He was staring. Not at her, not at first. His gaze was fixed, his dark eyes unblinking, on the open manuscript spread across the desk, illuminated in the bright, isolated pool of her lamplight.
She could not breathe. She could not move. She felt as if he could read the scandalous words from across the room.
In a single, violent motion, she stood up. The legs of her chair screeched against the hardwood floor, a sound like a scream.
"Ca… Carcel?" she stammered. Her face was on fire. She shook her head, as if to clear the horrifying vision. "Ah, no. I mean… Duke Carcel."
He finally lifted his gaze from the desk to her. He looked at her in her nightgown, her hair unbound and tumbling over her shoulders, her face flushed.
"Am I interrupting?" he asked. His voice was soft, almost gentle.
Yes! her mind shrieked. You are interrupting the most private, depraved moment of my life!
"What were you doing?" he asked.
