Page 58 of How to Seduce a Duke this Autumn
Yes.
No.
All right, she might as well admit she did want him. The realization of that didn’t particularly shock her, but what that meant for her future did.
What did one do with a man like Adam Cross, Duke of Rotheworth?
His dark eyes swam in her mind. He wasn’t a man who could be forgotten once he burrowed into your head. He was stubborn and sharp and maddeningly confident. And those eyes—she swore he saw through her every single time. And let’s not forget that smile. It had the power to rob her of her name, let alone her common sense.
And worse—he knew it.
She wouldn’t believe otherwise.
She wanted him, yes, but she also wanted her peace, dignity, and the ability to hold on to the self she had so carefully stitched together these past few years.
And yet…
How did one reconcile desire with defense? How did one fall and still hope to land on her feet? She didn’t rightly know. And perhaps she didn’t need to know. Not right now.
“It is a terrible plan.”
Charlene sighed. “Then what do you propose?”
“Simple. You march right up to him, smile sweetly, and say something cutting enough to remind him that you are an intelligent, formidable woman who absolutely does not care that he is here.”
Charlene pursed her lips. “That is remarkably specific.”
“I have given this much thought.”
“I can see as much.”
Maddie tilted her head. “Or you could simply admit you are hopelessly in love with him and throw yourself into his arms.”
Charlene nearly choked. She looked at her friend incredulously. “Have you been drinking too much ratafia?”
Maddie grinned. “Not yet. But there’s still time.” Nothing else was happening at this ball.
Charlene shook her head, but despite herself, she was smiling.
And then she felt it. The shift in the air, the awareness prickling along her skin.
And then—there he was.
Adam stood across the room, tall and devastating, with a… with a… Charlene’s blood ran cold. He stood with a woman on his arm. A woman who was smiling up at him as though he were her world.
Ah, arrogance. It had felt good earlier. It didn’t feel so good now.
As if sensing her gaze, he turned. Their eyes met.
Charlene’s breath caught.
And he didn’t look away.
*
Adam entered theballroom with all the enthusiasm of a man marching to the Tower of London. It certainly felt like his execution. And the person leading him had the grip of a hangman as Miss Martin clung on his arm with the familiarity of a woman who had clearly decided she was already his betrothed, while his mother followed a step behind, smug with victory.
I need to get away from them.
