Never Tempt a Rogue: A Rogues' Rulebook Novella by Christy Carlyle Page B

them over like precious gems, examining every facet. He treasured his encounters with Felicity and had retained one tangible souvenir, a delicate rosebud he kept tucked away in his waistcoat pocket.
    “I’ve become pathetic,” he announced to his empty bed chamber.
    Two days was quite enough time to be patient. Too much time by an impatient man’s standards. Alex stood and straightened his necktie, when he’d prefer to have the thing off altogether. He patted his waistcoat pocket and considered leaving the evidence of his preoccupation with Felicity in his room.
    Nonsense. He wanted less pretending between him and Miss Beckett, not more.
    Felicity wasn’t difficult to find. He sensed her like metal knows the nearness of a magnet. In a household filled with people, she’d become the only one who mattered.
    Alex opened the library door as quietly as he could manage when his body fizzed with anticipation. Every piece of furniture stood empty, but a fire burned in the grate to chase away the autumn chill, and a thick green drape was pulled across to cover most of the bay window. Only the toes of her slippered feet were peeking out from behind the fabric.
    Now that she was close enough to touch, his tongue went thick and useless in his mouth. Words he’d imagined saying fled, and his only certainty was that he wished to kiss her again. Since she’d avoided him for two days, he suspected confessing as much wouldn’t be the best approach.
    He took one step, then another, determined to see her, even if his tongue remained glued to the roof of his mouth. Two days of patience was definitely his limit.
    “Utter scoundrel!” A book flew out from behind the curtained window seat and landed at his feet with a resounding thwack.
    He’d been called far worse in his life, but this time he knew the accusation wasn’t his to own. Felicity couldn’t see him from behind her concealed nook, but he suspected she’d just read a particular chapter of Jane Eyre , in which a great secret of the story is revealed and the hero is shown to be less than honest.
    A moment later she emerged, shoving drapery aside and sliding her feet to the floor. He tried not to gawk when her gown bunched above her knee, exposing a long, slender stockinged leg.
    “You’ve discovered Mr. Rochester’s secret, I take it.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me?” She seemed more irritated that he hadn’t reveal the twist in Miss Brontë’s story than that he’d sought her out when she’d asked for distance.
    Pleasure rippled through him at the simple act of speaking with her and having her gaze on his. He felt the empty spot in his chest begin to fill. Unfortunately, his bliss-soaked brain couldn’t manage an answer to her question, and he ended up grinning at her mutely like a love-sopped fool.
    “Isn’t there a single man left in England who tells a woman the truth?” She emitted a little growl of frustration and planted a hand on each hip.
    Alex bent to scoop up her discarded book, dusted it off, and held it out to her. “Keep reading. It gets better.”
    “Honestly?” She crossed her arms, refusing to take the book. “I can’t imagine how the situation could improve.”
    “Improve? I suppose that depends on one’s perspective, but the rest of the tale is worth reading. Trust me.” He meant for her to take his word about the book, but he wanted her believe in him too. Though he could never claim to be the most honorable man in England, he was willing to tell Felicity whatever she required to earn her trust.
    When she reached out to retrieve the book, he clasped her hand. Like an unexpected gift, she let him hold her, and he took advantage, stroking the silky skin on the back of her hand. He entwined his fingers with hers, and then pressed the book against her palm. “You’ll be sure to tell me what you think when you’re finished?”
    “I’m not sure I’ll continue reading it.” After taking the book, she pulled away from him and strode