“The light will improve the higher we get, closer to the cutout,” she reassured him, letting her fingertips brush against him. “Come, let’s go.”
She held her hand out, willing him to take it — and was thrilled when, after the briefest moment of hesitation, he did so. He tucked it into the crook of his arm, and she could feel the warmth of his body from where her hand was snug against it.
It was musty in the space — Rebecca could practically smell the dust they had unsettled when the wall had apparently flipped to allow them into this small alcove. Her mind raced with all of the possibilities as to how and why such a thing would be designed. The estate was built too late for it to have been a priest hole. Perhaps an escape route? Or was it an entrance?
Her brain wasn’t being entirely true to her at the moment, however. For overpowering the dusty air was the scent of — well, of a man. Valentine smelled of musk, of leather, of spice that she couldn’t put a finger on. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t see the whole of him. She knew she would be able to sense his very presence in the darkest of rooms.
Never in her life had she seen so masculine, so virile a man. He was not the typical member of the nobility. When his hand had brushed up against hers, it was rough, calloused, the hands of a man who worked with them and not simply by holding a pen.
She breathed in deeply in an attempt to calm herself and chase the thoughts of him from her mind. He is not for you, she reminded herself. He is a duke. A duke who has hired your father. Who is to marry a wealthy noblewoman. But the closer his body pressed against hers as they made their way up the narrow steps, the more the thought was being crowded from her mind, pushed out by images of the two of them together in an entirely different way.
She was saved from herself when they reached the top of the stairs, a fact that became apparent by the longer landing, at the end of which was a door.
“Well?” he asked, his voice a low rumble in her ear that sent trembles down her spine. “Shall we see what lies at the end of this journey?”
“I can hardly wait,” she said, her voice sounding breathy even in her own ears. “But, Valentine…”
“Yes?”
“If the house plans are correct, this should be your own chamber, assuming you reside within the main bedroom.”
“Impossible. I am sure I would have noticed a door within my own room.”
Rebecca said nothing, not wanting to argue — he had a point, but she couldn’t see where else they could be.
He dropped her hand from his arm as he used both hands on the doorknob, needing his shoulder to push open the door, which had obviously not been in use for years now. It finally gave under his forceful shove, and he opened the door into further blackness. Val reached back for Rebecca, taking her hand as they entered the room. A shiver ran down Rebecca’s spine, knowing that it was just the two of them somewhere unknown.
She breathed in for a moment as Val crossed the room. The scent was familiar. In fact, it smelled exactly like—
She yelped when something soft brushed against her back, but soon light spilled into the room after Valentine opened the door and she looked around, now realizing why the scent was so familiar.
They were in Valentine’s dressing room, his clothing surrounding them. A shirt had brushed over her back as they walked.
“As I thought,” she said, smiling broadly with the knowledge and relief that both her instincts and her memory had been correct. She ignored Val’s dark look for a moment, turning around to explore the opening beyond.
“I can understand why you wouldn't have noticed the passage,” she said, turning and running her hands over where the seams were. “The door had been papered over — it was why it was difficult to open.”
She turned around now to look at him, his frame silhouetted in the light of the door.
“The first duke," she said, biting her lip, “why do you think he built such a passage?”
“I wouldn't know,” he said with a shrug and a raised eyebrow as he stepped back into the dressing room closer toward her. “For whatever reason could someone create a secret passage to a bedchamber?”
“Perhaps he liked to escape parties when they became rather dreary,” she said with a half-smile so that he would know she was teasing, as she matched his step by moving toward him in turn.
“Or maybe he wanted to escape fortune-hunting mothers when hosting balls,” he said, coming ever closer.
“He could have been hiding from demanding family members,” she suggested, leaving just a couple of feet between them.
“Or,” he said, close enough now that he was able to reach out and twist a lock of her hair around his finger, “perhaps there was a maiden he loved, or who he desired, but couldn’t have. And so he decided that in order to be together, they would find another way.”
Rebecca’s breath caught in her throat and she could barely speak, as the duke’s face was so close she could feel the warmth of his breath upon her cheek.
“That is utterly romantic,” she finally managed in a low voice, and she could feel his grin against her skin.
“If that is romantic,” he said, leaning his forehead in against hers, “what do you think of this?”
In the dim light, the final descent of his lips upon hers sent a shock through Rebecca, though one she eagerly welcomed.
Since he had kissed her late last night, she had lain awake imagining it over many times in her mind, but nothing could quite do it as much justice as the true feeling of his lips upon hers. The only problem was, this pressure from him was not enough. She needed more from him, but she wasn’t entirely sure of just what that was, or how to ask for it.
But he knew.
When his tongue probed her lips, she opened to him, in equal parts thrilled and terrified when it swept her mouth. She was thrilled by the sensations that coursed through her at the action; terrified as she had no idea what to do in return.
He didn’t seem to mind.
He gripped her tighter against him, his hands sliding up and down the sides of her body, from her shoulders down to her waist and back again. The next time, however, they rounded her hips to cup her bottom, pulling it flush against him. Something very hard, very rigid nudged against her, and Rebecca knew she should push back away from him, should leave this dressing room and find her father once more.
But her instincts told her otherwise. They told her to press farther into him, to take all that he was offering her.
He groaned and wrenched his mouth from hers, taking a step back away from her, though he kept his hands on her shoulders, holding her in place.
“Rebecca,” he said, her name grunted out of his mouth, though whether in praise or in supplication he had no idea. “You… are exquisite.”
A strange sense of pride swelled within Rebecca at his words. Which was silly. She had never been a woman to seek out a man’s approval — unless it regarded her work.
The fact that a man such as Valentine, a duke who could have whatever and whoever he wanted, would choose to be with her — even for just this moment — was nearly incomprehensible.
Perhaps it was best she quit this encounter before she said or did something that would remind him of who she was.
“I, ah, I best be going back,” she said, hearing the awkwardness in her tone. “Perhaps I could explore this passage again? For my own interest. Not to use the passage. For I wouldn’t be coming to your rooms. Unless, that is, I was assisting my father. Not that, I mean, I would be interested to bring a candle and see more, that’s all.”