Page 15 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

“Speaking of Philip,” he added, leaning forward slightly, his gaze sharpening, “you will assist me in finding him.”

Her head snapped up, her eyes widening. “I beg your pardon?”

“You were close to him. Closer than most, it would seem,” Leo pressed, watching her closely for any telltale reaction, ignoring the unexpected pang of something that felt distressingly like jealousy at the thought of her closeness with his cousin. “You must have an idea where he might have gone, what connections he might have exploited in his flight.”

“I have no special knowledge of Philip’s whereabouts,” she insisted, her voice steady despite the flush rising to her cheeks. A flush that he found himself tracking, noting how it spread from her throat to the delicate skin beneath her eyes. “If I did, do you not think I would have mentioned it before now? Or would havesaved myself from the humiliation of a second wedding within one week?”

“Perhaps,” Leo conceded, though his tone suggested skepticism. “Or perhaps you feel some misguided loyalty to the man who jilted you at the altar. Either way, I intend to find him and demand an explanation for his actions. Your assistance would be… appreciated.”

Her expression shifted before his eyes, soft uncertainty giving way to something sharper. The flicker of defiance drew him in despite himself, each subtle shift of her features like a new move across an invisible chessboard. He should have dismissed it, yet the transformation riveted him.

“And once you’ve found Philip? What then?”

A significant question, Leo thought.

And one that revealed more than she perhaps intended about her continued interest in his wayward cousin.

The thought rekindled that strange, unwelcome twist in his chest. It was a sensation he refused to examine too closely.

“Then our arrangement continues as established,” he replied smoothly, deciding to focus on the matter at hand instead. “Once the immediate scandal has faded, and Philip has been dealt with, we may each pursue our respective interests with minimal interference from the other.”

“How very enlightened of you,” she scoffed, the edge returning to her voice. “And remarkably convenient for a man who is known to have lovers spread all across England as well as the Continent.”

Leo stiffened. More disturbing still was his inexplicable desire to defend himself, a desire he had never felt with any other woman.

“Careful, Duchess,” he drawled. “One might almost think you were jealous.”

Her eyes flashed. “I am concerned about appearances, not affections. A duchess whose husband prowls gaming hells and brothels invites no less speculation than one jilted at the altar.”

“Well, now that we are married,” he said, still lightly but with a thread of steel beneath it, “you need not worry on that score. I will play the part of a dutiful husband. I have given you my word, have I not?”

With that, Leo rose from the chair in one fluid motion, then approached her with measured steps until her back was pressed against the headboard, her eyes widening slightly. Despite her evident alarm, she maintained eye contact, refusing to cower.

“Will you not answer, Duchess?” he asked, his tone conversational now, as he tracked every minute shift in her expression.

She huffed and crossed her arms, such that the covers fell down and offered him a view of her breasts, pushed up by the simple gesture.

The thrill that ran through his body at the sight was a stark reminder that, yes, he was a rake through and through, and now his wife was going to be the center of his basest desires for as long as their marriage lasted.

No.

He gritted his teeth. He ought to have more restraint over his body by now.

“I… suppose you are right,” she said, though he noted the slight tremor in her voice. “Though I wonder how good you will be at pretending to be a devoted husband, when all you know is how to be a rake.”

Instead of answering, Leo reached out, allowing his fingertips to lightly brush against her cheek. The gesture, innocent by any objective measure, nonetheless charged the air between them with tension.

The softness of her skin beneath his touch sent an alarming current through his body, heightened unwelcome sensations. She inhaled sharply at the contact, her lips parting slightly in surprise.

Lips that Leo suddenly found himself contemplating with inappropriate intensity.

“Why is your hand so cold?” she whispered

And the spell broke instantaneously.

Leo withdrew his hand immediately, his expression shuttering as he retreated behind the practiced mask of ducal indifference. Her observation struck too close to the core of secrets he had no intention of sharing.

“The night air,” he offered by way of explanation. “I rode for some time after leaving the carriage.”