Chapter 5

The air in the private alcove of the Grand Library was thick, not just with the scent of old leather and binding glue, but with the heavy, cloying perfume of my own anticipation. The muffled roar of the cocktail reception—clinking crystal, low chuckles, the rustle of silk dresses—faded into a distant hum, irrelevant background noise to the singular focus of my senses: him. Julian. We had slipped away from the crowd, drawn by a magnetic pull that had been tugging at my spine since the moment he signed my copy of *The Duke’s Secret*. I hadn’t expected to find an empty study, tucked behind a towering shelf of encyclopedias, but there it was. A velvet armchair, a low table scattered with untouched canapés, and a single shaft of golden light filtering through the high arched window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the silence. He didn’t say a word as he pushed the heavy oak door shut, the click of the latch sounding like a gunshot in the quiet. He turned, his tuxedo jacket already half-unbuttoned, his eyes dark and hungry, devouring me. I was still wearing the emerald dress I’d chosen specifically to match the velvet of the room,