Page 54 of To Dare a Duke

Any possibility of coherent thought fled as his hand settled at her waist and memories of the last time he’d touched her rushed into her mind. Heat swept over her, prickling across her skin, tightening and awakening her body.

“You’re blushing,” he murmured in her ear as he moved them into the dance. “Whatever are you thinking about?”

Prue swallowed and opened her mouth to give some devastating retort, but none came. Her mouth was dry; not a problem she was experiencing elsewhere, she realised with mortification.

“Stop holding me so close,” she managed, her voice sounding jerky and odd.

“I want you closer than this,” he said, amusement rumbling through his chest. She could feel that somehow, feel the words sink into her, melting into her bones. “I want you as close as you were in my carriage, closer even. I want to be inside you, to hear you moan and sigh with pleasure.”

“R-Robert,” she stammered, glancing about, certain that everyone must be able to hear his breathless whispers.

“I didn’t sleep for thinking about it, for imagining what might have come next if you’d agreed to marry me.”

“As we were minutes away from my home, I can only be grateful I did refuse,” she said, doing her best to sound tart and snappish and only managing flustered and on the verge of swooning.

The scent of him was all around her, clean, masculine, with just a hint of whisky on his breath. She wanted to know if she could taste it on him too, wanted to press her mouth to his and chase the flavour across his lips with her tongue.

“Ah, but it’s an easy thing to ask the driver to go around the block,” he murmured, chuckling, low and wicked, as if he knew with certainty his words were setting her aflame. “And around and around.”

“Good gracious,” Prue exclaimed, quite giddy but unsure if the cause was his proximity, his outrageous words, or the fact she was thrumming with desire. “It’s like dancing with a randy stoat. You’re living up to your reputation tonight, your grace.”

He smiled, though there was a glimmer of unease in his eyes.

“A randy stoat?” he repeated, a little incredulous, and then gave a sigh. “I can’t deny it. That’s exactly how I feel.”

Me too, Prunella did not say, because she was a liar.

He gave her a look of sheer challenge before lowering his head and whispering in her ear. “Come closer and I’ll illustrate just how appropriate your description is.”

He lifted his head and gave her a wicked grin and Prue mis-stepped, treading on his toe and stumbling. He righted her at once, his arms strong about her. She glared up at him, cheeks blazing as he returned a bland expression, all innocence. Torn between laughter and a jolly good cry, she knew she had to end this. Sooner or later this man would persuade her into his bed and, if she went, he would be relentless in his aim of making an honest woman of her. She couldn’t do that to him… to either of them.

Frustration and misery burned inside her, chasing away any desire to find the situation amusing. It wasn’t; it was tragic.

“Why aren’t you furious with me?” she demanded, forcing herself to look at him again. “I asked you to dance in front of the entire ballroom. I’ve pretty much ruined myself. I’ll be labelled a fortune hunter, no better than I should be… certainly not fit to be a duchess.”

Though they were moving, going through the motions of the dance, she felt him go very still. His muscles grew taut under her fingers, his expression freezing in place.

“So, that’s why you did it,” he said dully, and she felt her heart ache at the loss of the teasing warmth she’d heard just seconds before. “You really would ruin yourself to escape marrying me.” He gave a humourless huff of laughter. “Am I such a terrible prospect, Prue?” Hurt blazed in his eyes now. “Do you trust me so little?”

Prue stared at him, her throat tight as the music ended and the dancers all swayed to a halt. “My father was a bully and a liar,” she said, forcing the words out, making herself say it even though she wanted to cling to him and beg his forgiveness for giving him a moment’s pain. “I’ll not swap a tyrant for a villain.”

Eyes burning, she moved out of his hold and hurried away.

Chapter 15

My goodness, Prue, what did you say to him last night? As you walked away, he looked like you’d stamped on his heart.

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Matilda Hunt to Miss Prunella Chuffington-Smythe.

***

The morning of the 26th April. Beverwyck. London. 1814.

“You might at least pretend you’re pleased to see me.”

Robert looked up, finding the amused green eyes of his sister regarding him. He smiled and reached out, giving her hand a brief squeeze.

“Of course, I’m glad to see you. You can’t doubt it, surely?”