Page 56 of Wedded to the Cruel Duke

He heard a little sigh escape her lips, tinged undeniably in frustration. Perhaps, if he continued to pretend to ignore her, she might go away and leave him to stew in his lust for her…

But Phoebe was persistent.

“Well, seeing as you are in a library, I might as well ask what kind of books you enjoy reading,” she plowed onward, heedless of the kind of turmoil Charles was in as she closed the distance between them.

“I had the best education money could buy,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “I do not have a particular taste—I simply read them all.”

She looked at him in amazement, her eyes sparkling a deep, burnished gold.

“There is a new author that I particularly enjoy,” she told him excitedly. “Jane Austen. If you have heard of her.”

Ah, yes—that female author who made quite a name for herself. Charles had indeed heard of her. A novelist befitting a lady like Phoebe, he supposed.

“I have, although I have not had the pleasure of reading her work yet,” he admitted.

“Lovely,” Phoebe beamed at him. “As it is, you haveallher books in publication right behind you.”

Without warning, she reached in from behind him and picked out a book, but all Charles could focus on was the warmth that radiated from her supple skin, the subtle fragrance that wafted from her hair and teased his senses into madness.

No sooner had she leaned in, that she stepped back with a smile, waving the book before him.

“This is her latest book,” she informed him. “Why do we not read it together?”

Now, that was a verybadidea.

“I do not think—”

“The title isPersuasion,” she grinned up at him rather mischievously and Charles felt the insane urge to just lean down and kiss her. “And I shall not takenofor an answer.”

“Phoebe…”

“Just my favorite part, then,” she pleaded up at him. “Please?”

How could he refuse her? His strength had already wavered at the wheedling in her tone. When she turned those eyes towards him, he was utterly lost.

“Alright, then,” he relented.

Her smile was like the sun breaking out of the horizon at dawn—dazzling and brilliant and more beautiful than Charles could ever imagine the sun ever being.

In all his life, he had never thought he would actually enjoy the works of a romance novelist, but the sheer joy that Phoebe derived from it was contagious. Before he knew it, he had relaxed into the upholstered sofa as she read to him some of her favorite passages in the book.

“Fancy that,” she murmured, mirth shining in her eyes. “His name is even Wentworth.”

“And is your middle name not Anne?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

She laughed as she closed the book and placed it on her lap. His eyes followed as her fingertip delicately traced its spine, evoking an involuntary shudder from him.

“One might say that this book must have been meant for us.”

He nodded. “Indeed.”

“Well, I suppose this should be enough for one sitting,” she eventually smiled at him, as the sun began to sink beneath the horizon.

Again, all Charles could do was nod as he followed her down the rows of books to returnPersuasionfrom where she had retrieved it earlier. In spite of the fact that his wife was taller than most of the women in theton, she still had to use a ladder to reach just the perfect spot—according to her, while Charles held it steady, irrationally afraid that she might fall.

As she stepped down, he steadied her with his hands on her waist.

“Allow me,” he murmured as he helped her down—a perfect mirror to one of the scenes Phoebe had just read to him, wherein Wentworth helped Anne into the carriage.