Page 47 of When her Duke Returns
“And you, aboylike Burkley? You think too highly of yourself.” Alexander rose to face her at last. She had forgotten how tall he was, how imposing—all the more so for his scarred face. “Run along, Mary! There is nothing else to be said between us. You have quite seen to that.”
Mary could not contain her anger any longer. Between the Duke’s coldness and then his arrogance, between Harry’s despair and Antony’s hatred… It was too much for any one woman to carry alone. She brought her hand up to slap him, but he caught it before she made contact with his cheek.
“Release me!” she cried, attempting to squirm from his hold, but he only held her wrist tighter. He pulled her by the waist then as she struggled for purchase against the ground, the iron railing,anything. Their chests collided, and the world stilled as she looked into his eyes.
“Damn it all…” he whispered breathlessly then drew his face to hers andkissedher. His lips were cold and hard, but they breathed more fire into her than anything else in the world. She felt herself slip in his embrace, much like falling asleep, and her fingers dug into the soft fabric of his arms. One of his hands came to rest at the back of her neck, and she was grateful—she feared she might dissipate if not for his hold on her.
She sunk against his mouth for just a moment, and then he bit her lower lip. It woke her from her lustful stupor, and she pushed away from him with a gasp that startled them both. “Have you lost all your sense? Anyone could have seen! Anyone could be—”
Alexander ran his hands through his hair. “It’s not sense. It’syou,” he cried, gesturing toward her. “It’s alwaysyou. I cannot escape you, Mary! Two months I have spent weaning myself off you, wishing I was another man! To no avail! I prayed you would not come. I begged and bargained… There is nothing in thisworldthat can offer me relief, but you,” he murmured and leaned toward her again.
She skipped back a pace, almost tripping over the frill of her hem. “Don’t!” she warned, against all her deeper desires. “It’s not right.”
“Why did you come?” he snarled and made for her again.
“I—”
“Why?”
Mary could not think—not of any answer that would do either of them any good. If she did not leave now, she was certain she would kiss him again or cry. Neither would bring any right to the world.
She brought her fingers to her bleeding lip and turned on her heels, shaking her head as she went, only to be met with the sight of a simmering Antony at the other end of the terrace.
ChapterNineteen
“Antony, wait!”
Mary felt her heart leap from her chest as she watched the man storm off down the steps and onto the lawn. She made to step forward, her legs buckling beneath her, without the faintest idea of what could be said to prevent a most terrible retaliation. She knew only that she must try.
“Mary,stop!” the Duke pleaded from behind her, grasping at her arm though she slipped easily from his hold. “No amount of goodwill will spare you his temper now! I shall see to Burkley.”
His words were laced with wrath, and Mary didn’t like it one bit. “So he might finish you off? Or have you forgotten your last summit with the Earl?” Her chest heaved with dread, but still, she went forth.
“Do not do this! I beg of you! What if he—” Alexander rushed forward again to block her advance. Her worry was superseded by a fierce, unknowing need to keep him safe. She pushed him back with all her force, and he came to a stop before her, staring at her, astounded and unable to speak another word of protestation.
Mary could only shake her head, as she ran off along the terrace, a hand to her mouth to stifle her sobs.
* * *
The man had darted off into the gardens faster than Mary could keep up with him. She heard a hiss of curses trail to the wind behind him and then the shattering of a glass against a wall as Alexander took out his anger. She could not look back, not now—not when so much was on the line.
Her feet and dress were wet with evening dew as she navigated the low grass of the Stanton lawn. “Please, wait!” she cried again as Antony turned to a small pergola that sat on the eastern lip of the terrace, away from sight.
She climbed the steps after him, almost tripping over her gown as she went. When at last she found his gaze, he towered over her from atop the steps, wordless and fuming.
“Antony,” she began. “What did you see?”
At this, he turned his back to her and brought his hands to his head as if to dull an infernal malady. “Enough! I saw, enough!” he bellowed, and his shout carried over the garden—she feared over the manor itself.
“It was a mistake! A misunderstanding… Please, Antony! Oh,please, don’t tell Mama!” she pleaded, shouting, sinking against the railing of the structure to keep herself steady. She felt as though her heart was about to burst from her chest, as though her stomach was about to fall out of her.
“That’s your concern, is it? That everyone should come to know you are awhore?”
“No!”
“And what of me? You have truly played me for a buffoon!” He rushed toward her then, pinning her back against a column of the pergola by the neck. Her head slammed fiercely into its metal frame. “You have underestimated me, Mary! Time and time again! Can you hear me now? You aremine!” he shouted in her face.
Mary began to cry and scrapped at his hands with her nails. “Let me go!Stop! I’m begging you!”
