Page 12 of Secrets of a Duke's Heart
He stared at the sun streaming brightly through the cave passageway in stunned disbelief. He didn’t like for people to know he was a duke, but at some point, Miss Penfirth would discover the truth. She was far too clever not to, even if she had temporarily arrived at the wrong conclusion about him.
“I’m babbling,” she said sheepishly. “I admit I have not spent this much time alone with a man, ever. What about you?”
“What about me?” he asked defensively.
“Are you yet unmarried? I assumed so, since the only ring I see is that signet of yours.”
Jude clasped his hand around his left pinkie finger to conceal the only jewelry he wore: a small signet ring passed down to him from his father on his deathbed.
If you ever get into trouble, use this to request assistance from the other Wayward Dukes,he’d said.Without their help, I never could have kept Pamela’s secret from the world. If you are ever caught up in a bad business venture, a scandal you need to keep quiet, or need help escaping a marriage trap, for example, call upon your fellow Dukes for assistance. They are an unpredictable but loyal lot.
He could hardly tell Miss Penfirth about the secretive Wayward Dukes, however.
“Not every man wears a wedding ring,” he said stiffly. Most men of his class didn’t, but he couldn’t exactly tell her that. “You are correct. I remain a bachelor. I truly intended to turn my attention to my own matrimony once my niece was settled.” He tossed a pebble into the water. “Then this happened and everything went to hell.”
“What kind of lady would you pursue?” she asked teasingly.
You.The word popped into his mind instantly.
“Wait. Allow me to try and guess.” She tapped her lower lip in mock thoughtfulness. “You’d choose a girl fresh from the schoolroom. A rich one, to keep you in fine waistcoats and good boots. She would timidly await your instruction in the marital bed, and never complain when you would ignore her as long as she has sufficient pin money to keep her in ribbons and frivolities.”
What hung in the air, loudly unspoken but understood:the exact opposite of me.
“You wound me,” he declared. “I could never be content with only fine waistcoats and good boots. I shall require a sizable fortune indeed to make such a stultifying match worth my while.”
He turned to her. There was so little space on the walkway that the waves sloshed their boots. The hem of her dress and his pant legs had gotten wet and he could feel her slight tremble. She was cold, he realized as he edged closer, trapping her between the stone and the water.
He had compromised her, and he didn’t even care. Miss Penfirth was the only woman he would countenance for his wife, now. Once this business with Harriet was over, he would marry her. She simply didn’t know it yet. Tension flared when he brought his hand to her face and stroked the curve of her cheek.
“I vastly prefer the company of a woman with a quick wit and keen observation, who doesn’t take me too seriously.”
“Have you met such a lady?” she asked breathlessly.
“I have.” Her skin was so soft and rosy beneath his touch. “We are only recently acquainted, but I find I prefer her company to that of any woman I have ever met.”
He brought his mouth to hers and brushed a kiss across her soft, sweet lips. She moaned and parted in welcome. Satisfaction coiled through him as he curled his free arm around her waist and tugged her lush body closer against his.
She was delicious. Ripe and crisp like an apple fresh from the tree; soft and strong like magnolia petals. The floral scent that had teased him relentlessly clung to her hair and skin, mixed with a womanly earthiness that awoke a carnal possessiveness within him.
Now that he’d had a taste, he would never be content until he devoured her whole. She tipped her head, opening to him with a sigh. Jude’s mind blanked. His arms tightened greedily around her waist.
Caden Bulloy chose that moment to rescue them, damn his soul to perdition.
CHAPTERSIX
Clarissa flung herself away from Mr. Montague with equal measures of alacrity and alarm.
“Mr. Bulloy,” she squeaked.
“Interrupting, am I?” The canny innkeeper winked. Her cheeks burned.
“No,” Mr. Montague all but snarled. “We weren’t doing anything worthy of interruption.”
Bulloy’s brow arched skeptically. Clarissa gasped. She didn’t understand how it was possible to burn with shame and fill with cold dread at the same time, but the combination effectively rid her of the dregs of pleasure.
“We were conversing. Quietly. The waves can be rather loud.”
How could he lie so calmly?
