Page 8 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
Alexandra scoffed at the ridiculous response, but she couldn’t help wondering what he really meant to say.
“A husband in name only,” she reminded him. “I do not care if you take whores or mistresses, Your Grace. I will be here. The spoils of war.”
Frustration flashed across his face as he grabbed her arms as if to shake her, but he did not. His arms fell to his sides, instead. Then, he looked at her curiously.
She did not flinch when he reached for a strand of her hair and tucked it behind her ear.
“You’re not the spoils of war,” he whispered.
“I am, but it’s not the end of the world,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Women like me live through it.”
“You don’t have to live through anything,” he insisted, absentmindedly stroking her cheek.
She wondered if there was something on it. Grease? Blood? She tried to muster the strength to pull away, but she couldn’t. The circling motion was hypnotic and relaxing, and she found herself closing her eyes.
She had never let her guard down in front of a man. Never.
“Will you give me anything if I stay with you in your townhouse?”
“Anything.”
His husky voice made her eyes flutter open, meeting his heavy-lidded ones. His green eyes were so close, greyer now. Darker.More mysterious. She was drowning in them, and she must swim upward.
“No, I can’t do that. I can’t live here. Let me live elsewhere,” she replied haughtily, happy to get the upper hand again.
“You cannot mean that, Duchess. They’d whisper. We’re in the same city now. Imagine what they’d say if you lived in a different house.”
“They’re already whispering about us.” Alexandra noticed that their voices had dropped to whispers, and she did not like it.
Whispers meant secrets. Intimacy. Trysts.
“I know. I’ve heard them. I also heard the dark things men say about you,” he confessed, his lips almost grazing her ear.
Was he jealous? A sudden thrill coursed through Alexandra. Did he care what other men thought of her? If they wanted her?
“Dark things?” she squeaked.
“Things they’d do to you in the dark. But nobody has the right—” He faltered, cocking his head again. This time, his lips were so close to hers.
Then she noticed that the candles were burning to their ends, dimming the room further. She could not help but imagine what Oliver Audley would do to her in the dark.
“Nobody has the right to what, Your Grace?” Her voice had become sultry, shocking her.
She had never been a seductress. She valued her mind and independence and had never wanted marriage.
Lust was a folly.
Love was insanity.
His hot but delicious breath fanned her lips, teasing her.
It had been a long day and an even longer night—maybe a kiss was what she needed. A kiss would wake her up from her slumber.
He dipped his head further until his lips grazed the skin below her lower lip. Her toes curled in her slippers, and her fingernails dug into the palm of one hand.
“No, Your Grace,” she breathed, gently pushing at his chest.
She felt the hard planes beneath her palms, and even though her body tingled with the desire to touch him again and run her fingers over his skin, she stepped back.
