Page 25 of A Duke Makes a Deal
Clara looked at her father and then the duke. She waited but when her father didn’t say anything, the duke did.
“I asked your father if he would allow me to court you,” the duke said, his eyes on Clara.
Terror mixed with arousal coursed through her blood at hearing his words. Her eyes went wide and for a moment no one spoke.
Had this man lost his mind?
“My dear?” her father said.
Clara shot up.
“Papa, may I speak with the duke privately for a moment?”
“I don’t think that would be the best idea, Clara,” her mother said warily.
“It will be fine,” Clara said over her shoulder as she was already leaving the room. “The parlor door shall remain open.”
Although Clara was usually a dutiful daughter, the audacity of the duke had shattered her sensibility. She was not going to be courted by him and she planned on telling him so in so many words.
Clara heard his heavy footfall behind her as she came into the parlor, turning on him the moment she was halfway into the room.
“Why are you here?” she asked him pointedly, not bothering with any pretense of politeness.
The duke’s dark hair fell over his brow as he tilted his head.
“To court you,” he answered, peering over his shoulder. He turned back to face her. “Do you often dictate your house like this?”
“What I do in my own home is none of your business,” she said quickly. “And don’t lie to me. I want to know why you are here.”
“I don’t lie,” he said, his tone dangerous as he turned on her.
“Well, you can’t make me believe you’re here to actually court me,” she said quickly. “You’re plotting something, I’ve no doubt.”
“What something?” he asked.
“I don’t know! Some more humiliation,” she said putting her hand to her forehead. She squeezed the bridge of her nose. “Why won’t your kind leave me in peace?”
“My kind?”
“Yes, the peerage,” she dropped her hand. “I’ve done nothing to invite this sort of torture but you all seem hellbent on ruining me for no reason.”
In an instant, he was before her, towering over her like some fallen angel. Surprised that he was so close, she saw a wash of pain sweep over his face before melting into a concealed mask.
“I’m not trying to torture you,” he said slowly, almost more to himself than to her. “I only wish to help.”
She stared at him with unabashed confusion.
“Help? How?” she asked.
“By spending time with you.”
“And why would you want to do something like that?”
“Because I find you…” He hesitated, before landing on a word. “Peculiar.”
Her brows lifted.
“Peculiar?”
