Page 9 of A Virgin for the Duke of Thorns

The young woman—lady, she had claimed—bit her lower lip in a way that sent a bolt of lust shooting directly to his groin, a feeling that he had long buried along with the charred remains of his parents, half a decade past.

If he had accepted Ethan’s previous “gifts,” perhaps he would not be in such a dilemma right now.

As if to make things worse, he watched as her anxious eyes flitted from his face down to his crotch.

Is she aware of just how much I want to strip her naked and have my way with her?

If the young lady had been unaware of it before, she might quite possibly not be now. His erection could not have been more obvious if it stood up and waved for her attention.

“What’s that?” she choked out, pointing at the bulge in his breeches.

Colin should have been mortified. Instead, he wanted nothing more than to introduce his hardness to her. To sink himself into her warmth.

“Is that blood?”

The horror in her voice cut off his train of thought, and he frowned as he glanced at his aching crotch again.

This time, he could see what she was pointing at—and it was not blood.

Not at all.

But he was sorely tempted to burst into laughter.

“That is none of your business,” he told her implacably. “And what is it in this estate that you so badly want to steal, My Lady?”

When she raised her eyes to him again, Colin fought the urge to let out a strangled groan.

Those eyes—those eyes were going to be the death of him if he was not careful enough.

And Colin had been very, very careful thus far.

CHAPTER 4

Alice supposed that it was simply not done to explain to a man just what she intended to steal from him, but there was something about the man before her that made her want to spill all of her secrets.

He was quite probably used to having women fall all over themselves, really. She was quite adamant that she did not join their ranks.

She raised her chin defiantly. “A book.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A book?”

“Yes. You might have heard of books—they have a cover and pages and words written on them?—”

“I am not an idiot. I know what a book is,” he snapped.

“Oh.” Alice bit her lower lip. “I suppose you should, seeing as you are in possession of this, er, particular book…”

“And may I ask, what is this mysterious book that is presumably in my possession?”

She could tell that he was hanging onto his patience by a thread.

“Well… it is a French book originally,” she hedged. “I heard you had a translated version of it…”

“What. Book?”

She hung her head and finally spit out the title of the tome she had been looking for.

“La Philosophie dans Le Boudoir.”

---