Page 15 of The Wolf and the Wildflower
“Psychology.”
“Ah, a science that studies the mind and behavior of others.”
“That is one aspect of it.”
His Grace studied her with an air of boredom for a few moments. Jules felt it important to remain unperturbed by his assessment, even though there was something about the duke’s intensity that made it impossible to look away, even now under the sharp and critical gaze of her father, who observed too keenly.
The door opened and the duchess bustled in, an air of agitation and impatience about her.
Her father turned toward the duchess. “Your Grace?”
“My nerves would simply not settle! I do not like waiting.” She took a deep breath. “Is all well?”
The duke regarded his mother. “It is.”
The duchess did not seem assured by that brief reply.
“Mother, if it will calm your nerves, you are welcome to stay.”
The duchess smiled at her son. “I would very much like that. Should I call for the servants to bring a few more chairs?”
“No.”
His mother’s spine snapped taut. “It is not polite to keep your guests standing.”
His gaze returned to Jules, and she felt the weight of it like an anvil. The duke waved to the chair beside his, and she hesitated.
“One will not do,” the duchess said crisply.
“It will,” the duke replied, his tone soft yet unbendable.
Why had he invited her to sit and not her father or his mother? Perhaps Jules was more agitated than she’d realized, because as she stepped forward, the front of her boot jammed on the curled edged of the lush carpet. Jules stumbled and before she could try and balance herself, the duke moved with unnatural, shocking speed and caught her in his arms.
The difference in their bodies, his strength to her smallness, immediately registered against her senses, startling Jules. The duke felt as if he was surrounding her, all hardness to her softness. She gripped his arm, aware of his firm clasp on her hips. He flinched and instantly, Jules knew he loathed being touched. She released him, painfully aware that he was still holding onto her. Was he aware of it?
His regard rested on her face with bored indifference.
“I might have fallen flat on my face if not for your swiftness. Thank you, Your Grace.”
A slight movement of his head was his only response. She felt the easing of his gloved hand, suggesting he was about to release her, but then he stilled. The slightest frown touched his brows, and his gaze swept over her face in a searching glance. The duke leaned forward, and a startled sound left her throat, for he followed even as she arched away from him until she was bent backward.
Good heavens! What is he doing?
He dipped his head, inhaled deeply and audibly, slowly running his nose close to the curve of her neck up to her temple.
“Your Grace!”
A choked sound came from her father and the duchess gasped. This was beyond outrageous conduct. For a moment, Jules was utterly dispossessed of all rational thought. The duke hadsmelledher. Nay, he had inhaled her into his lungs and held his breath, his inky eyelashes fluttering closed.
An odd sound lifted in his chest…like a purr, and it vibrated deep inside Jules. Her mouth dried and she stared up at him in appalled shock. The duke had yet to release her trapped fragrance or her body.
“Release me,” she hissed softly, only for his ears.
His eyes snapped open, the movement sharp and piercing. Heart pounding a brisk tattoo, she peered into his gaze and espied something in the duke’s eyes she had never seen on another gentleman—shattering awareness. Her skin prickled with a depth of realization that shocked her into rigidity.
“Wulverton!” the duchess cried. “Dear heavens, I implore you to release Mr. Southby at once! This is most unseemly!”
The duke lowered his hand, his expression inscrutable. Jules hurriedly took a step back, then another before inhaling a deep breath. Another fraught silence blanketed the room, thick and impenetrable.
