Page 60 of Never a Duchess
She mentally shook herself.
What had brought about this sudden change?
“We made a blood oath. You agreed to help me. You pledged your fealty. You’ve made me feel things I never thought possible.” He’d given her hope when the future had looked bleak, hopeless.
He scrubbed his face and sighed. “I made an oath to protect ye, and I mean to abide by my vow. Trust me, ye’ll thank me in the end. ’Tis better for both of us if we remain friends.”
Better for both of them? Then why had he kissed her with a lust he could barely contain?
“Friends? But what—”
“My decision is final.” He spoke with a stranger’s indifference, a duke’s sternness. He looked anywhere but at her. “We can continue interviewing the suspects, but we should refrain from spending time alone together.”
Don’t do this!
Please don’t do this!
She sat there in a cloud of confusion, blinking to stop the tears from forming. “You don’t want me to visit you tonight? You don’t want to sit with me before a roaring fire and indulge in every wicked pleasure?”
His groan revealed an inner battle, a secret torment.
Those hot, chestnut eyes said he wanted to strip her naked and devour her body inch by inch. “It’s nae about what I want. It’s about what’s best.”
The carriage stopped abruptly, and she realised they’d parked on Ludgate Hill. “What’s best for whom?”
He made no reply. Keen to place some distance between them, he opened the door and vaulted to the pavement. When he handed her down, he gripped her elbow rather than take her hand.
She was going to cry.
She never cried.
She tried to breathe against a tidal wave of emotion. Not since her mother’s passing had she experienced such sadness, such indescribable grief. This was exactly what she fought to avoid. Yet it had crept up on her like a thief in the night, catching her unawares, stealing her sanity.
Why was she so upset about missing dinner?
So what if the duke didn’t want to kiss her.
Was she not the one who always rallied the troops? Yet she could find nothing to celebrate in this, no glimmer of light on the horizon, no rousing words to help face her fears.
Lillian pasted a smile upon seeing Lord Denton and Ailsa standing together on the pavement outside Baudelaire’s perfumery. They were arguing about something. Indeed, Ailsa’s maid lingered in the background, trying not to grin as she witnessed the verbal sparring.
Lord Denton snorted. “Of course I’ve never gifted a lady perfume. It sends entirely the wrong message.”
With sunlight catching the lord’s golden hair, he looked almost angelic. Those of his acquaintance knew he had the tolerance and temper of the devil.
“And what message would that be, my lord?” Mockery clung to Ailsa’s tone, which had undoubtedly helped to rile the peer.
“Use your brain, madam. Where does one put perfume?”
Ailsa shrugged. “I never wear perfume.”
“Never?”
“Never. It interferes with the natural order of things.”
“The natural order?” His mouth curled with obvious cynicism.
“The body’s own chemistry. ’Tis an important factor in attracting a compatible mate. One shouldnae tamper with nature’s plan.”
