Page 32 of His Grace, the Duke
“I do no such thing, my lord.”
His irritation flared. He’d been annoyed since that morning, watching Burke kiss her bold as brass in the morning room. No. That wasn’t entirely true. Witnessing that kiss was nothing compared to the jealousy that churned in James last night, knowing they were upstairs... together.
Burke found him this morning looking far too calm. Too satisfied. It left James in no doubt about what happened. Then Renley had to enter the room, glancing covertly at Burke like they shared a lover’s secret. Neither man said anything, but James knew.
It confused him as much as it made him curious. How could they stand to share her? How could they bear to see another man touch her, kiss her, make her moan?
And now you’re thinking of her moaning.
He blinked, focusing back on her. She was looking at him with those eyes that drowned him, those parted lips...
Goddamn it. Focus, James.
“Why are you in here?” he snapped. “We have proper stairs for guests, you know.”
She bristled at his rudeness. He didn’t blame her. “A footman fell on the stairs and injured himself,” she explained. “Mrs. Robbins directed me this way.”
“What happened?”
“He was rushing with a vase of flowers and tripped,” she replied. “I tried to help, but apparently I was just in the way.”
“Damn,” he muttered. Now that she said it, he could hear the faint sounds of a commotion. “Is he badly hurt?”
“Just a sprain. Mrs. Robbins has it well in hand.”
He frowned. “I’m sure. I’ll go see to it all the same.”
“Yes, of course. Excuse me, my lord.”
As she attempted to step past him, James shot his hand out, pressing it against the stone wall. “Stop.”
They each traced the length of his arm with their eyes. The arm that now blocked her path. Why was his heart suddenly racing?
“My lord?” she whispered.
“Stop,” he growled, feeling the storm front building in his chest. “Stop that.”
She looked up at him, those beautiful brown eyes full of confusion. “Stop what, my lord?”
“That,” he snapped. “Why are you calling me that? You’ve been doing it since—it’s driving me mad.”
Her complexion heated as her eyes narrowed. “What am I supposed to call you? Are you not a viscount?”
“Yes, but—”
“And was it not you, my lord, who demanded just yesterday that I forget any notion of a growing acquaintance between us?”
Christ, why did she make everything so difficult? “That’s not what I meant—”
She huffed. “James Corbin, Viscount Finchley, a lord who demands every piece on his chessboard play according to his rigid rules.Youare the one who wants me relegated to my proper square. Only now I gather you don’t actually know which square that ought to be, so let me enlighten you.”
She took a step closer, trying to even the ground between them. He had to hold his breath to avoid choking on her intoxicating perfume.
“I am neither your wife nor your intended,” she said, eyes blazing. “You have made it clear that I am not a suitable social acquaintance. That leaves but two options: Either I am a business associate, or I am a servant. To my knowledge, we have no pending business. Thus, I am resolved to assume you mean to treat me like a member of staff.Thatis my square, sir. I, in turn, shall treat you like my employer.” She raised herself up to her full height. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my lord, I’ve taken up quite enough of your time. I will be on my way.”
Her words hit him like the spray from a double-barreled shotgun. As he assessed the damage, she ducked under his arm, determined to flee. Recovering quickly, he spun on his heel and snatched her arm as she passed.
“Unhand me,” she hissed.
