Page 8 of The Duke of My Desire

“Pathetic,” he grumbled, stubbornly ignoring his body’s demands. “Pathetic and unscrupulous.”

For what sort of man would lust after a woman who had just survived a frightening ordeal?

The worst sort, that’s who.

He knew his behavior was less than honorable, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had affected him like this. He wasn’t certain there was ever such a time.

Not even the woman he had once intended to marry had affected him this way, and Olivia was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Not that Lady Dunne was difficult to look upon. With her sea-green eyes and honey-brown hair, she was undoubtedly a comely woman. But it was her sensuality, her confidence, that made her so attractive. So magnetic.

Her ample curves were rather intriguing, too, and he wondered again if she had slept in her gown last night. He still couldn’t believe he’d offered her one of his shirts, and even though she’d refused, the mental image of her in his lawn shirt—loose hair, unbound breasts, dimpled knees—had plagued him well into the night.

His face heated as he thought of his actions, of spilling his seed to fantasies of a woman who was only in his home because she had required his help.

Well, no more. He would not give into his body’s needs again.

At least, not this morning.

Shoving aside the bedsheets, he climbed out of bed to attend to his morning ablutions, forcing himself to think only of the day ahead, of his mother, his country estates, his obligations, until finally his ardor began to cool.

He didn’t know what Lady Dunne intended to do now, but whatever her plans entailed, she would be leaving him soon, perhaps even as early as this morning. And when she did leave, this distraction would end, and life would return to normal.

He sighed. That meant seeing his mother again and telling her—again—that he would not marry Miss Withers, though why he thought she’d give up this time when she never had before was anybody’s guess. Perhaps it was irrationally optimistic of him, but he was certain the day would come when his mother finally let him run his own life.

Gregory spent the next ten minutes readying himself for the day and as he left his room, he glanced across the hall at the guest chamber and paused.

Lady Dunne’s door was closed. He pursed his lips. A closed door could mean one of two things: either she was in there, or she wasn’t.

If she was still in her room, there was every possibility she was still asleep. After the night she’d had, she certainly deserved a long rest. He was loath to wake her, but he did have a meeting to attend after breakfast, and he didn’t wish to leave without speaking to her first.

He wavered over what to do for another few seconds before finally making up his mind. Crossing the hall to her door, he raised a fist, intending to knock, but before he could, the door swung open and there stood Lady Dunne.

“Oh!” She stopped short, her hand flying to her throat. “Your Grace, you startled me.”

Gregory stepped back so as not to crowd her and offered an apologetic smile. “Good morning, Lady Dunne. Forgive me, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was about to knock when you opened the door.”

It was important that she knew he hadn’t been hovering outside her room like a lecher.

“Will you join me for breakfast?” he asked, trying not to think of his lecherous behavior last night in his room. “Or perhaps you would prefer to take a tray in your room?”

She shook her head. “Thank you, I would be very glad to join you.”

They set off in silence, with Gregory stealing glances at her from the corner of his eye. She looked well-rested, her thick hair pulled back in a loose knot at her nape, and though she wore the same gown she’d been wearing last night, it was remarkably free of wrinkles, as if she’d removed it before going to bed.

Which left him wondering: had she slept in a chemise?

Or nothing at all?

Heat flooded his cheeks and he cleared his throat, shoving the wicked images from his mind.

“How did you sleep?” he asked as they walked into the dining room. “I hope the bed was comfortable.”

Bloody hell, if he kept thinking about Lady Dunne and beds, he’d be sporting a cockstand all through breakfast.

“The bed was very comfortable,” she said as she took a seat at the table. “I slept like the dead.”

“After the evening you had, I’m not surprised.”