Bedded by Her Bodyguard(25)
“Check this out.” He ducked into a small anteroom with her.
She’d recalled walking by several large mirrors along the smaller ballroom wall. From this vantage point they held a fascinating secret. Large circles had been rubbed into the backs of the mirrors, spaced evenly along the narrow hidden room.
Tracing her fingertips along the distressed surface, she felt as though she’d stepped into a giant Faberge egg, and she was peeking through the clear hole revealing the wonders within. “This is like a two way mirror.”
“That’s exactly what it is,” he confirmed.
“Who knew nineteenth century Russians were so clever?”
Wearing a proud expression, he gestured to himself as if to say, A m I not proof of Russian genius?
“Yeah, yeah,” she snorted. In all seriousness, the two way mirrors were an intriguing revelation. “I can just imagine well titled families hiding back here, observing events unfolding in the ballroom. Social engineering at its finest, plotting romances and marriages to carry on illustrious lineages.”
When she caught his eye, she found him staring at her. “Has anyone ever told you that you were born in the wrong era?”
Blushing, she shrugged. “I read a lot of regency romances.”
He smoothed a strand of hair back from her face. “It’s more than that. You have a timeless grace about you. Does that sound lame?”
“No,” she said with a soft smile. “Thanks for noticing.”
The tip of his finger traced her cheek. “I probably notice a lot more than you want me to.”
The electricity returned and crackled in the air. He blinked and the magical pulses faded. “Let’s see what other secrets we can find before we get kicked out for snooping.”
Hands still attached, he took her back the way they’d come and then climbed a wooden staircase that spiraled upward. The oddest little door greeted them at the top, so short the average person needed to bend low to enter. Rather medieval in design, unlike the rest of the palace, it had iron strap hinges and round metal knocker. He picked it up and let the circular ring thump against the aged wood. “Anyone home?”
Obviously not expecting an answer, he shoved hard. The hinges puffed a cloud of rust in protest but the small door creaked open.
The dim room smelled of unaired linens removed from of an old trunk. She hesitated on the threshold. “You know we’re crazy even doing this.”
He winked at her. “I like a little crazy now and then. Keeps life interesting.”
Their hands parted as they stepped inside to explore. The place probably hadn’t been breached in decades, if not centuries. A time capsule frozen in history.
“Could Catherine the Great have had this palace constructed around an old castle?” she asked, excited by the sense of wonder and discovery.
“No idea. What do you think this space was used for?”
Taking her time to respond, she wandered the perimeter. A thick layer of dust settled between the folds of fabric hung from rods. A series of wooden nooks lay behind each set of drapes and appeared to be cushioned like settees—or beds.
Without meaning to she giggled.
He peered at her. “What?”
“My best guess? This was a secret room for lovers to retreat from the prying eyes of ‘proper’ society. Eligible ladies and gentlemen weren’t allowed to show or share their affections. An adult chaperoned their every move, especially the girls. I suppose Russian peerage might’ve had different rules about fraternization than the English aristocracy, which is what I’m basing my guess on, but I’ll bet arranged marriages were common here, too, during that time. Men and women may have escaped here to meet with the person they were attracted to versus the mate their families chose for them.”
“A secret sex room. Nice.”
“Desire can’t be denied, no matter what stands in the way.” She lifted a shoulder. “We’re only human, right?”
“Right.” The potency of his one word reply made her turn and face him.
He strode to her, his eyes midnight black and glistening with seduction. He slid his arm around her waist and clasped her against him.
“Isaac—”
He branded her lips with his searing kiss, his mouth capturing hers in a hot taking.
When she gasped his tongue dipped inside to touch hers, the briefest contact, before he withdrew and his lips closed, brushing and coaxing. A sensual massage. A sigh escaped her, or maybe a moan, she wasn’t sure.
Finally. Her lashes slid closed and the pressure of his mouth intensified in increments. He licked her upper lip, a request to enter again. She parted for him. As his tongue swept into her mouth, her head fell back into his palm.