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She got up, laying her book on her chaise, and wandered over to his desk. Hugo’s pen stopped mid-stroke, and he glanced up at her, those green, sharp eyes piercing directly to her soul. Longing poured through her as she got closer and boldly, she sat on the edge of his desk.

“I believe I am starting to understand you a little better every day,” she told him, tracing her fingertips along his hand that held his pen.

Satisfaction bloomed in her when she felt a slight tremble from him, and she caressed her fingertips further, tracing up to his wrist.

“I am all ears,” he rasped.

He flicked his pen away, then twisted his wrist so that it was he that grabbed her, and pulled her into his lap. Hugo then reached up, tracing his fingertips along her exposed collarbone and throat. Delicious little shivers traveled through her at the delicate touch, and she felt her womb pulse with excitement.

“Tell me little lamb, what is it you think you know?” He asked.

“I think you abhor violence,” she murmured, growing dizzy as his fingers laid their gentle claim, “especially toward women. I think that you want to protect, even when you don’t want to get too close.”

A low, rumbling sound that she could not determine as approval or disagreement came from Hugo’s chest as his fingers slowly closed around her throat. He squeezed. Gently. And it caused a small moan to pour from her lips.

“What else do you think?” He commanded, his tone low, firm. But not harsh.

“I think I would like to get closer to you,” she whispered, closing her eyes to the pleasure of his touch. “I want to find who you are. Beyond your pain and the rumors that surround it.”

Hugo’s hand stilled and Seraphina opened her eyes, finding him staring at her intensely.

“Let me in, Hugo,” she whispered. “Talk to me.”

Hugo said nothing as he unwrapped his fingers from her throat and then lifted her off of his lap. Disappointment filled her as he then stood up from his seat and, abandoning his portfolio on the desk, walked toward the door.

“Please wait,” Seraphina said in a rush. She moved from the desk to follow him, but one glare had her stopping in her tracks.

“Tristan asked me to remind you of the rose ball the day after next,” Hugo stated, changing the subject entirely as his hand held tightly to the doorknob. “I ordered you a new dress for the occasion.”

Seraphina sighed.

“Hugo, I don’t want more dresses, I want to get to know you.”

“I would appreciate it if you wore it all the same,” he said, refusing to talk about anything else. “If we must go back to London, then we have to show thetonthat I haven’t eaten you alive or some other nonsense.”

“I don’t care what they think,” she insisted, taking a step toward him. “I care what you think. Hugo, please. Talk to me!”

“We should depart tomorrow morning,” Hugo went on, opening the door. “That way you have more time with your friends. I presume that you and your maid will be up late packing. I will not visit you this evening.”

Seraphina called his name again, but Hugo was already gone. Escaping her presence yet again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“She looks happy, Hugo,” Tristan stated.

Hugo said nothing, keeping his eyes trained on his wife as she stood surrounded by her friends. She had brought the new gown as he insisted, a brilliant cerulean blue gown with crushed diamonds sewn in swirling patterns over the bust and skirt. Her dark brown hair was swept up by a matching diamond hairpiece, with small ringlets framing her gorgeous face. Her lips were open and spread into a wide, joyous smile as she laughed and spoke with the women surrounding her.

She does,he thought. Despite the discomfort he’d left her in after their last conversation, she lookedhappy.

Suddenly, as if knowing she was being watched, her blue eyes snapped to his. He felt his entire body react to her hypnotizing gaze, and something unfamiliar surged through him as her smile softened and she dipped her head toward him in a small bow.

“Things must be going well,” Tristan went on. “Are they?”

With effort, Hugo pulled his gaze from Seraphina and tried to fathom a response.

“She is adjusting well to her life in Merrivale,” was all he could provide.

More than adjusted, really. She had blossomed. He had heard that her first few days had been a struggle, but now his entire staff and most of the village adored her, respected her. He heard praise of her kindness and intelligence almost daily. Even Mrs. Purdy had grown a soft spot for the young duchess.