Wymark gulped, apparently even in his drunken stupor recognizing the deadly intent on Hadrian’s face. “S-sorry, old chap. Didn’t mean no harm. M’ lips are—are sealed.”

The cringing fear on those weak features was enough to penetrate the volcanic fury that had enveloped Hadrian’s brain. Loosening his grip, he thrust Wymark away in disgust. The youth wobbled backward, collapsing onto the settee, where he cowered like a chastened little boy.

“I intend to hold you to that pledge,” Hadrian snapped.

Turning on his heel, he strode out of the library. The sharp echo of his footsteps in the great hall served to work off his anger. As his mind resumed a semblance of its normal function, he mulled over the episode. Restraint had always guided his life and his actions. He’d prided himself on having firm mastery over his emotions. Yet tonight the foundation had tilted beneath him. Now, he detected an odd sense of exultation in himself that was unsettling, to say the least.

It all had to do with Natalie.

As he mounted the staircase, his thoughts swerved inevitably to her. To the memory of her trembling with passion in his arms. To the softness of her lips opening beneath his. To the taste of her skin and the arch of her spine, lifting her perfect breasts to his mouth. If not for that interruption, he would have pressed her down onto the settee and made love to her right there in the library.

Reckless fool! He knew better than to treat respectable women so cavalierly. Even as a green youth, he hadn’t behaved so irresponsibly. It didn’t matter that she’d wanted to kiss him, too.

As irksome as Wymark’s arrival had been, it had come at a fortuitous moment. Hadrian had always restricted his sexual affairs to experienced women. Despite Natalie’s worldly knowledge in other matters, there was an unmistakable innocence about her. The penalty of consummating their lust would have been grave.

Or was it mere lust?

No other woman had ever brought him to the point of abandoning all reason and logic. The rarefied world of the ton was filled with an endless array of English beauties who were drawn to his title and fortune in the hope of becoming the next Duchess of Clayton. It wasn’t a circumstance he’d encouraged or sought, it was simply a fact of life.

Though a few had caught his eye over the years, he’d never found any lady who could engage his interest beyond a light flirtation. Nor had he realized until now that he desired more in a wife than just a pretty face and an exalted lineage. He craved wit and conversation, depth and intelligence, resilience and spirit, warmth and excitement.

Natalie possessed all those qualities in abundance. Tonight, the thread of connection he’d sensed between them had tightened into a strong silken bond. He wanted to claim her, to protect her, to bind her to him forever. Yet duty required him to wed Lady Ellen or another blue blood like her. Not an ineligible American governess who scorned the aristocracy.