Page 8 of Trapped with the Forbidden Duke
“Wait!” The woman hurried over, darting in front of him, her face flushed. “Please, you must stay!”
There was a heavy urgency in her voice, and Lucien frowned, surprised. “Why is that?”
She only bit her lip, not responding.
“What is going on?” he demanded.
“Nothing!” she answered, a hint of sweetness lacing her voice. But it sounded too high-pitched and false to allure him. “Nothing. I-I simply did not get enough of your company. After all, we will see one another after tonight. I… I thought you were going to kiss me.”
Her words were stilted, as if she needed to convince herself before she could convince him.
She was doing a poor job of both things.
Just as Lucien opened his mouth to press her further, she reached out and placed a hand on his chest. He flinched, not out of revulsion but simply at the unexpected touch.
Her hand slid up to his shoulder and then down to his thick bicep. “Might we not enjoy our time together before my employer arrives? I am sure he will need only another moment or two.”
Her fingers squeezed his arm slightly, and he found himself growing slightly aroused by how easily her hand knew what to do, running up and down his arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Yet, he still saw through the act, through the nerves she was trying hard but failing to mask.
He ignored her attempts to touch him further and continued on his way to the door. But she was there again, blocking his way.
His patience hanging on by a thread, he leaned in, all predator, while his prey gazed up at him, worry flickering across her face.
“Get away from the door.” His voice was low, as threatening as it had been with Lord Herrington.
When she did not move, he stepped closer.
“Get away from the door, or I shall move you myself,” he warned. When she did not comply, he leaned in. “Perhaps that is what you seek. My hands on you, moving you around. It will be easily done, do not mistake me.”
Her breathing was labored, and he noticed how she squirmed, as if she, too, was aroused.
“You cannot,” she whispered. “Y-You did not finish your drink.”
“I do not care about a glass of whisky,” he told her. “Unless the drink you offer is what you clumsily proposed earlier.”
He was not interested in her, but it was amusing for him to watch her blush even deeper.
“Is that what you wish for? Your tongue lapped at the whisky so easily earlier—what else might it do when presented with an opportunity?”
“Your Grace,” she whispered fervently, her eyes wide.
Lucien didn’t know what was part of her act and what was truly scandalizing her.
“What is wrong?” he asked coyly. “Are you not used to other men being so forward? Or was I right in my guess earlier about you being a virgin?” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I do not know if I will believe you, no matter what you say. Either tell me the truth or get out of my way.”
There was a beat of silence where the woman looked trapped—utterly, despairingly trapped. And then the pretense drained out of her, yet that fire he had seen a spark of remained.
So,thatwas the woman behind the seductive, naive mask.
“My brother is Nicholas Vaughan, the Earl of Montgomery,” she breathed.
That was the last thing Lucien had expected to hear.
He blinked, rearing back. He had not expected to hear the name of his former friend.
“And you are his friend, so you must understand our need for help, as we are in dire straits.”
Lucien only stared at her before he scoffed, glancing to the side in disbelief before turning his gaze back to her. “What did you say?”
