Page 82 of Duke of Pride

Can’t be.

She turned slowly as if she was afraid to face who she knew was there. There was always the unladylike, immature choice to run back the way she had come as if hellhounds were on her heels. It would be what her survival instincts would demand. But it turned out she had none.

Stephen stood framed by the moonlight, his broad shoulders casting shadows across the stone balustrade. A cigar was dangling carelessly from his long fingers. The ember glowed, and the smoke coiled around his sharp features before dissipating into the night.

The silvery glow of the moon traced the sharp angle of his jaw and the aristocratic slope of his nose. His devastating blue eyes burned with an intensity that sent heat pooling low in her belly. She didn’t even notice what he was wearing.

“I thought meeting by chance in private was limited to Colborne House,” was the first thing that popped into her mashed brain.

“You say chance. I say fate,” he said, smoke drifting from his lips.

“Well, either fate conspires to haunt me, Your Grace, or you simply enjoy lurking in the shadows.”

A pause.

They looked at each other, suddenly realizing everything at once. They were alone. Again. After everything that had happened. Both were shocked by how easily they teased and bantered with each other. It was heavy, it was devastating, it was?—

Stupid. That’s what it is. Stupid.

“We are being thoroughly ridiculous,” Victoria admitted with a chuckle.

Stephen took a slow drag from his cigar, the ember flaring like the smirk that curved his lips.

“Speak for yourself, Miss Victoria. I’m being utterly poetic.”

Victoria heard the gargling laughter pouring out of her lips before she could stop it. She shook her head and approached him.

“Give me that,” she demanded, pointing at the cigar.

He hands it to her.

“What? No ‘this isn’t proper for a lady’lecture?”

“I figured you don’t need to bury three husbands like Lady Weatherby to try it.”

Her laughter came unfiltered and from deep within her, from a place she thought would be permanently desolate.

Victoria brought the cigar to her lips and inhaled. Mistake. A wildfire of smoke scorched her throat. She doubled over, coughing violently. He was at her side in seconds.

“Breathe,” Stephen murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

“I miscalculated,” Victoria wheezed.

He held out his glass of brandy to her. “Want to complete the debauchery?”

Victoria took the glass with a glare that lacked any real heat before she took one big gulp.

“Ah,” she said, hissing from the sting of alcohol. “You’re trying to corrupt me.”

Stephen plucked the glass from her hand, his thumb tracing the rim where her lips had been.

“Merely expanding your education. Next lesson, gambling,” he joked. “Let’s put that mathematical brain of yours to good use.”

“The definition of good use is cheating in cards? What happened to the Duke who admired my perfect ledgers?”

“Almost perfect. You made one mistake.”

“Merely a calculated gesture so that you wouldn’t be intimidated by my perfection.”