Page 5 of A Duke But No Gentleman (Masters of Seduction #1)

Imogene was mildly startled that she had managed to impress the gentleman so easily. “It was only one dance. I barely spoke to the gentleman,” she protested. Their brief conversation had been cut short after he had stepped on the hem of her dress.

“It makes little difference,” the woman confided. “You will soon discover that London moves at a different pace than what you are used to.”

For a stranger, the woman was making quite a few assumptions about her. If it wasn’t for Cassia’s presence, Imogene might have taken umbrage at the subtly delivered insult that she had spent too much of her life in the country.

Imogene halted when they reached the staircase.

“I appreciate your sage observations, Miss…?”

Embarrassed by her oversight, Cassia covered her mouth with her fingers as she giggled. “How dreadfully remiss of me. I do beg your forgiveness. Lady Imogene, may I present my good friend, Miss Faston. She is a distant cousin of mine so naturally she has heard all about you.”

Imogene was not heartened by the news, but it was ingrained in her to be polite. She curtsied. “Miss Faston.”

“Lady Imogene,” she said cordially, curtsying as well.

“Good,” Cassia said, her hazel eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Now that the pleasantries are done with, I am certain the two of you shall become marvelous friends.”

Neither she nor Miss Faston appeared to be excited by the prospect.

“However, we can discuss this later. You, my dear friend, need to leave us.” At Imogene’s questioning look, she added, “Your mother awaits you downstairs.”

“Of course,” Imogene said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at her own foolishness since Miss Faston already had a low opinion of her intelligence. She embraced her friend. “I have missed you, Cassia. I will be disappointed if we do not plan an outing or two while I am in town.”

“You can count on it,” Cassia said, her friendliness contrasting sharply with the dourness of her cousin.

Imogene pulled away and waved farewell to the ladies.

At the risk of showing too much ankle, she hurried down the stairs.

She picked up her pace as she crossed the front hall.

Her evening slippers slid sideways on the polished marble floor as she rushed through the nearest doorway.

Was it a right or left turn? Without slowing her stride, she glanced over her shoulder at the door on the opposite side of the front hall and collided into an unexpected obstacle.

The gentleman grunted, his arms instinctively wrapping around her waist as her momentum knocked both of them backward.

Whether it was providence or the man’s quick reflexes, they landed on the firm cushions of a sofa instead of the marble floor. A faint breathy squeak escaped Imogene’s lips on impact. Her chin bounced against his solid chest while the underside of his jaw struck the top of her head.

“Merde,” her disgruntled companion murmured under his breath. “Are you injured? On fire?”

It was such an odd question that she lifted her head to get a closer look at the man who had saved her from a nasty fall.

Any coherent response faded from her mind as she stared into the most beautiful eyes ever bestowed on a male.

Long dark lashes framed blue-gray eyes that reflected curiosity and amusement.

Imogene’s gaze dropped down to his mouth as the corners curled upward into a smug grin, as if her reaction to his masculine beauty was not unusual.

The handsome stranger was patiently awaiting her reply to his question, and here she was gaping at him as if she had never encountered a man. “Did you ask me about a fire?” she asked, her tongue feeling thick and awkward in her mouth.

He smiled, and it was quite a magnificent sight. His teeth were straight and his breath was infused with his favorite brandy. “Aye. The manner in which you burst through the doorway, I was certain your skirts were ablaze,” he said, his gaze lingering on her face. “Have you hurt yourself, darling?”

“No.” She frowned, belatedly realizing their reclining position on the sofa. She tried to move and found herself anchored to his muscled chest. His arms were still around her waist and one of his hands was indecently low enough to touch her backside. “I—we… you should let me go.”

“I disagree. I am rather comfortable having you draped over my body.”

“Well, I am not,” she said primly, flattening her palms against his chest in an attempt to push away from him. Or at least she tried to free herself. The wicked man seemed determined to hold her captive. “It is indecent, and you are no gentleman if you persist in delaying my departure.”

Although she would never admit it to anyone, she could have rested her chin against her crossed arms and stared at him for hours. He was truly extraordinary. Unfortunately, the arrogant man was aware that his looks were a cut above those of most gentlemen, and the effect he had on women.

“Do you not get bored with following the rules?”

Of course she did, but she would bite holes in her tongue before she made such a confession. Especially to him. “No. Rules are put in place to protect us and ensure order in the world.”

“It must have been your governess who filled your head with that nonsense,” he said dismissively. His hands tightened on her waist when she struggled to slip from his hold. “Life is wonderfully messy, and no amount of structure changes that fact. So what have I done to deserve you, my lady?”

“Nothing.” The roguish gleam in his eyes was a little unsettling. He was staring at her as if she was a gift and he was deciding how to unwrap her. “An accident that I have already apologized for—”

“Actually, you haven’t.”

“I—” She inhaled and silently went over their conversation. It grated that he was right, but she refused to admit that she had been dazzled by his handsome face. “You are correct, good sir. Forgive my oversight. If I may, I would like to offer you an apology. I sincerely regret meeting you.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, darling, now you are simply being cruel—and you are a liar.”

She stirred in his arms as her temper flared. “How dare you!”

“It pains me to insult a beautiful lady, but I think if we are to continue our friendship, we should be honest.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Are you drunk, or is this some sort of prank you play on unsuspecting ladies?”

His laughter was just as appealing as the rest of him. Rich with genuine humor, it warmed her even as her stomach fluttered.

“If true, that was quite a feat on my part. Lest you forget, you were the one who tackled me?”

Imogene blushed at the reminder of her carelessness. “Ooh, it is unkind of you to remind me. Let me up at once, or I shall—”

“Is this our first fight?” he inquired, his expression easing into indulgence. “And here I have yet to have a taste of you.”

“A taste?” she said blankly, before the healthy pink in her cheeks deepened into a scarlet hue. “I forbid you to kiss me!”

The charming rogue chuckled. “How can I resist such a dare?”

She felt his fingers curl around her neck. No man had ever been so bold as to touch her in this manner. Her skin tingled at his caress. He nudged her face closer to his.

Good grief, the man intended to kiss her!

“Imogene Constance,” her mother said in icy, clipped tones. “What are you doing with that gentleman? Climb off him at once.”

Her fingers curled into impotent fists. “See what you have done. That woman is my mother, ” she furiously whispered into the man’s face. “Release me or we will both pay dearly for your mischief.”

Imogene half expected him to dump her onto the marble floor since he was caught in what appeared to be a compromising position by an irate mother.

Instead he pressed his face closer and whispered for her ears alone. “Are you so certain? Your mother has known you longer than I have, and it is apparent that the blame has been placed squarely on your shoulders, you naughty wench. I look forward to learning more about your adventures.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Imogene exclaimed, pushing away from him. Handsome or not, she could not tolerate another minute in his presence if the scoundrel was planning to throw her to the lions. Or, in this instance, a lioness.

“Mama, I can explain.”

The duchess wasn’t tapping her foot with impatience, but her expression revealed that she was close to dragging her daughter off and sending her home in the family’s town coach.

Although he managed to hold on to her, he allowed her to pull away. He moved with her in tandem, displaying impressive strength and grace as he shifted his legs until his feet rested on the floor and she was sitting beside him on the green, upholstered, three-seat sofa.

Imogene glanced about the small alcove to ensure that her mother was the only witness to her humiliating tumble. Noting his gaze had dropped to her bodice, she gave the front of her dress an indelicate tug to conceal the flesh that had been exposed when she had collided with him.

Had he been staring down her bodice? Naturally, he had taken advantage of her vulnerable position. It was probably the reason why he had held her against his chest. “You are a terrible man,” she muttered, shaking her head in disgust that she had thought him beautiful.

The source of her ire had the audacity to wink when she glared at him.

“Give me one reason why I should not send you home, young lady,” her mother said, her thunderous expression switching between her and her companion.

Accepting that she was alone in this awkward predicament, she unflinchingly met her mother’s angry gaze. “I tore my dress,” she began, silently debating if she should mention Lord Asher. Imogene wrinkled her nose. “Not that the details of how I got here matter.”