Page 92 of How to Love a Duke in Ten Days

Alexandra thanked the maître d’ when their plates arrived. Redmayne’s glower was fixed on some point behind her.

“I would have predicted the two of you to get along splendidly, as you’re both such avid outdoorsmen,” she said as she tucked into her divine dish.

“We might have done.” He picked up his own utensils, holding his knife like a weapon as he speared her with a speaking look. “Were he not trying to seduce you from beneath my nose.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, my lord, there is absolutely nothing between Forsythe and me but a fond friendship.”

“As many times as I have to tell you you’re either blind, obtuse, or lying.”

A spurt of irritation chased away any flirtatious feelings. “That doesn’t cast me in a particularly pleasant light, does it?”

“You mean to tell me a handsome, accomplished, and, by your own assessment, masculine doctor has never once caught your notice as a desirable romantic entanglement?” he asked.

“I mean to say that until now, no manalivecaught my notice as a desirable entanglement, romantic or otherwise. Full stop.”

He stared at her with a sort of aghast incomprehension, and Alexandra felt compelled to continue, rather than go back over what she’d just said to dissect what he might not understand.

“The only thing Forsythe has over you in my estimation, my lord, other than an avid intellectual curiosity, is the propensity to listen to me when I speak.”

He leaned forward, grinding at the succulent duck with distracting flexes of his jaw. His eyes glinted dangerously. “Do you mean to say, wife, that you or Forsythe are more intelligent than I am?”

“Not at all.” She took another bite, making him wait for her explanation. “As you said, there are many forms of intellects. You’ve certainly mastered a great deal of them, but you have to consider that Dr. Forsythe and I might be a bit more well read.”

“Well read!” he blustered. “What do you imagine one does in the wilds after the sun goes down? I’ve read every sort of thing.”

Alexandra smiled at the confounded offense collected on his features. Though she hadn’t meant any, she felt as though he might need a thorough humbling. “Oh come, Dr. Forsythe and I have dedicated our lives to academia; you can’t possibly be asserting that you’re as well educated.”

“As you say, I couldn’t possibly.” He regarded her for another long and mercurial moment wherein she couldn’t tell if he were angry or amused. “All right, Doctor. I propose a game. A battle of wits, as it were.”

“Between you and Forsythe?” she puzzled.

“Hang Forsythe. Between you and me.”

Alexandra’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. “What are the terms of this battle?” she asked skeptically

“Three quotes.” He wiped his mouth with a linen napkin and drank deeply from a bloodred Bordeaux. “Scour your learned mind of all the books you read at the Sorbonne. If I guess the first one, I get to name the place and time of our interlude tonight.”

“Interlude?” she breathed.

“You did say we were to continue to trade favors, did you not?”

“Well, yes but—”

His expression was all wickedness and heat. “I’m merely making things interesting. Upping the stakes, as it were.”

Alexandra’s own eyes narrowed, apprehension twisting with anticipation in her core. “What if you guess the second?”

“Then I get to choose what I do to you.” His voice deepened. Darkened. Along with his unmistakable intent.

“Did you change your mind? Do you mean to consummate—”

“I mean to show you, wife, just how much two people can do to each otherwithoutconsummation.”

The wine Alexandra gulped did nothing to moisten her dry mouth. She hadn’t forgotten what he’d said on the ship earlier before the accident.

You let me use my tongue.

“A-and the third?” she stuttered around lips going numb.