Page 48 of Seven Nights with the Wicked Duke (Regency Beasts #3)

She was startled by how easily he read her. She had to school her features better around him.

She tilted her head slightly, holding his green gaze as best as she could. “You do make a good study, Your Grace,” she ventured, “but not an intriguing subject.”

The corner of the Duke’s mouth quirked in a crooked, knowing smile. “Your terms, Miss Harston?”

Her body cooled instantly. This was what it boiled down to for her. She wasn’t here to indulge him or herself. She wasn’t here to play silly mind games with a bored, wealthy duke. She was here to improve her family’s living conditions through her talent and the skills she had honed.

“You offered triple the amount.” Abigail produced a piece of paper and handed it to him.

He read it and simply nodded.

She tried to keep her composure as he so easily agreed to a sum that would solve almost all of her daily problems.

“And then you said?—”

“I would give you anything you wanted,” he finished for her, his voice dipping into that rich, dark timbre that curled like smoke.

He stepped closer again. His green eyes searched her face with infuriating ease, as if trying to decipher what desire lived behind her stubborn dignity.

“What could a lady like you possibly want,” he murmured, “that would drive her to my doorstep in the dead of night?”

Abigail’s breath caught. The Duke wasn’t even trying to hide what he was alluding to, what he was openly offering her.

Normally, she would hate and even mock such a misplaced confidence, but in his case, his confidence was not misplaced. The Duke simply knew that he was irresistible.

If she were any other lady, in any other predicament, she might have added his services to the tally. But she had real-life problems to address. And people she cared about.

“His Grace is so generous,” she teased.

“I can be even more,” he almost whispered.

“Great.” Her eyes found his. “Then you will sponsor my siblings.”

Abigail enjoyed the momentary slip of his seductive mask as surprise hit him.

“You’ll sponsor my sisters’ debuts,” she continued. “Christine and Seraphina. Gowns, tutors—everything. And Isaac. You’ll fund his schooling.”

The Duke looked at her for a long moment. Something in his expression… smoothed out. Then, finally, he smiled. Not teasing. Not seductive. Just impressed.

“Your terms are accepted.”

“Thank you.” She nodded gracefully. “I trust you will contact me when there is an occasion where I can?—”

“Is that all, Miss Harston?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“That is all you request for your services?”

“Yes.”

“But the offer was to ask what you want.”

“I just did.”

He let out a low chuckle. He took a step forward, and Abigail realized that they had been standing by the door all this time, as if her instincts told her not to make herself comfortable around him.

Her instincts were, once more, correct.

“Miss Harston.” He was so close that her back hit the door. “Everyone wants something for themselves.”

His gaze held her prisoner, as did his massive body. His hand rose, not touching her face but near enough to feel his heat.

“Others want power,” he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Abigail felt her body tremble. He was not seducing her. He was reading her, daring her, calling her bluff. She breathed heavily through her nose as his eyes searched her face.

“Others want money.” He looked down at her body as he smoothed a wrinkle on her skirt.

This is bad. Run!

Abigail willed her body to stay still as he touched her so lightly, so softly, so devastatingly wickedly. She yielded and avoided his gaze.

“Then, there are those who look for love,” he rasped, his fingers caressing her ring finger, making her skin ablaze.

She took one small step back, but there was nowhere to go. There was no open threat, no fear other than the fact that he could devour her.

“And those…” His voice dropped, and he leaned in.

Abigail braced herself, unable—or unwilling—to stop him. She expected him to touch her ear as he did last night.

The Duke was many things, but predictable was not one of them. His lips hovered just above her pulse, fluttering madly at her neck, a whisper away from contact. Her breath hitched, her fingers curling into fists at her sides.

“Those who crave desire,” he whispered, his lips grazing her skin as they moved.

A traitorous shiver raced down her spine. Her skin prickled at that almost touch. Her lashes fluttered. Her lips parted on a gasp she stifled. Heat pooled in her belly.

Abby! Control yourself.

“I…” She fumbled to form a sentence.

“There it is,” he said, as if to himself.

Something in his voice shattered the spell. Abigail used both hands to push him away from her, her eyes hardening.

“Enough. I laid my terms. I accepted yours,” she bit out.

“Ah, yes. A selfless saint, bargaining only for others. How noble.” His gaze dropped to her still-trembling hands. “And how very false.”

“You wouldn’t recognize selflessness if it stabbed your inflated ego,” she shot back, blood roaring in her ears. “But then I suppose it’s hard to see anything beyond your own desires when you’ve never cared for anyone but yourself.”

A beat of silence. The Duke’s amusement vanished, his expression hardening into something dangerous.

“You forget yourself, Miss Harston.” The title was a lash. “I suggest you address me properly before you?—”

“Oh, I’ll address you properly, Your Grace,” she hissed, yanking the door open behind her. “As soon as you earn it.”

She didn’t wait for a reply. The slam of the door echoed through the manor like a gunshot.