Stormswept by Sabrina Jeffries Page A

few in existence. The Morrises in London did that one.”
    Opening the book, she thumbed through the pages, careful not to crease the spine. “How did you get a copy in such a short time?”
    “ ’Tis my own.”
    Her pulse quickened. She flipped to the front and saw his name written in ink on the flyleaf.
    “I have a small library of Welsh books I carry about with me,” he added. “That’s one of them.”
    She held the book out regretfully. “You mustn’t give me your only copy—”
    “I want to. I knew you would appreciate it.” He covered her hands with his.
    Her breath grew unsteady. “How can I ever thank you, Mr. Vaughan?”
    He smiled. “You could start by calling me Rhys.”
    When his eyes locked with hers, dark and searching, she said, “I’ll cherish your gift always, Rhys.”
    He stared at her as if caught up in a magic spell. And it must have been a spell that kept her from drawing her hands from his or looking away. Then he took the book from her to lay it on a nearby table and drew her close. She could hear the quickening of his breath, see the pulse beat in his throat.
    “You honor me by cherishing my gift,” he whispered.
    She didn’t speak a word, afraid to shatter the spell. He was going to kiss her. And she wanted him to. So, so much.
    His kiss began as the merest mingling of breaths, their lips just touching, but as she slipped her arms about his waist, he groaned and covered her mouth with his.
    Hunger had already made her light-headed, and the softness of his mouth and his musky scent engulfed her in a dizzy, unfamiliar pleasure.
    “Juliana,” he whispered against her mouth. “Sweet, sweet Juliana.”
    Her eyes slid shut. “Rhys.”
    He altered the tenor of their kiss, pressing harder and skimming his tongue along the seam of her lips. “Open to me, cariad .”
    Dear heaven, he’d called her his “love.”
    She opened her mouth to answer and felt his tongue plunge inside. Shock held her motionless until he began to explore her mouth, sparking a wanton heat inside her. Over and over, he thrust his tongue between her lips. The bold strokes made her yearn to feel him pressed more closely to her, but when she tightened her arms about his waist, he moaned.
    She jerked back. Had she hurt him? But he stared at her wild-eyed before dragging her back for a kiss so intense, it scarcely let her breathe. Then he scattered kisses over her cheeks, her jaw, her neck.
    Each touch of his lips bedeviled her with fierce urges until need spread through her body like hot honey. Freeing his hair of its ribbon tie, she raked her fingers through his unruly curls.
    Suddenly she heard footsteps in the hall. She twisted away, and he swore under his breath. The light footsteps paused outside her door, then continued past.
    After they heard a door open and close, he asked, “Who was it?”
    “Mama, probably going to her room.” She stared up at him. “Lettice will come soon to help me undress for bed. You mustn’t be here when she does.”
    A faint smile quirked up his lips. “I wouldn’t mind watching.”
    She reddened. “You shouldn’t talk that way.”
    “You’re right. Why waste time talking?”
    He reached for her once more, but she slipped from his grasp. “I’m serious, Rhys. You must leave. If you’re not concerned about Lettice finding you here, then think of this: Papa will soon follow Mama to bed, and if he discovers you here—”
    “He might make good on that caning.”
    “He’s really not as bad as he seems.”
    With a hard glare, he snatched up his coat. “Don’t speak to me of your father’s good points. I’m well aware of the man he truly is—the sort who would steal a man’s estate from his family.” The firelight flickered over the unyielding lines of his face. “But I suppose you don’t believe that he did.”
    “I don’t know whether Papa came by your estate fairly, but I do know he shouldn’t have taken it. I only wish I could do something.”
    His