Page 5 of The Duke’s Cursed Virgin (Cursed Brides #3)

Chapter Four

“ Y our Grace!” The man finally turned to him, as if he had never noticed that he was lurking just outside his half-open door. “My apologies for keeping you waiting.”

Earlier, Theo had been eager to find Fernwick and conclude their business. Now that he’d finally located the man, his urgency had dulled.

That damned woman in the library.

At first glance, she had seemed young, almost innocent. But what she had been doing in that room was anything but.

His cock hardened at the mere thought of her. He had come dangerously close to losing control, to taking what she had all but offered—to devouring her.

That wasn’t like him. He pursued widows, women who knew the score. He had no interest in wide-eyed debutantes with foolish notions of love and marriage. That wasn’t what he wanted. That wasn’t who he was.

And yet she had looked at him with enough raw desire to make him wonder how she would feel beneath him, arching, gasping?—

Theo exhaled sharply, forcing the thought away. This was dangerous. He had no business entertaining it.

With a sigh, he shifted his focus back to the task at hand. Watching Fernwick pace the study, muttering to himself, was more than enough to douse any lingering heat.

Theo stepped inside, letting the weight of business settle over him, determined to rid himself of the distraction that was her.

“No need. I myself am late for this meeting, having received incorrect directions. I ended up in another room,” he replied dismissively.

He couldn’t help but think about how much more entertained he was when he had taken that wrong turn.

“I apologize for the inconvenience, Your Grace—and for the shameful behavior of my staff. What my servants did is inexcusable,” Fernwick said.

“Not at all,” Theo replied honestly, thinking of the blushing woman who had to chase her pleasure with the help of a book.

“I will make sure that—” Fernwick babbled.

“I care little about what happened,” Theo interrupted. “I am more interested in discussing our deal.”

For Theo, it was a lucrative opportunity—one that promised substantial gains without the burden of obligation. For Fernwick, it was a means to send a pointed message to his wayward son.

“Of course, Your Grace. Please, have a seat.” Fernwick gestured to the chair across from his desk.

With a swift nod, Theo sat down.

This time, negotiations moved swiftly. With a clearer understanding of each other’s motives, the tension eased.

Trust, or something close to it, began to take shape, smoothing the path for execution.

Sophia hurried back to the ballroom, though she forced herself to slow her steps, unwilling to draw unwanted attention.

Her aunt, Lady Rossburn, stood poised, her sharp gaze sweeping over the crowd with practiced scrutiny. Nothing escaped those discerning eyes—a fact that only made Sophia’s situation more precarious.

“You look flustered,” Lady Rossburn observed, his gaze sweeping over Sophia.

“I needed a moment to myself, Auntie,” Sophia explained.

She was being truthful—just not entirely. There was no way she could confess to her aunt how that moment had shifted into something else entirely, something far more dangerous.

“I see.” Aunt Mary raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharp as a tack. “This house is positively crawling with gossip and imbeciles,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “Something must have occurred, for you’ve returned looking even more ill at ease than a cat at a dog’s wedding.”

“It was nothing,” Sophia mumbled.

She could sense that Aunt Mary suspected something was amiss, but she was likely blaming it on the malicious gossip circulating among the ball’s guests.

What Aunt Mary didn’t know was that Sophia had encountered a man who, unlike everyone else, seemed unaware of her so-called curse. Instead, he had dared to offer her something far more personal—pleasure.

She, a maiden and the daughter of the late Marquess of Foxmere! Even if she was a spinster and a lady’s companion now, it was still scandalous.

And so, so tempting at the same time.

Aunt Mary eyed her for a moment longer, her scrutiny sharp as ever, before she chose to move on.

It took every ounce of Sophia’s restraint not to let out a long, relieved sigh.

“Look at Anna. She is clearly enjoying herself—unlike some people I could mention. If only everyone could carry themselves with her grace and good sense, we’d all be far better off,” her aunt said, changing the topic.

Sophia followed her aunt’s gaze curiously. She saw Anna and a minor lord dancing. Lord Bexley, she believed from her limited knowledge of London Society. Her friend was laughing as the man twirled her across the floor, as he seemingly attempted a dance step that was beyond his skills.

“She looks happy, Aunt Mary,” Sophia noted wistfully.

While she had no hopes of finding a husband in this lifetime, she did wonder what it would be like to have someone in her corner. Someone who could protect her. Someone who didn’t believe in the curse.

“Poor girl, though.” Aunt Mary tutted, fanning herself as if the mere thought might bring on a fainting spell. “Dancing with Bexley? That’s not just a fate worse than death—it’s more akin to being slowly smothered by a damp sofa cushion while he talks about his estate taxes.”

Sophia stifled a laugh at her aunt’s comment and the sight of Bexley clumsily stepping on Anna’s feet, offering a string of apologies that only made the situation more comical. The momentary distraction was a welcome relief, and she was grateful for the comfort her aunt provided, even if it was fleeting.

But deep down, she couldn’t help but feel the unease creeping in. Aunt Mary couldn’t stay with her forever.

The thought twisted in her chest, sending an unexpected pang of anxiety through her.

Why was she even thinking such things?

She tried to shake off the feeling, but just then, her attention was caught by a group of young ladies watching her from across the room. Their lips moved rapidly as their eyes locked onto her, dissecting her every move.

In her mind, a hum of nervous energy started to rise, and she fought to steady her breathing, refusing to look their way.

“You have done nothing wrong,” she whispered quietly to herself, her voice barely audible over the hum of the crowd. “You’re just a victim of small-minded, wealthy people.”

Aunt Mary, ever the eagle-eyed companion, looped her arm through Sophia’s with a look that could freeze a man in his tracks. Her voice was stern, her expression set in its usual disapproving mold—but Sophia knew better.

“What happened to my lemonade?” she asked, as though the missing beverage were a national crisis, not simply a glass of sugared water.

Sophia blinked, her mind spinning as the events replayed in her head. The memory of being caught by that handsome lord behaving in the most unladylike way sent a rush of heat to her cheeks.

“You did tell me you’d fetch me one, or have you forgotten already?” Aunt Mary asked, arching an eyebrow as if Sophia had just committed the gravest of offenses—such as forgetting to lock the doors to the Queen’s chambers.

“Oh, I am sorry, Auntie,” Sophia said, smiling. “How about we get you that drink now?”

Aunt Mary nodded, linking her arm with Sophia’s as they wove through the crowd.

Breathe , Sophia reminded herself.

However, she wasn’t sure if she needed that reminder because of the ton’s stares or because of a certain pair of brown eyes—sharp and intense.

Like a hunter watching its prey.

The morning sun brought with it a sense of renewal for Sophia. Away from the judgmental eyes and whispered gossip of the ton, she found herself strolling through Bond Street, accompanied by Aunt Mary and the Holton ladies.

The bustle of the street was strangely soothing. The rhythmic clatter of horse-drawn carriages, the street vendors calling out the merits of their goods, and the murmur of voices filled the air. The fashionable shops, their windows glittering with elegant displays, coaxed a rare smile from her. It was a world of purpose, of movement, of normalcy, and at that moment, Sophia allowed herself to savor it.

Under the warmth of the sun, the weight of her usual self-consciousness began to ease. The sense of isolation, of being a barely-tolerated convenience, faded, replaced by something lighter, something like freedom.

She laughed at a joke Anna shared, smiled at a couple of lively children running through the streets, and lingered before the windows of a milliner’s shop, as though she, too, were simply another shopper in the crowd.

For a brief moment, she forgot the burdens she carried.

For a brief moment, she could pretend to be just like everyone else.

“Too many people,” Aunt Mary muttered, tapping her cane on the cobblestones with an almost martial precision. “Too many garish hats and far too much lavender and rose water. If I breathe any more of this, I’ll be convinced I have stumbled into a florist’s shop and not a respectable street. Honestly, one must be hiding something truly dreadful if they’re drenching themselves in such an olfactory assault!”

“Oh, come now, Lady Rossburn,” Lady Holton said with a teasing smile, sniffing the air as though to detect this ‘dreadful’ thing. “Some of us do enjoy these things. A little perfume and a little fun never hurt anyone.”

“You’re not the one whose foot has been trampled by every dolt in sight,” Aunt Mary replied, her voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “I might be forced to take drastic measures if another person steps on this poor old woman’s foot. And believe me, you wouldn’t want to see the results.”

Sophia and Anna exchanged amused glances, both of them well aware that Aunt Mary’s dramatic declarations were more theatrical flair than reality. They knew, with a certainty born from years of experience, that Aunt Mary would thrive in any chaos—so long as she could control it.

Despite Aunt Mary’s grumblings and Lady Holton’s wandering eye, they managed to choose a boutique.

The boutique’s door chimed softly as the group entered, the air inside cool and fragrant with the mingling scents of polished wood, lavender, and faint traces of expensive perfume.

The shop was a haven of color and craftsmanship, its walls lined with bolts of rich fabric in every imaginable hue. Silk ribbons in delicate pastels, velvet in deep jewel tones, and linen embroidered with intricate patterns beckoned them forward.

Sophia, with a soft sigh, inhaled deeply, taking in the vibrant scene before her. The bright colors, the exquisite needlework on the fabrics—each piece seemed to call out in quiet homage to her mother’s fine tastes, the subtle beauty of the designs a reminder of days spent in her mother’s chambers, choosing fabrics for new gowns.

Meanwhile, Aunt Mary and Lady Holton had already fallen into their usual routine.

“The quality of this silk is positively dreadful,” Aunt Mary sniffed, running a finger along the edge of a bolt of pale green satin. “I have seen better at the market in Kensington, and that speaks for itself.”

Lady Holton, who had been eagerly admiring a roll of floral lace, immediately shot back, “I daresay you have not seen anything of the sort. This lace is the finest I have encountered in years. Why, I cannot remember the last time I came across a pattern so delicate. It practically breathes!”

“Breathes, indeed,” Aunt Mary said with a dry chuckle, folding her arms. “If it is breathing, it is likely to suffocate itself. This is lace for the desperate—too fine for any sensible lady to wear. I would expect such trinkets at a cheap soirée, not a proper gathering.”

Lady Holton raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smirk. “Oh, Lady Rossburn, always so harsh. I should think you would appreciate the finer things in life, after all these years.”

“Oh, I do appreciate the finer things, Lady Holton,” Aunt Mary replied, her voice oozing sarcasm. “But I know better than to fall for the first piece of fabric that catches my eye. This,” she said, waving dismissively at the lace, “is a fool’s choice.”

Sophia smothered a smile as she wandered further into the boutique, where the younger ladies were busy admiring the fabrics. Her elders’ debates on cloth and lace were a familiar melody, played out a thousand times over the years.

“You were gone for some time last night,” Anna noted while her fingers traced satin ribbons—she was more observant than Sophia thought her to be. “I thought you only went to get lemonade for your aunt.”

Sophia’s hand paused over a beautiful lace dress. She hesitated. After all, she wanted to forget about what happened. Discussing it with a friend would make it more real, not a nightmare.

She knew she had to be cautious. She didn’t want their conversation to be overheard, so she swiftly drew Anna away from Aunt Mary and Lady Holton, who were still engrossed in their debate.

“Swear that you’ll keep this to yourself,” Sophia whispered, glancing over her shoulder to make sure neither of the older women was near.

“I will keep it to myself,” Anna promised earnestly.

Sophia took a deep breath. “I heard some ladies talking about me at the ball,” she began, her words coming out in a rush.

“They were saying terrible things, I suppose?” Anna asked, her tone full of sympathy.

“Yes,” Sophia replied. “So I thought it best to find somewhere I could be alone.”

“Oh, do go on!” Anna urged, excitement sparking in her voice even as she laid a sympathetic hand on Sophia’s arm.

“You know how much I love books,” Sophia continued, and Anna nodded eagerly. “So, I went to the library.”

“The library?” Anna frowned. “How thrilling.”

“Well, there weren’t many options, were there?” Sophia continued, her voice lowering slightly. “While I was browsing, the door swung open, and a man entered without so much as an introduction.”

Anna’s eyes widened in shock. “A man? Coming into the library, just like that?” She leaned forward, disbelief and curiosity in her gaze. “What on earth happened next?”

Sophia hesitated, biting her lip. “I didn’t even ask him for his name,” she admitted, her voice low.

Anna raised an eyebrow, clearly startled. “You didn’t? After all of that?” She almost seemed incredulous. “Didn’t you ask him who he was?”

Sophia shook her head, her face flushed with a bit of embarrassment. “No, I didn’t. I wasn’t thinking about names, I was simply… caught off guard.”

Anna leaned even closer, practically bouncing with excitement. “Well, what did he look like, then?” she asked eagerly. “Was he tall? Handsome? Dark hair, perhaps?”

Sophia nodded, remembering the details with an unsettling clarity. “He was tall, yes. Broad-shouldered, like he could break a man in half with a single blow. His hair was dark and long—longer than fashionable. It fell a bit below his shoulders, but…”

“But what?”

“I… I think it suited him.” Sophia bit her lip.

Anna’s eyes were sparkling now, and she practically giggled. “He sounds terribly handsome! What about his eyes? Did you catch a good glimpse of them?”

Sophia hesitated, then nodded slowly. “They were dark brown. Intense, as if he could see straight through me.”

Anna gasped, clasping her hands in delight. “Oh! It must be the Duke of Wolvesley! He’s tall, broad, and dark-haired, and those eyes—yes, it sounds like him!” She leaned in, her eyes wide. “I’ve heard about him. Ladies can’t stop talking about him, you know. He’s known for being… well, less than sociable. He rarely attends events, so you can imagine how mysterious men like him attract the ton’s attention.”

Sophia’s breath caught in her chest. “The Duke of Wolvesley?” she repeated, the name lingering in the air.

Anna nodded eagerly, her grin full of mischief. “Without a doubt, dear. He’s earned quite the reputation, but… well, he is a duke. Any number of ladies would be happy to overlook his reputation just because of his rank.”

Sophia’s cheeks flushed at the thought of the Duke’s lovers.

So, he was a duke. Her mind raced back to their brief encounter. She had only called him ‘My Lord,’ but he must not have recognized her. There had been no mention of her being a companion, no mention of the curse that followed her everywhere.

“I… I didn’t know he was a duke,” she murmured, still processing the revelation. “All I knew was that he was a nobleman who didn’t seem to care what anyone thought of him.”

She shook her head slightly, realizing she had read far too much into the encounter.

“A library. A dashing duke. A secret tryst!” Anna exclaimed, her eyes twinkling. “It sounds like something out of a romance novel!”

Sophia let out a small sigh. “Anna, please, this is serious.”

“Oh…” Anna leaned in, her voice teasing. “He didn’t want you to leave, right? He was longing to get to know you, maybe even steal a dance with you?”

Sophia rolled her eyes again, though a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “It was more mortifying than anything. I felt like I was caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to be doing.”

“Doing what?” Anna asked, incredulous. “Entering an unlocked library to read? They should have locked it if they didn’t want anyone there.”

Sophia couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s not how these things worked, Anna. I was trespassing, and the man who caught me seemed to be friends with the host.”

Not to mention, I was practically rubbing myself against a chair like a deranged cat when he walked in.

Her cheeks burned just thinking about it.

“I imagine the Fernwicks are honored to have the mysterious Duke at their ball, when he rarely attends such events,” Anna mused, clearly fascinated by the idea.

Sophia considered this, but her mind kept drifting back to the Duke. “Oh,” she said softly.

Anna was not finished. “You have a man—a duke, no less—taking an interest in you, and you’re worried about whether it was proper?”

Sophia frowned. “He wasn’t interested,” she argued. “He simply found someone to tease.”

Anna raised an eyebrow. “He stopped you from leaving? The man was interested.”

Sophia hesitated. “Perhaps. But it might not have been the honorable kind of interest. You said he had… a reputation. He could have compromised me! I would be the one with more to lose than him. Above all, it would hurt you . And I would hate myself if I were responsible for your ruin.”

“Oh, Sophia,” Anna said, her tone turning serious. “You’re so kind.”

Sophia felt a pang of regret at the sadness in Anna’s voice. She had certainly sucked all the excitement out of their conversation.

“You’re my friend now, Anna. So, please promise me you’ll never put yourself in a situation like that. It is very dangerous.”

“You’re right,” Anna said after a beat, though she was clearly trying to lift Sophia’s spirits. “I’ll be careful, I promise.” Then, with a mischievous grin, she added, “But I must say, it still sounds romantic. That could have been a secret tryst, and you were gone for quite a while!”

Sophia couldn’t help but smile at Anna’s imagination, even as she shook her head. The girl’s resilience was impressive, even though her thoughts often veered into the fanciful.

Soon, their attention turned to the shops around them. They were, after all, in a store, and Sophia needed to focus on finding something to purchase—a dress, perhaps. Aunt Mary and Lady Holton were still deep in conversation, allowing Sophia and Anna to broach lighter, more cheerful subjects—anything that had nothing to do with curses or dukes in libraries.

For some reason, Sophia could not put the image of the Duke of Wolvesley’s face out of her mind.

And she couldn’t deny that, in a curious way, she couldn’t think of any other person she would want to discover her than him.

It was growing tiresome, the endless repetition of the same social circle and the same discussions.

Once again, Theo found himself in the familiar setting of his favorite gentlemen’s club, amidst a group of men whose conversation revolved solely around land, trade, and investments.

He leaned back in his chair, swirling the brandy in his glass, his thoughts far from the transaction at hand. He knew full well that such discussions required one’s full faculties, and thus he maintained his composure, savoring his drink while keeping his mind sharp.

This evening, Philip sat at his side, and the conversation, as expected, turned swiftly to matters of business.

“We are at the crucial juncture now, gentlemen,” Lord Martin remarked soberly, “when the time is right to invest in cotton. The prices are about to see a significant rise, and now is the moment to strike.”

Theo’s gaze shifted lazily to the speaker, his expression neutral but attentive.

“I concur, Lord Martin,” he murmured, his voice low and measured, as he took another sip of his brandy. “I have been reading and hearing much the same, and when it comes to investments, one must always be ahead of the pack.”

“I am glad to hear we’re all in agreement,” said another lord with a nod of satisfaction. “Then we shall follow your lead.”

A wry smile tugged at the corners of Theo’s lips as he met the eyes of his fellow investors.

“It seems,” he said dryly, “that we will be the ones to drive the prices up.”

A wave of laughter rippled through the group, the kind that only those who truly understood the game could appreciate.

Theo took no pleasure in small talk or pleasantries. He knew all too well that many of these men sought his opinion on such matters. His reputation as a shrewd businessman had been hard-earned, and he didn’t want to remember why.

He didn’t want to remember how he hit his head when he fell down the stairs.

His mother’s wails.

And her blood seeping into the carpet the very next day.

No , he ordered his mind, casting the dark memories aside.

Numbers were his domain, not people. Numbers, he could trust. People, never so much.

Not since his childhood.

Philip, though, had proven himself worthy of the title of friend —a rarity in Theo’s world.

As the conversation shifted and more lords voiced their thoughts on investment strategies, Theo’s gaze drifted briefly to the door, then returned to his companions. Another night, another business deal, and another round of discussions that had become little more than a tiresome ritual.

“All of you are so eager to talk about investments,” Philip mused, his tone light but edged with amusement. “I must say, my investments have been quite fruitful this year. I’ve had certain… diversions that have made my nights decidedly more entertaining.”

The others chuckled, and some even nodded in agreement. After all, many members of the club were known to keep mistresses.

Theo’s expression remained unreadable, as though the matter held no real significance to him beyond a passing amusement. While he might not openly think of such talk as beneath him, he knew it was tedious. He also knew that Philip was capable of much more than just superficial conversation.

The conversation soon moved on, as it always did, and Theo let his mind wander.

“Have you met Lady Rosalind?” one man asked. “She seems innocent in public, but she is a much different creature under the sheets.”

Theo tolerated such conversations—barely. However, he did not comment. He contented himself with listening and mentally leaving the gentlemen’s club.

“Lady Rosalind? Certainly, you are not planning to marry the chit?” another man asked. “I heard from the gossip mill that she has long been compromised.”

“Do I look like I am planning to marry her?” asked the first man.

The others started laughing boisterously, well aware that the lord was already married.

Theo and Philip exchanged a glance.

Theo knew what his friend was trying to tell him with that sheepish shrug. “At least I am not a married man.”

He sighed and was about to finish the rest of his brandy when he heard his name.

“And what about you, Your Grace?” one of the men asked. “Has any lady finally captured your elusive heart—or even one of your less elusive parts?”

A certain lady’s face flashed in Theo’s mind. Not just any lady—the one he’d caught misbehaving in the most delicious way.

No matter how hard he tried, she kept haunting his thoughts, and it was becoming more disturbingly frequent—and certainly unwelcome.

“Gentlemen, I have more important matters to tend to,” he said instead. His face remained completely impassive, his tone neutral.

He’d learned that art years ago when he’d discovered that emotions were flighty and led to nothing but destruction.

“While that may be true,” one lord drawled, “you are the Wolf Duke. Many women fall at your feet. Surely, you have time for some distraction.”

Theo had never been the center of attention when it came to conversations like this. He was only ever ready for business deals and negotiations.

Another man, Lord Mayhew—known for his penchant for stirring the pot—interrupted before Theo could offer a response to the others.

“I heard that you have been keeping a certain widow’s bed warm,” he said with a boyish snicker.

“The young, beautiful widow of the late Viscount Emmerdale,” another added, nodding with approval.

Theo kept his emotions carefully concealed, though a close observer might have noticed the slight tension in his fingers as they gripped his glass a little too tightly.

Discretion had always been his guiding principle, and the sudden exposure of his private affairs—things he had meticulously kept hidden—irritated him in ways he preferred not to acknowledge. He had always prided himself on keeping things to himself.

Now, it seemed that his life was being pried into, and that did not sit well with him.

He took a small sip of his brandy, deliberately slowing down the pace of the conversation.

“You know, gentlemen,” he said, his voice quiet but laced with an edge, “there are men who think themselves clever by repeating what they overhear, as if it makes them part of the conversation. They prattle on, believing their gossip to be valuable, when in truth, it only exposes their lack of substance.”

Mayhew froze, his face turning an unpleasant shade of red.

Theo’s gaze was sharp and unyielding as he continued, each word purposeful.

“Gossip, my dear fellow, is a sign of a weak mind—a person who can neither hold a thought of their own nor respect the privacy of others. A man who speaks of what he knows only from rumors and whispers is not a man of character, but a simpleton, spinning tales for his own amusement.”

The room fell silent. Even the most hardened of them, who were used to the usual banter, seemed to hesitate, sensing the venom in Theo’s words.

Lord Mayhew, caught off guard and clearly embarrassed, opened his mouth to speak but then quickly closed it, his earlier eagerness now replaced by unease.

Theo took another sip of his drink, his expression impassive, though the fire in his eyes was unmistakable.

“So, my friend,” he continued, his voice dripping with disdain, “if you truly wish to have something worth sharing, I suggest you find it somewhere other than the shallowest depths of idle chatter.”

A tense silence hung in the air.

After a moment, one of the other lords, eager to move the conversation away from the uncomfortable exchange, cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. Well, back to investments then, shall we?”

The rest of the men murmured in agreement, relieved to escape the discomfort that had settled over the room.

“Well played, friend,” Philip said in a soft, teasing voice as he turned to Theo.

“I do not need your praise,” Theo muttered, still slightly irritated. “I simply want people to stay out of my affairs. I have tolerated their company enough, and I had not so far steered them toward terrible decisions.”

Philip raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin unfaltering. “I promise you that I have not breathed a word about your trysts if that is what you are thinking.”

Theo looked at his friend, softening a little. They were not childhood best friends, but they had been together long enough for him to be certain of his loyalty.

“I know,” he said. Then, he paused to check the remnants of his brandy and added, “If you ever do, you know that you’ll regret it, friend .”

Philip’s shoulders shook with silent laughter as he clutched his chest dramatically. “Perish the thought, Your Grace! I’d rather throw myself into the Thames in January!”

Despite himself, the Duke returned his friend’s smirk.

As part of the responsibilities he had as a duke who needed alliances, Theo remained even as the topics shifted and the conversation lagged. Some looked half-drunk, ready to call their carriages.

Philip was thinking of visiting one of his lady friends.

Theo had needs just like any other man, but the Dowager Viscountess was not on his mind at that moment.

It was the spirited young woman with flashing blue eyes who plagued his mind, no matter how he tried to forget.

There had been something disarming about her—something in the way her lips parted in surprise, the flush rising high on her cheeks, the fire in her gaze when she realized she’d been caught. She was the perfect, maddening blend of innocence and allure—too naive to fully understand the danger of her curiosity, yet far too tempting to ignore.

She hadn’t just stirred his desire; she’d unsettled him.

It had only been a brief moment, but he still remembered the way she pressed her hips against the arm of the chair, and the way her flushed, dreamy expression transformed into wide-eyed shock and fury the instant she heard his voice.

The Duke never had the desire to humiliate any woman, but the words that came out of his mouth might have seemed taunting.

No, he didn’t want her humiliated.

He wanted her .

The next time he would see her, he would not let her slip away. Not without tasting her pink lips.

For the first time in a long time, the Duke of Wolvesley had a goal worth pursuing.