Page 9 of A Deal with her Forbidden Duke
“You do not know what you speak of,” he told her.
“Oh, yes, I do. I know of men like you, Your Grace.”
“Do you now?”
His eyes dropped to her mouth, and he moved ever closer.
The Duke’s eyes were dark with desire, and Madeleine shivered again.
It has been so long since I have been looked at in such a way.
Especially since her husband had repeatedly left her the cold, dark pit of humiliation.
Her breath shortened. His hand lifted to her face, not quite touching, but hovered over her cheek as if he wanted to brush over it.
He leaned in, and her heart raced, but suddenly he stopped.
His expression hardened and he yanked himself back.
However, she saw it—the shortness of his own breath, the dark desire that had swirled in his eyes and still lingered even as he put distance between them.
“This is not over, Lady Kinsfeld,” he said harshly. “I will find your husband, and when I do, I expect full repayment. If I catch word that you are indeed covering for him, there will be consequences for you, too. Is that understood?”
Before she could answer, he continued. “Do not think you can charm your way out of this.”
“Oh, I would not dream of it, Your Grace,” she retorted.
He blanched, looking back at her, as if not expecting any of how she responded.
As though he expected a meek, timid woman.
She was nothing of the sort, and the emptiness of her life had somewhat hardened her, telling her to throw much caution to the wind.
His gaze ran over her once more, lingering on the neckline of her gown, before he strode out of the room in a flurry of movement, as if he could not leave fast enough.
The door to Kinsfeld House slammed shut, and Madeleine was left alone.
Yet it was not cold, nor dismal, for a moment.
She watched his shadow pass over the window of the parlor, watching the Duke leave.
Frustration tightened in her gut, in her throat, at Donald, at herself—at the Duke himself for riling her up.
But mostly, Madeleine could not ignore the thrill in the wake of meeting the Duke of Silverton.
Chapter Four
“And you are sure this is where I might find him?” Alexander asked Horace, looking down at the words on the parchment before him.
“According to the patrons ‘round here, yes,” Horace answered. His voice battled with his common accent and the more formal speech he had picked up over time as the manager of the Raven’s Den.
They were sat in Horace’s office, the gambling hall alive with activity in the levels below.
Two days of searching for Lord Kinsfeld had turned up fruitless, even after interrogating his wife, Lady Kinsfeld.
Lady Kinsfeld, he thought, running his mind over her name once again, as he’d found himself doing in the two days since.
He shoved back thoughts of the beautiful, blonde woman he had met in the dark shadows of her parlor, and returned his attention to the regrettable thought of her husband.
