Page 43 of How to Love a Duke in Ten Days

The shadows shifted once again, drawing Alexandra’s notice from the conversation. She slammed the door shut,trapping her friends inside. Squinting into the distance of the hall, she held her breath, certain she’d caught sight of a figure sliding into the darkness between the windows.

Just as she was about to open the door again, the character emerged into the silver shafts of moonlight cascading from the window nearest her. The sight of his satyr’s mask sent her heart diving toward her stomach in a sickening, desperate attempt to escape.

“Your Grace!” she gasped, secret and troubling parts of her clenching at his stealthy approach, even as her hand searched for her concealed weapon.

“Doctor,” he greeted her blithely, though she detected something ominous beneath the calm façade.

Fidgeting with her mask, she kept her voice loud enough for her friends trapped inside the chamber to overhear. “What are you doing here, Your Grace?”

“What amIdoing here?” He signaled casually to the moonlit hall. “In my wing of the house? The wing I kept dark to dissuade any trespassers?”

She emitted a shrill sound that was meant to be a laugh but fell absurdly short. “Oh, is that where we are? I didn’t realize… I was just—”

“Snooping?”

“Exploring.” She gulped. She knew as well as he did there wasn’t much difference between the two.

“Well, you won’t find anything of interest in there.” He gestured to her hand still wrapped around the door latch. “That was my late mother’s chamber.”

She released the latch as though it had burned her. “Oh? I never met your mother.”

“Consider yourself fortunate.”

There was that banked fury again. The one forever lurking beneath the rasp of masculinity. At his rather distressing reply, Alexandra had to attempt three swallows around a dry, paralyzed tongue before she could speak again.

Her job was to distract him. To draw him away from the door so her friends could escape. And all she wanted to do was to lift the hem of her skirts and flee down the hall back toward the stairs.

Only one thing stopped her from doing just that. The knowledge that he’d catch her, this predator. She’d not make it past the first window before he pounced on her.

And God only knew what would happen next, once his instincts had been roused.

“You have such an impressive collection here.” She adopted an overbright tone, tripping toward the suit of armor gleaming in the moonlight. “Is this sixteenth-century Italian?” She fiddled with a pauldron that had tilted off kilter.

“Fifteenth-century Burgundian, actually.” He drifted closer to her. Close enough for the scent of whisky, leather oil, and bergamot to entice her to breathe deeply. “But why did I get the feeling you already knew that?”

The pauldron suddenly came off in her hand.

“Merde,”she cursed. Partly because of the mistake, and partly because he was right.

He reached around her, the hard disc of chest brushing her shoulder. She flinched away, and would have dropped the heavy metal armor had he not already grasped it.

If he noticed, he said nothing. “Cursing in French is so much less offensive, isn’t it?” he stated casually. “Though I rarely find it as satisfying.” He returned the pauldron to its original place, taking care to see it straightened, she noted.

“Have you seen Lady Francesca?”

The sound of her friend’s name on his lips knotted a small frown between her brows which she refused to examine. “Not for quite a moment, Your Grace.”

“Really? When I noted that you’d left together, I was certain I’d find a conclave of you drumming up some sort of mischief.”

She stepped to the side of him and around, so she was no longer cornered in the alcove. “We most distinctly did not leave together.” They’d made sure of it. Five-minute intervals to the moment. Well, ten for Cecelia.

He made a sound deep within his throat that could have been disbelief “My mistake. You wouldn’t happen to know where she is? I’d speak to her one last time before the reveal.”

Panic choked her, and she willed herself to remain calm.

Did he know? Was he toying with her like a cat was wont to do with a helpless bird? Did he hear them earlier and was merely allowing her to bury the three of them in a grave of lies?

Don’t bolt,she admonished herself.Stay calm.“Francesca?” That came out as a word, right? Not a squeak? “Where she is? Atthismoment?” She took one tiny backward step down the hall toward the beckoning light at the top of the stairs. “I—I could not say where she is, though I would wager she’s a bundle of nerves. Situations such as the one we find ourselves in tend to make one anxious, don’t they?”