“Mmmm.” Like cinnamon-spiced sugar, warm and melting on the tongue.
The sound of a door opening and closing jolted her out of the languid reverie. “What was that?”
“A maid—and all too close by the sound of it.” Devlin hurriedly smoothed her skirts back in place. “Can you make it back to your rooms on your own?” he asked. “Ungentlemanly though it is to leave you in the lurch, it would be best if we are not seen together in this isolated part of the castle. I’m sure neither of us wishes to spark a scandal.”
Her body still felt a little boneless, but the word “scandal” shocked Anna back to her senses. She took a tentative step and her legs, though a trifle wobbly, kept her upright. “Yes, yes, you must go,” she hissed. “And quickly!”
The shadows rippled and the alcove was empty.
Anna pressed her forehead to the dark wood, taking just an instant to steady her heartbeat before making haste for the connecting corridor.
Chapter Ten
Anna eased her bedchamber’s latch shut and leaned back against the door, still feeling a little dazed by the lingering
fire inside her. A glance at her reflection in the cheval glass showed that her face and her figure remained unchanged.
How could that be? she wondered, when she felt like a completely different person.
Aware that her heart was still thumping erratically, she slowly drew in several deep breaths and tried to calm its beat.
No wonder the poets waxed ecstatic when they composed odes about physical love. The sensations were wildly wonderful—though lightning might strike her down for daring to think such wicked thoughts.
“I don’t regret it,” she whispered defiantly. No matter that Polite Society would brand her a harlot if they knew what she had done.
And perhaps they would be right. The blame did not lie with Davenport, conceded Anna. She had thrown herself at him, thinking it oh-so clever to use a show of sultry flirtation to tease him into revealing his secret.
Instead, the rascally rogue had taken her seductive strategy and turned it to his own advantage. She had all but surrendered her virtue. And had received precious little in return.
Save for a taste of terrible temptation.
Feeling a little foolish, Anna made a place for herself on the cushioned window seat and stared out at the mist-shrouded moors. A myriad of puzzling questions were swirling inside her head. While a myriad of whirling-dervish desires were spinning through the rest of her body.
Research. Anna grimaced at her reflection in the glass. At least the experience could be counted as research. After all, a writer must be willing to make great sacrifices in order to create a compelling story.
Though if she dared describe the scene in lurid detail, her pen might scorch the paper.
Expelling a sigh, she drew her knees to her chest. Who am I, really? Perhaps the question was sparking too many impetuous urges, too many rash explorations. Her father had reveled in journeying into the unknown—apparently she had inherited the same adventurous streak, instead of a proper dowry.
A prickling sensation suddenly danced down her arms and she chafed her palms against the pebbled flesh. In many ways, experimenting with sliding into a different skin was exciting. Exhilarating. And yet it was also terrifying.
Good and bad. Dark and light.
Nothing seemed to be making any sense—least of all her conflicting feelings. Up until now, she had been confident in her ability to plot out her own life, as well as those of her storybook characters.
So why do I feel like a puppet on a set of perversely tangled strings?
The only answer was a light knock on the door.
Her maid entered without waiting for an answer, two freshly pressed evening gowns draped over one arm.
“Alors, mademoiselle.” Josette eyed the dust and cobwebs clinging to the hem of Anna’s gown with a pained grimace. “Have my wits gone wandering?” She blew out a mournful sigh. “I am quite sure I would never have laid out your morning gown in such a shameful state.”
“No, no, once again, the fault is all mine,” assured Anna. “I did some exploring in the oldest wing of the castle, and the galleries there are rarely entered.”
“Did you discover anything interesting?”
Anna felt a hot flush rise to her cheeks. “N-not really,” she mumbled. “Just a number of ancient ancestral portraits and some fragments of Roman sculptures. It was all rather ordinary.”