Page 80 of Falling Into Bed with a Duke
With that, she spun on her heel—and he thought he heard the barest tinkling of chimes. Standing in the doorway, he watched as she strolled down the path to a waiting carriage, watched as she was assisted inside by the footman, watched as it traveled out of sight. His plan involved seducing her, yet he couldn’t help but feel that he was the one being seduced. Every time he saw her, he was charmed just a little bit more.
IT began with the explosion. The crash of engines, the splintering of wood, the eruption of fire.
It ended with the mangled bodies, strewn over the ground—
And Ashe sitting up in bed, breathing heavily, covered in sweat, tangled in sheets, feeling as though he would suffocate.
Years had passed since he’d had a nightmare as vivid, as horrific. He clambered out of bed, strode to a small table, poured himself a full glass of scotch, and downed it all in one long swallow. He should have expected this. It was his first night to sleep in the residence, his first night encased in the memories.
He walked to the window, gazed out on the darkness, fought to push out the gruesome images of blood and gore. He imagined tiny toes curled against his thigh, his hands folded around a shapely calf. His breathing calmed, his clammy skin began to cool.
He thought of Minerva stretched out on the bed, her face hidden by her mane of hair, the silk resting at her hips revealing the long length of her slender legs. The delicate ankles. He began to concentrate on the details: the heart-shaped birthmark, a tiny mole behind her knee. Everything a camera could capture. Her fragrance as passion took hold. Her taste. Everything that eluded the camera.
Her perfection, beauty conquered the demons of remorse and regret. He tried to recall other women posing for him, but she was all he saw. From the beginning, something about her was different. From the beginning, something about her had called to him. From the beginning, she had somehow managed to work her way into the fabric of his being.
He wanted her as his wife. It was time he stepped up his game.
Chapter 17
AS Minerva traveled in the coach with Grace and Lovingdon—he’d been good enough to provide her with transportation this evening—she didn’t think she’d been filled with this much anticipation when she attended her first ball. She was wearing her favorite white gown, elaborate pink silk roses stitched along the front that trailed down just past her hips to end at the short train. A layer of ruffles added a bit more elegance. Her hair was swept up off her neck, held up with strategically placed silk roses that matched those adorning her gown. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she’d brought an extra pair of slippers. Not that two dances would wear out the soles of the ones she was presently wearing, but if she began her evening with Ashe’s attention, she might find herself dancing a bit more than usual.
Not that she wanted to dance with anyone else. If it wouldn’t send a hundred tongues wagging, she’d dance every dance with him.
They said absence made the heart grow fonder. How much she’d missed him surprised her, had her considering the merits of marrying him. He was a duke, his lineage respected, his estates flourishing from what she’d been able to gather from her closest friends. He’d never once mentioned her dowry or his need for it. He traveled, he had adequate staff, he moved into another residence without much ado. He dressed well, his clothing the latest fashion, finely stitched by the best tailors. Not a single thread frayed or worn.
He didn’t need her dowry. He wanted her. He didn’t mind that she spoke her mind. Seemed to enjoy it actually. He made her smile and laugh and be glad that he was about. And the passion that flared between them—she missed it as well.
“You look particularly lovely this evening, Minerva,” Grace said.
“Thank you.”
“There’s not a particular reason is there? A certain gentleman you’re hoping to impress?”
She couldn’t stop her smile from spreading across her face. “Maybe.”
“I’d advise you to avoid going into the garden with him,” Lovingdon said with a voice that brooked no disobedience, that signaled he was a man accustomed to giving orders.
“I’d advise you to mind your own business.”
“Minerva, you are playing a very dangerous game.”
She released a heavy sigh. “What is the very worst that could happen?”
“He could leave you with child.”
His words were a blow, as though he knew exactly how far she had gone with this man. “I don’t know why you think so ill of him.”
“I saw him kiss you the morning he was taking your photograph in my garden.”
“You had no right to spy, but be that as it may, are you telling me you never kissed Grace before you married?”
“What I did with Grace has no bearing on this matter.”
“Why can’t he want me for me?”
“I’m not saying he can’t. Just be wise about it.”
That was one of the problems with having a brother who had possessed a scandalous reputation before he settled into marriage. “I’m not a fool, Lovingdon, and I know that there is absolutely no reason for him to want me, to give attention—”
