Page 36 of How to Love a Duke in Ten Days

A weariness. No. Awariness.

Something familiar reflected from eyes as blue as the sky and fierce as the sea. Something tired and wounded.

When the tip of his tongue had tested the scar interrupting his lip, the uncertainty of the motion had elicited something tender within her. An emotion warmer than pity, softer than curiosity. It had tugged at her and, for a miraculous moment, she’d forgotten to be afraid.

A strange awareness had flooded her. A shocking sense of something she distantly identified as… shelter? Safety? His body above her was solid and heavy. It didn’t seem ludicrous to imagine that he was invulnerable, a bulwark against all that would do her harm.

And for a moment she’d felt as though she could have remained beneath the temple of his strength forever. Safe. Protected.

Until his eyes had found her parted lips. And the warm, yielding muscle above her had become hard as iron, and the uncertainty had heated to…

She didn’t want to think the word. Men didn’tdesireher anymore. She made certain of that. No, Redmayne had reacted like any man might do with a woman beneath them.

Any woman.

Mortification still needled at her when she thought of her response. She’d threatened him with a pistol. If she wasn’t mistaken, to do so with a duke might be considered criminal.

She’d been beyond caring. Helpless terror had lanced through her with such violence, her options had been to escape or pitch herself off a cliff.

She’d die—no—she would havemurderedhim before considering the alternative.

Alexandra pulled the unfussy silver gown up over her hips and slipped her arms into the long, gossamer sleeves. She eschewed a bustle or corset, or anything else that might garner her favorable male attentions.

To avoidunfavorableattentions of the female variety, she acquiesced to fashion with artful gathers of material for her train, and the tight silk wrap that, on her trim figure, imitated a corset without accentuating her curves. Even if she sparkled with diamonds and gleamed with muslin, she’d be covered from throat to toe.

“Don’t you find it passing strange that the Duke of Redmayne was in the ruins yesterday morning at the same time we decided to take our exercise?” she remarked.

“I found it exceedingly strange.” Francesca pulled her skirts up past her thighs, revealing surprisingly muscular legs as she fiddled with the ribbons securing her stockings.

“Did you see his face as he beat our aggressor?” Alexandra couldn’t forget the mask of demonic rage as the duke had driven fists the size of pike hammers to devastating effect.

She was unused to such displays of brute strength.

“He’s certainly no stranger to violence,” Cecelia concluded. “That’s something we mustn’t forget. but also, his wrath was unleashed in protection of us, or… at least of his fiancée.”

“To think that one of you could have been shot yesterday.” Francesca’s voice wavered with aberrant sentimentality. “It’s a tragedy beyond imagining. One I’ll do anything to avoid.”

Gathering her courage, Alexandra smoothed at a bejeweled tassel in her friend’s twinkling gown. “All three of us were exploring the ruins, Frank, we can’t be absolutely certain the attempt was on your life, alone.”

Francesca tossed her head and let out an undignified snort. “Who else?”

“Itmighthavebeenme.”The words fled on a whoosh of unsteady breath, pent for days and dying to escape.

Her friends gaped at her, their faces identical—if lovely—masks of unadulterated astonishment.

“How is that possible?” Cecelia cried.

“What are you talking about?” Francesca demanded.

Alexandra swallowed profusely, suddenly reticent to heap another mound of trouble on to shoulders already weighted with so much. But the attempt on their lives yesterday illustrated the direness of their situation.

There was no time left for secrets. She knew that now.

“Someone knows,” she whispered.

None of them moved. None of them breathed. Her words transported them to a place they desperately avoided.

Except in their nightmares.