Page 9 of His Duchess' Mischief

She was under no illusion that he had come to see his bride, and her assumption was proved correct as her father emerged from his study, walking swiftly to the door as he buttoned his coat.

As the Duke walked into the house, the two men shook hands and made their way to the study without exchanging a word.

Leaning against the banister, Alicia watched them intently, and just as he pushed the door to the study closed, the Duke’s dark eyes caught hers.

For a moment, their gazes locked, and that same little smirk played across his mouth. Alicia’s fingers tightened hard enough to break the banister beneath them, and she felt a splinter slip beneath her nail.

Cursing, she pulled her hand back and examined her finger as a drop of blood beaded on it.

Placing it in her mouth, she sucked it dry, deciding that if the Duke was so eager to meet with her father, she could wait until he was finished to say her piece.

Lowering herself onto the top step, she settled down to wait.

The meeting took longer than Alicia had anticipated.

Her father clearly had many things to discuss with the Duke, and her head was nodding forward in a light doze when the door to the study opened and the Duke emerged.

His bulk filled half the doorway, and he had to dip his head to step out.

Alicia clenched her jaw as she watched the emotionless way he spoke to her father. There was nothing about his bearing or expression that gave her any hope.

She could not imagine a man less suited to her.

She stood up as he took his leave, turning to make his way to the front door. Her father was distracted by the butler, who approached him about a household matter, and she took her chance.

Running down the steps, she followed the Duke to the front door, where a footman was waiting with his hat and coat.

Moving as quickly as she could, she hurried after him. There was a narrow passageway between the entrance hall and the gallery, but as she entered it, he rounded on her, staring her down with a look of quiet fury.

Alicia skidded to a halt, her resolve faltering under that dark, menacing stare.

His hair was tied back in a simple knot at the nape of his neck today. The pulled curls looked odd against the angles of his face, making him appear softer and more approachable. Until she looked into his eyes.

The shadows of the corridor made his gaze even more brooding than it had been at the ball. Alicia hesitated, the words hanging on the tip of her tongue disappearing as swiftly as her determination.

“Lady Alicia,” he said, his towering form blocking out the light at the other end of the passage. “Is there something you wish to say to me?”

Already, he looked disinterested, his hand moving to his pocket as he pulled out some very fine leather gloves that he proceeded to unbutton and pull onto his fingers.

“Call off the wedding,” she blurted, finally finding her voice, fighting against his allure.

She could not explain it, but being this close to him made something unfamiliar rise in her body—a desperate desire topleasehim, a primal need that made her cower in his presence.

Now that she was near him again, all of her elegant statements on why he should call off the wedding evaporated.

“And why would I do that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. He almost looked amused, but she wasn’t fooled.

“Because I am asking you to. We do not know one another. Why would you wish to tie yourself to me?” she asked desperately.

“Why should I not? I need to marry. Your father is keen on the match. What could you possibly object to?”

Alicia’s mouth fell open at the arrogant tone of his voice. She found herself tongue-tied again as he turned on his heel and walked away from her.

She lurched forward, grabbing at him blindly, and her fingers closed around his right forearm.

The Duke stopped, looking down at her fingers like he had never been touched before.

Slowly, he turned back, ensuring she was looking at him before deliberately brushing her fingers aside as though they were an insect that had landed on him.

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