Page 53 of The Duke Who Claimed Her

It was her red hair that Caspian noticed first; it reminded him of Arabella, as so many things did of late. His eyes then found her face, focusing on her marble-white skin, the piercing green of her eyes, and the way her smile curved into one of wicked intent when she saw him watching her.

Before Caspian could look away, the red-headed woman was on her way toward him.

“Is there something on my face?” she asked as she reached his table.

“Excuse me?”

“My face,” she repeated. “For why else would you be watching me?”

Caspian exhaled sharply from his nose. “I assure you that I was not. You just…” Again, he noticed her hair and those green eyes. “You just remind me of someone.”

“Oh? Is that someone here then?”

“No, she is not.”

“Lucky me.” Without asking for permission, the red-headed woman sat down across from Caspian. “I might find myself jealous if she were.” As she spoke, she leaned forward, sure to press her arms under her chest so that they were pronounced and unmissable.

Caspian’s eyes darted downward. Her spencer jacket was worn with only one button, a little too tight, the effect of such done to draw attention to her chest. She saw Caspian’s eyes drop as he noticed, she flashed her own eyes in response, and she leaned further forward.

“I have seen you here before,” she began with a purr. “Although we have never spoken. Strange that.”

“Is it?’ Caspian said simply, forcing himself to look her in the eyes. Not that this helped. If anything, it was even more distracting. “I have a sense that your attention is one often sought after.”

“Is that your way of telling me that I am pretty?” She batted her eyelashes, and her cheeks turned pink.

“Just a statement of fact,” Caspian said as he had a sip of his ale.

She laughed as she locked onto him with her eyes. “Not much of a talker, are we?”

“Not especially.”

“Oh well, there are better things that we can be doing than talking…” Her eyes roamed him, suggestive and hungry.

When Caspian had taken on the title of duke, he had made a promise to himself. While most expected him to seek a wife, start a family, and follow the usual path of most lords, he chose a different route. He embraced a life of debauchery, rakish behavior, drinking, gambling, and courting, earning a reputation that was often judged, and rightly so.

He did not think of himself as a philanderer per se, but that did not mean that he abstained from casual affairs entirely. And as a duke, with a face such as his one, it was all too easy to find women who might wish to waste an hour or a night with him… often several.

So, as he looked across the table at the red-headed woman, he saw the future clearly because he had lived it so many times before.

It is so easy, so predictable, and exactly what I need.

“What is your name?” he asked the woman, taking another casual sip of mead.

“You may call me whatever you wish,” she said in a whisper.

He chuckled. “Come now, no need to be coy.”

“My name…” She leaned forward even further and licked her lips. “My name is Bella.”

It was like a bucket of cold water being thrown over him.

That name… Caspian stared at it. He leaned back, pulled from his stupor as if by an unseen force. When he finally regained control, he looked at Bella again, seeing her in a completely different light than before.

Yes, she was beautiful. Yes, she was attainable. And yes, it would be so easy to have her for the night. But was that what Caspian wanted? Would that bring him any joy or happiness or fulfillment whatsoever?

No, it will not. And where that was once the point, now it feels empty…

He could not help but think about Arabella next. It was the little things that came to mind—her smile, her laugh, the way she glared at him when she was about to start an argument, and how much he enjoyed teasing her because of it.