Page 10 of The Duke and the Runaway Bride

“Then you came to seduce Robert. Is that it?”

Beatrice bowed her head. She felt emotionally naked before the Duke. She had made a fool of herself by running from her commitment, and now she had made an even bigger fool of herself. She could only hope no one else would find out.

Suddenly, muffled voices sounded in the hallway. Edwin looked toward the door and then back at her.

“Not a word,” he ordered.

Beatrice still could not believe she was almost naked in a room with the Duke. She looked him in the eye and nodded, noticing how his eyes raked down to her body before he looked back at the door.

She felt wanted—a world away from how Lord Mutton made her feel.

Perhaps… No, he is an entirely different prospect. Lord Pemberton is eligible and good, while His Grace is a cruel man who is already promised to someone—not just anyone but Miss Jennings.

Still, as she stared at his back and thought about how she had felt in his arms, she found a new freedom. If the Duke turned to her and offered himself, she would not refuse. They were both promised to other people, and a little fun could be their secret. Lord Mutton could not compare to the Duke in the bedroom, that much was for sure. And what harm would one night of passion do?

Beatrice lost herself in imagining the Duke’s hands on her again. It had only been a few seconds in his embrace, but they were the most pleasurable few seconds she had felt over the past year.

The Duke held his hand toward Beatrice as he studied the door.

“… he keeps it,” a voice said from the other side of the door. “I overheard him telling someone else.”

Beatrice clapped a hand over her mouth. It was Hannah on the other side of the door.

“He never shares any with me,” came another voice, that of an older woman.

The Duke spun around quickly and took off his coat, handing it to Beatrice. “Put it on,” he hissed.

“Oh, is someone in there?” the older woman asked.

There was a pause, and then the door swung open.

“Oh, Your Grace. Pardon the intrusion, but I?—”

The older woman, one of the more gossipy matrons, stopped in her tracks when she saw Beatrice standing behind the Duke, with only a tailcoat to cover her modesty. Behind the older woman, Hannah stood still, her mouth hanging open in shock, her eyes locked on Beatrice’s.

“I… excuse me,” the older woman said quickly. “I must return.”

“I will…” Hannah stammered out, unsure what else to say. She locked eyes with Beatrice again and gave her an apologetic look.

The two women scurried off, and the Duke closed the door noisily.

“Thank you for the coat,” Beatrice said.

“Thank you?” he boomed. “That’s what you have to say?” He turned and placed a hand on his forehead, muttering, “As if this day can’t get any worse.”

“Do you need it back?” Beatrice asked.

She looked up at the Duke, trying to hold his gaze but not quite able to hold it. She wrapped the coat tighter around her.

“Do you understand what you have done?” he growled.

“It will all be fine,” Beatrice assured. “We were not doing anything, and it will be your word against hers—you are much more respected than her.”Or much more feared.“And the young woman was my sister. I shall talk to her, and she will not say a word.”

“Your sister?” the Duke echoed. He turned back to face her, a wicked storm brewing in his eyes. “Then you did plan all of this. Who are you, and why did you come here tonight?”

“I am Beatrice Bolton, the daughter of the Earl of Ramsbury. I didn’t mean to be in here with you, I swear. I came here tonight to meet my future husband and…”

Beatrice broke down in tears. She could take it no longer. Any guilt she had felt previously was clouded by regret and embarrassment. She had heard the Duke mutter about how unpleasant his day was, but he had no idea. She was to be forced to marry a horrid baron, and now she had been caught in a compromising position. It was supposed to save her, but it only condemned her more.

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