Page 22 of How to Love a Duke in Ten Days
Why would he disrobe? To shapeshift, perhaps?
The odd and errant thought shamed and irritated her. Really, what a ludicrous notion. A werewolf indeed. She’d spent a great deal of her life in the company of mummys’ curses, resident demons and devils, superstitions, and gods. She understood the science behind them.
Or the lack thereof.
That such a misconception should reside in her own enlightened empire elicited a sigh for the whole of humanity.
She had seen more than her share of bare masculine torsos. Laborers in Cairo. Tribesmen in sub-Saharan Africa. Even a native on display in America once.
Never had she paid them the least bit of mind. In fact, she’d avoided noticing anything about the male physique beyond their bones.
The dead could do no damage.
The dead… had none of what made a man dangerous. The things that had lent them life had turned to dust. Strength, blood, muscle, flesh.
Sex.
All of it disintegrated, leaving only a story.
But… a man like the one who stood before her detained her notice against her will. Against her fear and her better judgment.
He was built to defy the gods. It seemed impossible that someday he’d be nothing but a pile of bones.
Really,who needed all that superfluous muscle?
A man who rode and trained beasts three times his weight, she supposed.
A hunter.
Alexandra squeezed her eyes shut, banishing all speculative thoughts from her unruly mind. Probably the idiot man wrestled a bear or something equally ridiculous. He was the kind likely drawn to chaos and depraved conduct.
Better that she not look. Better she notenjoywhat she looked at. Because he was the kind of man who could easily steal from her what she’d fought for years to regain.
Her dignity. Her sanity.
Her body.
“What a magnificent view.” Cecelia’s unexpected voice so close to her ear would have startled a scream from her had her breath not been locked in her chest.
“Yes,” Alexandra wheezed, finding her composure. “Yes, the vista of the sea is incomparable, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I wasn’t at all referring to the landscape.” Ceceliarubbed her spectacles on the sleeve of her gown and replaced them on the bridge of her nose, blinking down in the direction of the stables. “They certainly do breed a different kind of man out here in the bucolic south, don’t they?”
“I’m certain I hadn’t noticed.” Alexandra turned from the casement.
She glanced back at Cecelia just in time to catch her friend’s pitying look. She quickly hid it beneath a dimpled smile just a touch brighter than the moment warranted.
For such a statuesque woman, Cecelia floated when she walked, her dressing gown of shimmering scarlet silk whispering against her feet. “What do you suppose is keeping Frank? I’m dying to see her.”
Alexandra glanced at the door. “I couldn’t begin to imagine. Her fiancé, perhaps?”
“Fiancé…” Cecelia’s expression of concern deepened. “Doesn’t it feel strange that Frank has never mentioned a betrothal to a duke all this time?”
The thought had occurred to Alexandra more than once. “Perhaps she didn’t know?”
“Perhaps…” Cecelia lowered herself to the edge of a chair opposite the fire, her hair catching the exact color of the dancing flames. “I’m not inclined to think poorly of her but… do you think she simply didn’t say? Because of the vow we took never to marry?”
Alexandra considered it, then shook her head. “That doesn’t sound like Francesca. Of all of us, she’s the one least likely to hold her tongue.”
