Page 53 of Duke of Pride

And yet she had felt no wildfire in her veins. No troublesome heat pooling low in her belly. No mad urge to throw something at his head just to see his perfect composure shatter.

All she had felt was pleasant amusement. Like watching an exceptionally clever, entertaining puppet show. And though she could see the Duke as a good friend, she couldn’t even imagine dancing with him the way she did with Stephen, let alone anything more.

Stephen.

“Argh!”

She screamed into her pillow, played with her hair, and fanned herself. Nothing worked. If she were to stay in this room one more minute, she would scream, and the whole household would descend upon her. And she would have to explain why she was having a nervous meltdown.

Victoria left her room and made her way to the gardens. The cool night air and the walk might exhaust her enough to surrender her tired mind to oblivion.

She made her way away out of the house. She didn’t want to make anyone who might be looking out the windows think that he saw a ghost that haunted the manor. Because in truth, she felt as ifshewere the one being haunted. She walked down the gravel path to the lake and looked upon the serene water.

But soon, the air shifted and turned colder, and her chemise and dressing gown were not enough to protect her. The house was still a bit far off, and she felt her limbs turning icy.

“The greenhouse!”

The idea popped into her head, and she was reassured that she wasn’t going to freeze to death. She could get warm and then hurry back to the house. Stay till she could feel her legs again.

She found the door to the old greenhouse open.

Victoria stepped in, the humid air wrapping around her like a warm shawl. Moonlight filtered through the grimy glass, casting silver streaks across the overgrown lemon tree in the center. She rubbed her arms to keep from shaking.

“Hell, Victoria.”

The moment she heard that voice, she knew.Hewas here, cursing her name.

She could leave. From the low and desperate way he said her name, he didn’t know she was right there. She could just walk away and avoid him. But she knew very well that she wouldn’t. So, she ventured forth, trembling, only this time it wasn’t from the cold.

Why was he calling to her? Why was he calling her name as if it were a torment? It wasn’t her imagination, then? The way he danced with her, the tension. He couldn’t be jealous of Blackwell, could he?

Her heart slammed against her ribs, her breath caught, and instantly, heat burned her icy skin. The probability of this happening, of them being here this very night, was astronomical.

Stephen stood beside the twisted lemon tree, his silhouette sharp against the tangled greenery.

Oh God!

His shirt was half-open, his sleeves carelessly rolled up, revealing the corded strength of his forearms. His dark hair was tousled, as though he, too, had been wrestling with sleeplessness.

He turned, and his eyes locked onto hers, shadowed and intense. For a breathless moment, neither moved.

“Victoria?” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Of all the places you could have gone tonight.”

Victoria crossed her arms, though whether to shield herself from the chill or the intensity of his gaze, she wasn’t sure.

“I could say the same to you.”

“I’ve always hidden here. Even as a boy.”

“My point exactly. This is a perfect hiding spot.”

Stephen’s gaze darkened as he took in her trembling form. He seemed to drink in the way her thin chemise and dressing gown clung to her curves, the flush of cold still lingering on her skin. His jaw tightened, and for a heartbeat, Victoria thought—hoped—he would stride forward and pull her to him.

Instead, he took a deliberate stepback, gesturing toward an ornate iron bench nestled beneath the greenhouse’s warmest glass pane.

“Sit,” he urged, his voice rough. “Before you catch a cold.”

Victoria hesitated only for a moment before making her way to the bench. The air was warmer there, and the sun-drenched bench had retained some of its heat, which immediately seeped into her bones. Stephen sat on a short potting bench across from her and, with one decisive move, grabbed her hands to warm them.

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