really come to the library hoping he’d used Charles’s name to summon her here? He almost laughed out loud at the thought. She’d accepted Chelmsford’s proposal, which made him a fool for thinking otherwise. But where Ophelia was concerned, he was a fool. A fool deeply in love. He grasped her chin with his fingers and forced her to look at him.

“Tell me, Ophelia. What have I done to make you wish my downfall?”

“You lied to me.”

“And I’ve expressed deep remorse for my mistake, several times in fact, and yet not once have you accepted my apology.”

“I don’t want your apologies,” she snapped as he saw fear flash across her face. “I simply want to forget I ever met you.”

“Why?” he murmured. Something in her eyes caused his heart to slam into his chest. Had Charles and his friends been right? Was it possible Ophelia actually cared for him or was he imagining emotions in her that were born of his own desperation?

“This conversation is pointless. Let me go. I wish to return to the ballroom.” Her voice was icy, and every muscle in his body hardened at the reason for her desire to return to the party.

“Return to Chelmsford’s side you mean,” he bit out through clenched teeth. Her only answer was a defiant tilt of her head.

Her refusal to respond to his accusation caused a vivid image of her in the earl’s arms to fill Mathias’s head. The emotion it aroused in him was one he’d never experienced before. He could only identify it as jealousy. It was a sensation he didn’t like one bit. Even worse was the desperate need not to let her go. His gaze fell downward to her mouth.

“Tell me, Ophelia. Do you expect to find the same passion in Chelmsford’s arms you found in mine?” The question made her gasp softly, and her eyes widened in surprised bewilderment before she quickly narrowed her gaze at him.

“You don’t seriously expect me to answer that, do you?”

Despite the note of anger in Ophelia’s haughty response, he heard the small catch in her voice. It was a sound he knew well. It meant she was avoiding the question. He bent his head to nip at her earlobe. The small mewl that escaped her sent a rush of exhilaration surging through him. She’d made a similar sound the night he’d made love to her. Mathias lifted his head, and she quickly averted her gaze from his.

“Are you afraid of what your answer would be?” he growled as his finger lazily trailed the edge of her bodice.

Ophelia shuddered beneath his touch. A bitter triumph swept through him. She might have agreed to marry Chelmsford, but she trembled beneath his touch. His gaze fell on the sweet curve of her lips. Full and succulent, Ophelia’s mouth was slightly parted, and her ragged breathing whispered in his ear.

Desire charged its way through him at the sound. To hell with Chelmsford. To hell with it all. With a growl, he captured her mouth in a hard kiss. A sound of surprise escaped her before she opened her mouth to him.

Light and bubbly, the taste of champagne danced off her tongue onto his, while the warmth of her penetrated his body. Every muscle in his body ached for her. She was intoxicating in a way no amount of brandy could ever match. His mouth slid off her lips and moved downward to nibble at the side of her neck.

The silky touch of her hand caressed the back of his neck as she pulled him closer then gently thrust her hips forward into his. Need surged through him at her silent invitation. He wanted to inhale the very essence of her so he’d never forget the scent of her skin, the sweet taste of her lips, or her gasps of pleasure at his touch.

Their one night together and the memory of this moment would be all he had when she became Chelmsford’s wife and entered the earl’s bed. Anger and pain accompanied the fleeting thought, but he shoved them aside. The here and now was all that mattered. His hand brushed over her breast, and frustration barreled through him that he couldn’t touch her soft, satin-like skin.