Page 26 of The Untamed Duke (The Secret Crusaders #3)

Chapter Three

What is the best strategy for locating a clever lady in hiding?

1. Look behind potted plants, to be entirely thorough.

2. Discreetly inquire of the ladies departing the retiring room.

3. Use your skills to track her every movement.

4. Capture her.

“I’ve decided to start a career in blackmailing.”

To her credit, the blond-haired green-eyed woman maintained her serene expression, displaying nothing but calmness and poise, an ability inherently learned as the daughter of a duke. “How lovely, my dear.”

“Indeed?” Hannah studied Evie. “You’re not upset?”

“Upset you’re placing yourself in grave peril?” Evie lifted a delicate shoulder. “Upset you’re courting danger? Upset you’d risk everything?” The soprano voice rose with every syllable. “Why would I be upset?”

Perhaps she was upset, after all.

Grasping Evie’s hand, Hannah led her to a corner between a selection of rare fossils and crisp yellowed journals, while their maids walked a discreet distance away. Around them, lords and ladies strolled through the halls of the British Museum, examining antiquities, oddities and treasures. Scented with age, expertly curated, the hall was well-lit, illuminating a vast array of unique exhibits, amidst the gentle murmur of conversation.

Evie lowered her voice. “How many times have I told you blackmailing is dangerous?”

Hannah shrugged. “Once?”

Evie put her hands on her hips. “Seven hundred fifty-two, which is about to become seven hundred fifty-three. I cannot believe you blackmailed Lord Bartleby.”

“I didn’t blackmail Lord Bartleby,” Hannah protested. “He blackmailed himself. Was I supposed to say no when he offered to donate to the orphans?”

Evie hesitated. “I suppose not.” She held up a finger. “Yet that is a singular case. How many lords will make such an offer?”

Hannah grinned. “Seven hundred and fifty-two?”

Evie folded her arms across her chest.

“Perhaps not so many, but how many does it take to make a difference?” Hannah lifted her palms. “Many measures hinge upon a single vote, and even small funds have the power to make great change. Is keeping a tryst or two silent to save society a bad thing?”

Evie exhaled slowly. “Change is vital, yet we must take care. Influencing votes, creating children’s’ programs and building support are imperative, but methods matter. There are ways to help without putting ourselves in danger.”

Hannah smiled. “I enjoy danger.”

A voice cleared behind them.

Zooks!

“What a grand surprise,” a deep baritone intoned. “Who would have guessed we’d show up at the museum at the same time?”

Not her.

“Quite a coincidence.”

If this was a coincidence, she’d jump in the Thames.

“It must be fate.”

“Only if fate got ape-drunk.”

Um, had she said that out loud?

By the others’ varying expressions, she had indeed. Evie frowned severely as the Duke of Bastion, a friend who arrived with Michael, lifted both eyebrows. And Michael?

His smile was wicked .

“Of course, I’m jesting,” she choked out the lie. “Clearly fate is not ape-drunk. It’s not even regular drunk. Maybe a trifle foxed, is all.”

The others stared at her as if she were ape-drunk, while Michael’s smile widened. Perhaps she was ape-drunk, after all. “You must admit it is an unlikely coincidence. Or perhaps not one at all.” Not a tinge of guilt marred his expression, and she clenched her fists. He had been following her.

“I have an appreciation of fine things.” He gestured to the treasures around them. Yet his gaze didn’t touch the antiques or artwork, not the natural curiosities or the manuscripts. It remained riveted on her.

Do not listen. Do not react. Do not let him affect you. They were just words. Cleverly crafted and exquisite, yet words nevertheless. While females learned the art of attracting a husband, males learned how to woo a lady without a trace of true emotion.

Yet when Michael spoke, somehow it almost seemed genuine.

She stood tall. “I am not a thing to be appreciated.”

Her response emerged cross, and most definitely not a great study of the art of attracting a husband. Yet the duke seemed only amused by her prickly exterior. “I know you are not a thing, my dear.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, so only she could hear. “Yet you are indeed most fine.”

Without thought, she fanned herself with her fingers. “You’re trying to fluster me.” And succeeding to a dismaying extent, as she gripped a large pedestal holding an antique Judaic tablet. Next to it, an ornate metal wedding ring, inscribed with Hebrew, gleamed under the lights. It talked of bashert , or the destined one.

Michael stood to his full towering height. Silhouetted by the warriors’ relics, he appeared a conqueror himself. “I am a duke. Would I purposely fluster a lady?”

Hannah exhaled. “I suppose not.”

“Well, I am.”

Why that authoritative, overbearing–

“Do not glare, my dear.” Michael put his hand on the small of her back. The heat from his hand burned through her thin dress, securing her by his side, even as he strode forward. “People will wonder what I did to inspire such strong emotions.”

“I do have emotions for you,” she hissed. “Would you like to hear them?”

“I would.” He tipped his head at a pair of tittering ladies who batted their eyelashes like they were navigating a sandstorm. He smiled at them for approximately a year and a half. “Hello, ladies.”

Now she pulled him along. “I feel like you are the most frustrating, overbearing, authoritative lord in England. What do you think of that?”

He paused, tilted his muscular body toward her. Even as her heart skipped ahead, he maintained stalwart control. “I’d say you are quite accurate in your estimation.” As she barely contained the growl, he grinned. “We shall have a lovely time at the museum.”

What? “Oh no.” She moved quicker, yet he easily kept up with her. Quicker still, his long legs allowing a single step for every two of hers. He never let her go.

“I say, if I knew you wanted a foot race, I would have dressed in more comfortable clothing.”

This time, a breathy growl slipped. “If you’d just stop–”

For once, Michael listened. He stopped…

And she ran straight into him.

She reached out with both hands, instinctively bracing the closest thing to steady herself. Unfortunately, that was him .

Pure muscle. Unrelenting hardness. Uncompromising strength.

Her hands splayed across his abdomen, pressed against a sculpted expanse of muscle. Heated skin flexed under her fingers, diamond-hard power taut as stone. He shifted closer, igniting fire in her blood. The urge to press even closer, to grasp the source of warmth, seized her. He was a forbidden flame, and she a spellbound creature.

There were many appropriate reactions:

1. Gasp and leap away

2. Apologize profusely

3. Swoon

Options she chose:

1. Squeeze to determine if he was as hard as he felt.

2. Squeeze again, since the answer was a delicious yes.

3. Consider whether squeezing again would be merely inappropriate or downright scandalous.

4. Squeeze again while pondering whether squeezing again would be merely inappropriate or downright scandalous.

5. Decide it was merely inappropriate.

6. Squeeze again.

The muscles under her hands tightened.

Thank you for reading my sample. For more, check out Blackmailing the Duke.