Page 24 of Bound By the Duke
“I’m observant.” He shrugged.
“You’re insufferable.”
His blue eyes lowered for a fraction. “You’re trembling.”
Her eyes widened. She actually was trembling, but just slightly, barely enough for anyone to notice. Except him.
And now he was standing so close that she could see the faint line of stubble along his jaw. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body, threatening to swallow her whole.
Aurelia didn’t move, and neither did he.
His hand dropped to his side before he took a step closer. Instantly, she felt the tension emanating from him, so thick that her heart beat faster.
And for one breathless moment, one foolish, impossible heartbeat, she thought he might kiss her.
And worse, she thought she might let him.
But then, just as quickly, his gaze cooled. His hand curled as he took a measured step back.
“Until the wedding, then,” he said, his voice quiet.
With the faintest frown on his face, he opened the door, stepped outside, and vanished into the waiting carriage without a backward glance.
Aurelia found herself standing still in the doorway. Slowly, she raised a hand to her chest. Her heart was pounding at the idea of what could have happened. Whatshouldn’thave happened, but nearly did.
She swallowed hard.
This man, this stranger she was meant to marry, had left her wanting. And infuriated. And curious.
And worse, far worse, he had left her feelingseen.
CHAPTER 7
It was nearly midnight when Percival returned to Whitmore Estate.
The great iron gates groaned open as his carriage passed through. The estate stood proud beneath the moonlight, tall, silent, much like the man who called it home.
Inside, the warmth of burning hearths awaited him, but the cold outside had already sunk too deep into his skin for that.
The day had been long, filled with letters from Parliament, irritable bankers, and obstinate shipping contractors. His temples were already throbbing from fatigue.
He climbed the steps to his quarters, taking off his coat as he went. A footman offered his assistance, but Percival dismissed him with a wave of his hand. He wanted silence.
But silence was not what he received when he noticed that the door to his chambers was already ajar.
He took a deep breath as his hand hovered over the doorknob. There were only two people who had ever entered his rooms uninvited. One was his daughter. And the other…
“About time,” a voice called lazily from inside.
Percival sighed.Of course.
He pushed the door open fully and walked in.
Maxwell Turney, the Duke of Larcher, was resting in one of the armchairs with a glass of brandy in one hand and his boots shamelessly kicked up onto an ottoman that had witnessed three Whitmore generations.
He grinned when he saw Percival enter. “You’ve aged.”
“I’m beginning to,” Percival said flatly, tossing his coat over the back of a chair. “Thanks to moments like this.”
