Page 10 of The Duke Steals a Bride (Stolen by the Duke #5)

Chapter Ten

“D o you need anything, Your Grace?”

Christine tightened the shawl around her shoulders as she gazed at the footman, who was standing at the parlor door. He looked tired. But then, it was very late.

Her eyes slid to the ornate clock on the mantelpiece, which told her it was just past midnight.

“No, thank you,” she replied, turning back to the servant, and smiling politely. “You may retire, Peter. I will not need anything more this evening.”

The footman bowed, withdrawing. She was alone at last.

She turned to the fire, staring into the flames, which were barely flickering. The fire was almost out—it would be ashes in half an hour or less, and she would be forced to go to her chambers and climb back into bed. She didn’t even know why she had suddenly decided to get up and sit in the parlor, clutching her latest book.

Perhaps it is because the duke hasn’t returned to the house yet after his evening meeting with a friend in the local village. You cannot sleep when he is not here.

Cross with herself, Christine picked up her book, opening it to the last page she had read. It was an engrossing book—an adventure story.

She loved adventure stories, tales of explorers and seafarers searching for treasure or climbing mountains. Impossible tales of exciting quests and exploration. But she was always highly conscious of reading these types of books when she was alone. They were not considered suitable reading for ladies, after all.

Within minutes, she became completely absorbed in the tale, so much so that when she heard heavy footsteps near the door, she was taken completely unawares.

Quickly, she jumped up, placing the book behind her back. At the same moment, the shawl around her shoulders slipped to the ground. She didn’t even have time to retrieve it before the door creaked open.

The duke stood there, staring at her.

“Why are you sitting here at this hour, little mouse?” he drawled, his eyes raking over her slowly, in an almost insolent way. “Are you aware how late it is?”

“Quite,” replied Christine, her cheeks burning. She gripped the book tighter behind her back, her heart thudding hard. “I could ask you the same question. You are very late.”

“It is my house, and I’ll come and go as I please,” he responded slowly, as he walked further into the room, closer to her, so close that they were only inches apart now.

Her mouth went dry as she gazed up at him. She was supremely conscious of how he towered over her. And the fact that they were alone…and that she was clothed in merely her nightgown.

His dark eyes were glittering as he kept gazing at her, taking in every minute detail, from her bare legs to the plunging vee of the bodice of her nightgown.

Her blush deepened. Because she was so intent on clutching the book behind her back, she couldn’t adjust it and pull it closer.

“What are you holding behind your back?” he asked, in a teasing tone. “What are you up to, little mouse?”

Christine blinked. She wasn’t used to him being so… playful?

She realized, quite suddenly, that it was probably because he was slightly tipsy. Well, he had just spent hours in a tavern, after all.

“Nothing,” she murmured, embarrassed beyond measure. “Nothing at all?—”

Suddenly, he lunged, reaching behind her back and yanking the book from her hands, holding it high up.

“You can’t— give that back—” she protested as she ineffectually jumped, trying to retrieve it.

Yet the more she jumped, the higher up he held it. It was impossible—he was simply far too tall.

“Give it back!” she gasped, lunging again, red faced and panting.

He twisted away from her, examining the cover of the book.

“ The Mystery of the Abyssinian Well ,” he read slowly, a smile tugging at his lips. “Why, I read this book when I was fourteen! I could not put it down!” He gazed at her, a look of curiosity on his face. “You like adventure stories like this? I did not know that young ladies were encouraged to read such tales.”

“What, do you think we are all mad for frivolous romances?” retorted Christine, mortified. “Apart from being a young lady, I am just a person , you know, with my own tastes and fancies. There are no rules that decree that I must not like such stories. It is merely convention.”

“No, there are no such rules,” he agreed, his smile widening with delight. “It is just unusual. That is all.” He hesitated. “But I think it is a rather endearing trait. You are an unusual lady indeed.” He paused, his voice thickening. “And I would like to know a bit more about your tastes and…fancies.”

Christine gulped, taken aback. Was he…flirting with her?

He’s simply teasing me. It’s nothing.

So, Christine glowered at him, before jumping again to retrieve the book.

“Give it back!” she demanded hotly, glaring at him.

He laughed again, holding the book higher still. She jumped once more, but this time, she stumbled on the rug. She felt her feet start to slip. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was going to fall.

But she didn’t. He swore beneath his breath, reaching out to steady her, pulling her into his arms. They stared at each other, both panting hard.

He was staring at her intently. Christine’s mouth went dry again.

His eyes raked over her face. She felt as if she were frozen to the spot, unable to move an inch.

Time seemed to warp and stand still. She was drowning in his eyes, feeling as if she were lost in the bottomless dark depths.

Her heart was racing hard, and she was appalled to find she had started to tremble. His arms tightened around her.

“What a vexing little mouse you are,” he murmured, his face darkening with desire. “Perhaps I ought to teach you a lesson.”

Her jaw dropped in astonishment. His head was drawing nearer to her own, so very close.

The next moment, his lips descended upon her own, hot and hard. A vibrant pulse leapt to life within her and her blood surged violently through her veins.

All thoughts fled her mind, scurrying away like mice, as he deepened the kiss, teasing her lips with his tongue until they opened helplessly, exploring her thoroughly and with finesse, as if he were tasting the juiciest, most delectable fig of the season.

She heard him growl deep within his throat, a strangled sound, which made the desire flow even faster through her veins. She felt herself slump, grow limp within his arms, totally surrendering to this electrifying moment.

Suddenly, there was a loud thump. They jumped apart, completely dazed.

The book he had still been holding in his hands had slipped from his grasp and fallen onto the floor. They both stared at it, dumbfounded.

Suddenly, Peter—the footman who she had dismissed an hour ago—rushed into the room. The servant’s eyes were wide with shock as he took in her crumpled gown and flushed face.

The duke, too, looked frazzled, rubbing his neck ruefully.

“I…I do apologize for intruding, Your Graces,” stammered the footman, backing out of the room, his face beet red. Clearly, he realized exactly what they had been doing. “I heard a loud noise…”

The duke waved a dismissive hand in the air, but didn’t respond. The footman left quickly.

Slowly, Christine turned to the duke. Desire was still zinging like fire through her veins, but she was filled with trepidation now, as well. What was he going to do?

The duke ran a hand through his hair, staring at her. There was a tense silence.

“It is late,” he said, in a clipped tone. “I bid you a good night.”

He bowed quickly, before walking out of the room.

In a daze, Christine bent to pick up the book. Her hand was shaking so badly she almost dropped it again. Slowly, she turned, walking to the chair where she had been sitting before he entered the room, sinking into it, staring at the dying embers in the fireplace.

She realized, quite suddenly, that the air in the room was growing cold.

A pang of pure pain entered her heart like an arrow. Clearly, he did not want to become close to her, even though he obviously felt the same strong attraction toward her that she felt toward him. Since the day of their wedding, he had insisted that they have a marriage of convenience—and he was hell bent upon keeping it that way.

Slowly, Christine rose, gathering her shawl from the ground and wrapping it tightly around her shoulders. She shivered. It was very cold in the room now. The fire had completely died.

With a heavy heart, she turned and left the room, gripping the book tightly in her hands. She could barely see through the blur of her tears.

So be it. The duke wishes to avoid me, even if it seems he does feel some desire for me. I shall make it easy for him and avoid him, as well. It will be as if it never happened at all. We will be strangers to each other…just as he wants.