Page 18 of When the Scoundrel Sins

She blinked, surprised. “You’ve readQuixote?”

His lips twitched, although she couldn’t say whether with amusement or pique. “I studied at Oxford, you know. I’m not a complete dullard.”

“I’ve heard about what you and your brothers did at Oxford,” she challenged with a dubious quirk of her brow, “and I don’t think any of it involved books.”

He gave another soft laugh. Well, at least he found her amusing, although Belle wasn’t certain that was a compliment.

“There are lots of ways to gain a life’s education,” he informed her, his sapphire eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “Not all of them are found in a lecture hall.”

“You’re probably correct,” she admitted grudgingly, loath to admit that Quinton Carlisle might be right about anything. Overseeing Castle Glenarvon since the viscount’s death had proven a wealth of hands-on knowledge for her that couldn’t be learned from books, although she was certain that wasn’t the kind of life lesson Quinn had in mind. Not this scoundrel.

The corners of his lips curled higher, surprised that she would agree with him. Then he shook his head. “I can’t believe it’s been six years. At first, I thought you hadn’t changed, but now…” he murmured as he stared intently into her face, a touch of incredulity lacing through his voice, “I see it’s more than I realized.”

Her pulse quickened. Well,he’dcertainly changed. Quinton had matured into a more solemn man than he’d been before, despite his perpetual teasing of her. The candlelight accentuated his strong cheekbones and the smooth panes of his face, even with the faint stubble of a midnight beard darkening his skin, and his hair appeared even thicker and silkier in the faint glow. So soft and inviting that her fingertips itched to touch it.

But Quixote and his windmills—and Quinn himself—had taught her that appearances were often deceiving. Especially charmingly rakish ones.

“You look much more like your father now,” she commented, nervously licking her suddenly dry lips but only serving to draw his attention to her mouth. Which made her even more nervous, so nervous that she couldn’t stop the trembling of her fingertips as they wrapped into the skirt of her night rail. “But you’re still a troublemaker.”

A faint smile played at his mouth. “And you’re still a bluestocking,” he countered. Unintentionally simmering a slow heat low in her belly, he reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. “Still retreating to the sanctuary of your library.”

“Because books are usually more pleasant than most people,” she answered, swallowing hard when he trailed his fingers down the side of her neck. She forced out, not at all as firmly as she’d hoped beneath his soft touch, “And more trustworthy.”

Ignoring that jab, he slid his hand lower to let his fingers play at the edge of her shawl. “Yet there are things that people can do that books can’t.” His fingers tugged gently at the shawl and pulled it down her shoulder to reveal the scooped neck of the nightdress beneath. His gaze flicked to the small patch of revealed skin at the base of her throat, then back to her eyes. “All kinds of interesting things.”

She should stop him, swat his hand away, shove him back—but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Just as she couldn’t hold back the hot shiver that swept through her or the gooseflesh that formed on her skin. His touch was proving to be as equally intoxicating now as that night six years ago.

“Then I have no interest in learning them,” she countered, although from the way her blood hummed, her body wasveryinterested.

Madness—that after what he’d done to her, she could ever want to be in his arms again. Yet she desired just that, although that could never happen. Kissing him once had ruined her reputation. Kissing him again might destroy her entire future.

She thrust her chin into the air. “I know of your reputation.”

“Thank you,” he half purred.

His finger hooked beneath the wide shoulder strap of her sleeveless nightgown and slid it slowly down her arm. But this time, with a stretch of bare shoulder revealed to his eyes, he didn’t bother feigning propriety by looking away and instead flamed a prickling heat beneath her skin everywhere he gazed.

She pulled in a deep breath to steady herself. Oh,whydid she always go light-headed when she was alone with him? “That was not meant as a compliment.”

“Wasn’t it?” His mouth crooked into a lazy grin. His fingertip traced smoothly over her shoulder, drawing aimless yet tantalizing designs on her skin. From the odd mix of soothing caresses and searing strokes he gave her, Belle was certain he was branding her body with each small touch. “Then how exactly did you mean it?”

He fogged her brain and made thinking difficult. At that moment, through the confusion his nearness churned inside her, all she knew was the feel of his fingers tugging once more at the shawl to reveal even more of her to his eyes. And she let him, enjoying the nearness of him. It was like eating too many sweets, knowing that it wasn’t good for her but desiring the pleasure anyway.

She forced out in a hoarse whisper from suddenly thick lips, “That you’re a rake.”

He smiled down at her. “Thank you.”

“Stopsaying that. That is not flattery.” She gave him her best affronted governess stare, when what she actually wanted to do was take a single step forward and place herself in his arms, to experience once more the delicious strength of him she remembered. She couldn’t help herself. Despite knowing what a scoundrel he was, she was still drawn to him. Even against her better judgment.

He shrugged, his eyes gleaming mischievously.

She saw in that unguarded sparkle the same glint he wore whenever he teased her, and sheknew— Oh, that devil! He knew exactly what he was doing by murmuring to her like this, playing with her shawl and night rail…flirting with her until she was ready to blush. Or scream in aggravation. The rascal wasenjoyingputting her off-balance!

Not knowing he’d been caught, he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a deep rumble as he added, “If you’re interested in learning more about men than you can discover from your books, I’d be happy to teach you.”

Keeping her annoyance in check, she flashed him a saccharine smile. “Ah, I see…fiction.” To throw an even larger bucket of cold water over him, she forced herself to drop her gaze down his front and linger at his groin, then remarked regretfully with a sympathetic shake of her head, “And a veryshortstory at that.”

At her cut, his lips tightened for only a heartbeat before returning to the same charming grin as before. “Epic, I assure you,” he drawled.