Page 16 of A Duke to Steal Her

Such composure. Such restraint.

He wondered what it would take to shatter that reserve, and what kind of woman he’d find beneath it.

A lioness.

“I didn’t realize botany was one of your interests,Signorina,” he said, allowing a touch of amusement to color his tone.

“There’s much you don’t know about me, Your Grace. Though that hasn’t stopped you from upending my life.”

A fair point, he had to admit. He circled around until he stood before her, taking in the flash of defiance in those blue eyes and the stubborn set of her jaw.

“Perhaps this will help pass the time.” He extended the book toward her, watching her expression closely.

Her gaze dropped to the gold-embossed title—Le Avventure di Alessandra. A flicker of interest, as well as eagerness, crossed her face, and she didn’t manage to hide it quickly enough.

“You think this makes up for kidnapping me?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

The corner of his mouth tugged upward. “No. But boredom makes you reckless.” He placed the book on the stone bench beside her, unwilling to force it into her hands. “I’d rather not chase you through the stables again, entertaining as it was.”

A blush crept into her cheeks. “I had almost reached the mare.”

“The mare would have thrown you before you cleared the gate,” he replied. “She has a particular dislike for strangers.”

“Then why keep her?”

“She’s excellent with me. Loyalty with discrimination shows good judgment, wouldn’t you agree?” He studied her face, wondering if she would catch his meaning.

She picked up the book, her fingers tracing the embossing, avoiding his gaze.

“What are your intentions, Your Grace? Truly? Am I to remain your prisoner indefinitely?”

Something twisted in his chest atprisoner. Was that truly how she saw herself?

It was necessary, he reminded himself. All of it.

“You’re not a prisoner, my lady. You’re a guest,” he said, his amusement fading.

“Guests may leave whenever they wish.”

“Ah, but you haven’t asked properly.” He moved closer, drawn to her like a moth to flame. “Perhaps if you said please? I think the word would suit your pretty lips.”

She stood abruptly, clutching the book to her chest like a shield. “I shouldn’t have to beg for my freedom.”

Ambrose straightened.

“And Lord Peirce?” The name tasted bitter on his tongue. “Would you rather beg him for every scrap of autonomy once you were wed? Because that’s what awaited you, Lady Emily. A man who believes women are ornaments to be displayed when useful and locked away when not.”

“You know nothing about him,” she said, though he could hear the doubt in her voice.

Rage flared within him—not at her, but at Peirce.

“I know more than you can imagine.”

“Then tell me!” She stepped toward him, her carefully maintained composure cracking. “If you have reasons beyond simple cruelty, beyond some game, then share them!”

For a moment, Ambrose nearly did. The truth about Lavinia, about his failure to protect her, about Peirce’s true nature all surged up his throat. But telling Lady Emily his story would accomplish nothing except to burden her with knowledge she did not need.

“Some truths are better left buried, my lady.” He stepped back, rebuilding the walls around his emotions. “I have business to attend to in the village. I’ll leave you to your reading.”