Page 57 of She Tempts the Duke
“Killing a man for kissing your betrothed seems a bit drastic.”
I would, he thought, surprised by the vehemence behind the words. An image of Mary lifting her face for a kiss suddenly loomed in his mind—only it was Fitzwilliam, not Sebastian, lowering his mouth to hers. His stomach knotted so tightly, he feared he might tear loose one of the stitches in his side. What the deuce was wrong with him? It had meant nothing to her. She’d said as much. It had meant even less to him.
A distraction. That was all it had been. A momentary escape from the blight that the night had become. Attending the ball had done little more than reveal the harsh reality of his shortcomings and he’d sought to regain something of what he’d lost. Passion was a powerful distraction.
With Mary it had been incredibly so. He had used her, and for that he should be flogged, but damnation if he didn’t want to use her again. Her lips were as plump as a freshly plucked strawberry. He wanted to settle his in against them and once more become lost in the pleasure of her.
“You’re not going to kill him are you?”
He jerked his attention to Tristan. “What are you on about?”
“You look to be a man on the verge of committing murder.”
“My thoughts turn to dark places. It seems to be the way of it of late. I think it more likely that he will murder me—if he’s heard the gossip regarding Mary and me.”
“If he hasn’t, are you going to tell him?”
He shook his head. “On the off chance that the rumors concerning Mary are not being spread.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’re being spread. Lady Hermione does not seem to be acquainted with the notion of silence. I’ve never known a woman to talk incessantly about absolutely nothing of importance. I almost kissed her on the dance floor in an effort to cease her babbling.”
“If you had, you’d have had her in your life permanently.”
“Precisely why I did not. I would never know a moment’s peace.”
The carriage drew to a stop in front of Fitzwilliam’s modest residence. The footman opened the door and Sebastian stepped out, followed by Tristan.
“So this is where Mary will live when in London,” Tristan said.
Sebastian refrained from commenting that she deserved something grander. Instead he simply charged up the steps and banged the knocker against the door. The butler answered, and to his credit, at the sight of Sebastian he did little more than arch an eyebrow.
“The Duke of Keswick to see Lord Fitzwilliam.”
“His lordship is not in residence.”
“To me or to anyone?”
“He is not in residence, meaning, Your Grace, that he is not here.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“His lordship is not in the habit of informing me of his intentions other than that he is going out.”
Of course he wasn’t. It had been a pointless question.
“When will he be returning?”
“I can’t say.”
“You can’t say or you won’t say?”
“I do not know when he will return.”
Sebastian spun on his heel and began trudging down the steps.
“What are your plans now?” Tristan asked.
“Return to my residence to rest.”
