Page 11 of Enchanting the Duke

He cleared his throat.“I’m afraid that if I kiss you, I will not want to stop.”

The room felt suddenly, impossibly, smaller.Chrissy realized her hand was still on his arm, and that his own had risen, almost reflexively, to cover it.

“Would it be so terrible?”she whispered.

He didn’t answer, not in words.Instead, he leaned in, his mouth just grazing the corner of hers.It was a hesitant, almost apologetic touch, nothing like the brazen promises he had made at the ball.He lingered there, breathing in her breath, as if gathering the courage for a second attempt.

But before he could, a sound from the corridor—a servant, perhaps, or the ghost of a chaperone—made him jerk away, his composure cracking visibly.

Chrissy, her head still spinning from the almost-kiss, watched as Nomansland straightened, smoothed his hair, and tugged at his cravat as if he’d just lost a particularly bitter argument.

“I should go,” he said, the words clipped and formal.

She blinked, disoriented.“But Grandmama?—”

He shook his head, rising from the settee in one fluid motion.“She will understand.Another time, perhaps.”

He bowed, almost managing to meet her eye, and turned for the door.

Chrissy stood, her heart racing.“Will I see you at the Munsterley ball?”

His hand on the doorknob, he paused.“You will,” he said.“But don’t expect me to behave any better.”

He slipped out, leaving the drawing room full of sunlight and emptiness.

Chrissy sat down, hands pressed to her cheeks, and tried to recall her place in the novel, knowing it would never seem as interesting as the story unfolding in her own drawing room.

The silence after Nomansland’s departure was so profound, Chrissy half expected the drawing room to creak with relief.She set aside her book, heart thumping, then stood and paced, replaying the near-kiss, the way he’d trembled, the abrupt escape.Every muscle in her body was alive with indignation and desire, as if she were a violin that had been tuned too tightly.

She would not let him leave in such a state.She strode to the foyer, intent on catching him before he made it to the street.Nomansland was already at the door, one hand on the latch, his broad shoulders tense and defensive as a fortress wall.He glanced back when she called his name, but didn’t turn fully.Something in his posture—the way he hunched, as if bracing for impact—ignited her stubborn streak.

“Are you unwell?”she demanded, skirting propriety entirely.“Or merely determined to make me the subject of a thousand dinner party anecdotes by storming away?”

He looked genuinely startled, as if he’d expected to be chased by a servant and not by Chrissy herself.“I—no.That is, yes.I mean—” He raked a hand through his hair, visibly at a loss.“I remembered an urgent appointment, Miss Westfall.”

“Liar,” she said, more amused than affronted.“You’re behaving as though we’ve never been alone together before.”

Nomansland’s eyes dropped to the carpet.“You are very—” He stopped, caught himself, and reset.“I’m not usually like this.”

She softened, slightly.“Nor am I.But I think I like you better this way.”

He laughed, a strange, broken sound, and finally looked at her.The intensity of his gaze stopped her cold.He spoke so quietly she almost missed it.“I’m afraid.Of myself.Of what I want.”

She stepped closer, refusing to let him retreat behind that granite facade.“What do you want, Nomansland?”

“You know very well what I want.”

There was a moment—a charged, dizzy moment—where she thought he might seize her, consequences be damned.Instead, he turned too quickly, his hip catching the edge of the table beside the door and sending a vase tumbling.Water, flowers, and porcelain scattered across the floor with a spectacular crash.

Nomansland froze, mortified.

Chrissy burst out laughing, the tension dissolving into something bright and wild.She covered her mouth, but the giggle escaped, rippling down the empty hallway.

He looked at the mess, then at her, then at the door as if calculating which disaster required immediate attention.

“Leave it,” she said, still laughing.“Grandmama will enjoy the story.”

He managed a crooked smile, but his eyes were soft, almost vulnerable.“I’m truly sorry.I didn’t intend?—”