He opened a door, and she slipped into the room of shelves, books, and a musty fragrance. They were alone, but she wasn’t concerned, too enthralled by all the leather bindings. She didn’t think it was as large a library as Thorne’s, but it certainly housed a goodly amount of reading material.

“Over here,” Beresford said, leading her to a large open book that rested on a pedestal.

She approached with caution and reverence. “Oh my word.”

“The Gutenberg Bible.” His voice was low, near her ear.

“It’s beautiful.”

“There are very few remaining. It’s rare, Miss Trewlove. Like you.”

Her breath hitching, she glanced back over her shoulder. “It’s very kind of you to say so, but I’m not so rare.”

Lightly, he touched his fingers to her cheek. “But you are. And I would very much like to kiss you.”

Her gaze dropped to his lips. Not the correct plumpness, the correct shape. Not the ones she wanted pressed to hers. “That would be inappropriate, my lord.”

“Come, Miss Trewlove. We are alone. No one is to know. You are curious regarding what it might be like between us, surely.”

Three days ago, perhaps, but now she knew what she wanted. And it wasn’t an earl or a marquess or a duke. It was Matthew. “Please, don’t take offense, my lord, but actually, I’m not curious in the least.”

His brow furrowed. “That does not bode well for our marriage.”

Startled, she gave her head a little shake. “I don’t recall you asking for my hand.”

Grazing his knuckles along her cheek, his other hand landing solidly on her waist, he lowered his face until she felt his breath stirring tendrils of her hair. “But I shall, my sweet. You have won me over, Miss Trewlove. Where is the harm in a gentle pressing of our lips?”

Stunned by his declaration, she didn’t move fast enough when his mouth grazed over hers—

The click of a door had her jerking back her head. She wasn’t quite sure what she saw within the brown depths of his eyes: regret, satisfaction, embarrassment. An entire host of emotions seemed to be rolling through him as though he couldn’t quite decide what he should be feeling.

“Fancy?”

She recognized the voice. Mick. And he didn’t sound at all pleased. Placing her hands against Beresford’s chest, she shoved slightly and turned to face not only her brother but her brother-by-marriage and their host. She had a feeling that Beresford might not have been quite honest about people flitting in and out of the library. She suspected the group had sought refuge in here to get away from the crowd in order to enjoy a bit of scotch and private conversation.