Page 22

A muscle ticked in his jaw. He exhaled slowly, trying to regain control, but the tension refused to leave his body. He was hard. For her. For the woman who had spent the last days driving him to the brink of his sanity.

Stephen let out a low, humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. This could not continue. He could not afford to look at her this way. To want her this way. Because if he started down that path, there would be no stopping.

He was the Duke of Colborne, and these base instincts would not get the better of him.It was her. If she wasn’t so vexatious, so impossible, if she didn’t act so indecorously, if she didn’t disregard his rules…

His irritation needed an outlet, and conveniently, the source of it was still outside, prancing about his lawn like a heathen. He leaned out of the window, anger overtaking him.

“This nonsense stops immediately!”

All laughter ceased immediately, and both women turned to the window. They used their hands to shade their eyes from the bright sun. Dorothy seemed startled, but Victoria regarded him with amusement.

“Your Grace,” that insolent woman said in that infuriating tone of hers, “we are playing a civilized game of croquet.”

“That,” Stephen ground out, pointing at the overturned hoops and the mallets lying haphazardly across the lawn, “is neither civilized nor croquet.”

Dorothy muffled a laugh behind her gloved hand. Victoria, however, dared to smile at him, all wide-eyed innocence and false contrition.

“I demand”—His expression turned so cold that the sun momentarily hid behind a cloud—“that you abide by the rules.My rules!”

“The rules?” Victoria gasped in mock horror.

“Yes, Miss Victoria,” he said, voice dripping with authority. “The rules, which, might I remind you, prohibit disorderly conduct.”

“Ah. I see the problem now.”

Stephen crossed his arms and pinned her with a warning look.

For a fleeting, precious moment, he saw Victoria lose that haughty look on her face and glance away, avoiding the intensity of his gaze. He was correct to expect it to last long.

“Enlighten me,” he grunted.

“The problem, Your Grace,” she said, “is that your rules apply to when we are inside the house.”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“And we”—she gestured around the lawn—“are outside the house.”

“Miss Victoria?—”

“That means,” she spoke over him, her tone all saccharine mischief, “that your tyrannical rule does not apply.”

Stephen’s eyes flashed with suppressed frustration,

“Miss Victoria,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “let me be abundantly clear: my authority extends to every last inch of this estate.”

Something akin to shock flashed in her eyes. Her mouth fell open, but Stephen was not going to let her utter one more witty remark because he was barely containing himself as it was.

“Get. In. The. House,” he ordered.

She gulped as their eyes met over the rose bushes. “Fine,” she relented.

Stephen was not a fool. He refused to be fooled by her retreat. And he was right to expect the worst from her. She lowered her eyes and eyed him with open defiance.

“But Your Grace, I should warn you. If I go inside, I shall be forced to find another way to entertain myself.”

Stephen shut the window so forcefully that he was amazed the glass didn’t shatter and the windowsill didn’t fall off. He was ready to let loose a string of curses when he heard a very familiar noise—the click of paws on the wooden floor.

Euclid trotted toward him, wagging his tail.