Page 120 of Her Beast of a Duke

The lady followed his gaze, and he turned back to her in time to see her eyes widen.

She frowned and then looked at him, betrayal darkening her face. “You are marriedanda father?”

“Widowed,” Charles corrected her quietly.

She started, but her voice was tight when she asked, “And—and when we—that night…”

“In here,” he muttered, nodding towards his study.

There were too many maids peeking around corners, too many footmen finding something conveniently to do near them, too many gossips waiting to spread word of the mysterious beauty confronting their master.

Surprisingly, she followed him.

Hermia tried not to think about how the last time she had followed this man into a room, he had given her a night that haunted her dreams in the most sinful way…

But the sensuality and flirtatious gazes from that night were nowhere to be seen now, not as Ares shut the door behind them.

No, he wasn’t Ares anymore. This was the Duke of Branmere.

She waslivid, and she could not tell if he was being sincere about any of it. She did not know this man, did not know his tells or his personality.

All she knew was that he had the most intense gaze she had ever fallen into.

The Duke of Branmere didn’t go very far before he turned back to her, and again, she found herself staring into those eyes.

Her heart fluttered the same way it had that night.

“You think I am lying,” he guessed angrily.

“I do not know you to think otherwise,” she countered. “All I know is that you have done something incredibly selfish, and I have no reason to believe that you did not orchestrate it. I have been told of your charity auctions. Did you think a nude painting would sell for a great amount of money? The ton certainly would. They’re scandalized, but that only makes it more of a gold mine. Everyone wants what they believe theyshouldn’thave, so they’re willing to pay more for the notoriety that comes with it.”

“It was not a nude painting,” he snapped. “I would not paint you in such a way without your consent.”

“No, but you painted me anyway and showcased it! The scandal sheets dubbed menude.”

“You were not,” he insisted. “I—If you must know, I recalled your gown from that night. It reminded me of muses from Ancient Greece.”

“That was the point,” she muttered, sighing.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on.

“My Lady, it was an accident,” the Duke said. “I swear it on my daughter’s life. It was never, ever supposed to be shown. I could not get you out of my mind, and I usually process that by taking it from my thoughts and putting it on canvas. It was an innocent mistake.”

“Hardly innocent, given the nature of the painting, the lack of my approval, the public unveiling,andhow we met.”

“Lady—” He broke off.

Hermia realized she had not given him her name, but she deigned not to answer yet.

The Duke looked at her as though he expected her to answer, as though he was used to being greeted with stubborn silence. Or perhaps he was, but not for it to last very long.

Hermia held his eyes stubbornly. In doing so, she realized just how close they were standing.

“Lady Hermia Dennis,” she finally told him. “Daughter of the Earl of Wickleby.”

She saw the flash of recognition in his eyes, the quick blink. As if he was surprised to connect the lady he had met that night with the Wickleby name, or perhaps even her if he knew her name.

“I looked for you everywhere,” he admitted, his voice lowering. “The Aphrodite who had such strong opinions on art.”