Page 13 of The Duke Who Dared Me (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #31)

This writer notes that the Duke of Tunstall looks most unwell since returning to Town. Perhaps he has caught the fever…or perhaps only the far more dangerous malady called love.

- The Polite Observer

Briggs Hall was far too quiet.

Verity’s boots echoed along the marble floor as she followed the housekeeper up the stairs, her gloved hands clenched tight around the railing.

There had always been noise here, whether it was Colin’s cries, Percy playing with the dog even as Marina chased behind, laughing and singing for the madness to end.

She didn’t glance behind her to see if Alistair followed. She could feel him there, two steps below, solid and silent.

The memory of last night was a persistent phantom.

She swore she could feel his lips against her skin, the warmth of his mouth, the way he’d said her name with such adoration.

Like she meant something. They’d hardly spoken since.

First, because they’d fallen asleep before too many unsaid things could escape, and then the early carriage ride back to London was filled with concerns over the baby.

“Colin’s fever broke early this morning, miss,” the housekeeper murmured as she pushed open the nursery door. “He’s finally sleeping, but I believe the worst is past.”

Verity exhaled so sharply it felt as if the floor would give away beneath her. She crossed to the crib, tears pricking hot behind her eyes as she bent low over the sleeping boy. His cheeks were flushed, his breathing even, not shallow as she feared.

He was going to be all right. The relief was so fierce it left her dizzy.

She peeked behind her and tried to smile at Alistair, who stood in the doorway. He gave her a short nod, like something inside him had unclenched, too.

“Your brother’s in his study,” the housekeeper added, already backing away. “Said he’d like to see you both when you’re ready.”

Verity nodded, brushing her fingers gently over Colin’s downy curls. Blond like his father. “Thank you.”

When the door clicked shut, Verity sat on the wooden chair beside the crib, folding her hands in her lap. Alistair didn’t move, didn’t speak. The silence dragged on until, finally, she couldn’t bear it.

“You’re awfully quiet,” she said without looking at him.

“Can’t wake Colin.”

She turned her head, narrowing her eyes at him. He looked every inch the duke again, all composed, remote, untouchable. She hated that mask. She hated how easily he wore it now after tearing it off so completely last night in the firelight.

“You don’t have to pretend it didn’t happen.”

His jaw ticked. “I’m not pretending.”

“No? Because you look like you’d rather be anywhere but here.”

Those eyes of his were back to being icy blue. Piercing. Alistair stepped into the room. “Do you want me to stay away? I will.”

She rose to her feet. “If I wanted you to stay away, you’d already be gone.”

He gave a short, bitter laugh. “You make it sound so simple.”

“I didn’t say it was simple,” she snapped. “I said I don’t regret it. Do you?”

He didn’t answer. His eyes dropped to the floor. The silence dragged until Verity’s stomach twisted.

“That’s what I thought,” she said quietly.

“I don’t regret you.” His voice was low. Rough. “I regret the timing. I regret you think I could use last night against you. That I might hold it over your head.”

“I don’t think that.”

“Don’t you?”

Verity crossed her arms, trying to hold herself together. “You’re the one who looks like you’ve been sentenced to death.”

Alistair stepped forward, slow and deliberate, until he stood just inches from her. “Because if I let myself want what I want, I’m going to ruin you, Verity. I’m going to lose control, and you’ll be the one who pays the price.”

She stared up at him, heart thudding.

“You think I don’t know what last night means?” he went on. “You think I don’t know I’ve started something I can’t finish?”

Her breath caught. “Then why start at all?”

“Because you asked me to,” he said. “Because you looked at me like I was more than I am. Because I’d die before I said no to you.”

The rawness in his voice struck her harder than a slap.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“Percy,” she said finally, clearing her throat. “He’s waiting for us.

Alistair nodded. The spell shattered. He stepped back, all sharp lines and careful distance.

But when she turned toward the door, his fingers brushed against her wrist. Maybe, even accidentally. It stopped her cold.

“Verity.” Her name on his lips was barely a whisper.

She didn’t turn around. Couldn’t. Because if she looked at him now, she’d do something foolish. Something that would prove he was right about ruining her.

“I know,” she said.

And that was the problem. She knew exactly what he meant, exactly what he wanted, exactly what would happen if she let him. The knowing was going to destroy them both.

* * *

Alistair stood outside Percy’s study door, one hand braced against the carved wood panel, the other scrubbing over his face as his friend wrapped Verity into a tight embrace.

“You must be exhausted,” she said, stepping back from her brother. She wiped a hand over his forehead.

The housekeeper brought in a small tea service, then scurried out.

“Marina is sleeping now, as is the nursemaid. It’s been a long few days.”

“He’s going to be well. I know it.” Verity glanced toward Alistair, then diverted her gaze back to her feet.

She was right, of course. He had been pretending nothing happened between them. It was easier than denying how much he wanted to touch her, wanted to hold her, and comfort her about Colin as she stood over his crib and cried with relief.

And the most hellish of it all was that, somehow, he could still feel her in his arms. Remember the soft hitch in her breath when she came apart, the way she’d trusted him to show her pleasure.

The guilt gnawed at his ribs. She didn’t belong to him. Not really. And she deserved more than some sordid interlude as she waited to find a husband. Or Alistair found a wife.

The wager was ridiculous from the start. But now, he never wanted it mentioned between them again.

Verity deserved everything, and Alistair was losing control of the situation.

“Tunstall?” Percy stood there, looking ten years older than he had the last time they’d seen one another.

He blinked a moment, then stepped inside the small study. Verity already sat curled in one of the leather armchairs. She looked impossibly small there, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulder, her expression carefully unreadable.

Her eyes met his once, then darted away.

Right. So this was what pretending looked like.

Percy poured a generous splash of scotch into two glasses and handed one to Alistair. “Fever broke early this morning.”

“I’m glad,” Alistair said and meant it. “You scared the hell out of us. We came as quickly as we could, but the roads were a damn mess last night with the storm.”

Percy nodded, leaning against the desk. “I know. I didn’t know who else to send for after the doctor. I… I panicked. I’m surprised you both came.”

“You did the right thing.” Alistair took a slow sip, letting the burn anchor him. He avoided adding anything further. He had been surprised for weeks after kissing Verity that he didn’t hate her, either.

“It was a herculean feat, but I remained civil,” Verity added, sitting up and reaching for her teacup.

Percy sighed, then kicked his feet up on his desk, and glanced between his sister and best friend.

To his credit, he didn’t ask about the tension hanging between the two of them.

But he saw it. Alistair could tell by the way he kept cutting glances between them, his mouth twitching like he was biting back a dozen questions while he prattled on about the doctor.

“Lady Clara sent an invitation to Marina earlier in the week,” Percy said casually. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you receive one as well. I think she wants to be in our good graces.”

Alistair’s grip on his glass tightened. “Did she?”

“Said she’d be delighted to see Verity and Marina at the Amberly dinner later this week.”

He could feel Verity go still across the room.

“I won’t be attending,” Alistair said, setting his glass down too firmly on the desk. “I’ve other matters to see to. Now that I’m back in Town,” he rushed to add.

Percy arched a brow but said nothing.

Verity jumped to her feet. “I’d feel better if I checked on Colin again.”

“You said yourself he is better and sleeping. Let him be,” Percy snapped.

“Then…” She glanced between Alistair and her brother. “Excuse me.” Verity rushed out of the room so quickly her teacup rattled against its saucer.

“It’s not like you two to put up with being in such a tight space for so long. How did you survive a carriage ride together?” Percy opened the drawer to his desk and pulled out a cigar.

A hundred answers popped into Alistair’s head, each one more incriminating than the next. So instead, he settled for, “She was worried about Colin. Too distracted to go after my jugular.”

“I don’t know how you tolerate her mouth sometimes.”

He wasn’t expecting the hot flash of anger that ripped through his body. True, it had been there for years as gossip spread about Verity and her temper and spiritedness.

He was frustrated, maybe even annoyed, because she had allowed him small slivers of herself.

Singing bawdy songs on the piano to infuriate her tutors while he was stuck going over ledgers with Percy.

Or saving an injured squirrel from the garden, only to have the creature make a miraculous recovery overnight, then gorge itself in the pantry to the terrified screams of Cook.

They were little pieces of the woman who he…

No, he wouldn’t go there.

Alistair cleared his throat, refusing to take the bait, if that was in fact what Percy was doing. Did he know something had happened between them? Had someone seen them kiss in Hyde Park?