Page 6 of A Bride for the Rakish Duke

He wrapped his hand around her wrist and pulled her gently to him, giving her time to pull away if she wished to, and the book fell to the floor. At the same moment that it hit the ground, he dipped his head and softly kissed her slightly parted lips, pressing his apology to her sweet, plump mouth.

She made a soft sound, almost like a sigh, and even in the low light, he saw her eyes close. A dreamy, enchanted sort of look appeared on her face. And as it did, she puckered her lips to kiss him back. A shy press of encouragement.

Taking that as permission to show her more of what he had planned, he moved his lips to kiss her again. So, it was something of a surprise when she suddenly gasped and shoved him hard in the chest, propelling herself backward. He did not see her hand rise, but he felt the almighty sting of her palm as it collided with his cheek. A ricochet of smarting pain dazed him, her faint figure—and that eerie cat mask—wobbling in his vision.

“How dare you!” she snarled. “How dare you steal my first kiss from me, you vile serpent! I told you, I am not somesweet bunnyto swoon over you. How dare you touch me! How dare you touch any unsuspecting lady!”

He realized he had made his second mistake that night. Evidently, and by her own declaration, she was not someonewho could be soothed or mollified by his usual array of tricks and talents. Not for more than a couple of seconds, anyway.

“You might be wearing a mask now, but I swear that I shall find out who you are, and I shall curse your name with everything I possess!” the sharp-clawed woman growled. “You had better hope we never cross paths again, weasel.”

With that, she pushed past him, his head still ringing from that ferocious slap, and unlocked the door. She did not slam it as she left, which somehow made her exit and her parting words twice as threatening.

“Believe me,” he muttered, “I am already wishing we had not crossed paths in the first place.”

And if he ever saw a pink gown again, it would be too soon.

The next morning, cheek still blazing, William hesitantly turned the pages of the scandal sheets. He knew there was no real possibility that the lady in the cat mask had discovered his identity and gone to the scandal sheets with the unfortunate mishap… and the kiss that had exacerbated the situation, but he needed to be sure.

“I saved you the trouble,” Anthony said from the opposite end of the breakfast table.

William’s gaze shot up. “What?”

“Lady Artemisia. She is on page three.” Anthony smiled and took a bite of his toast, thickly slathered with marmalade. “I do hope you were not planning to make her your wife, for it appears she causedquitethe scandal at last night’s ball. Fortunately, not with you.”

William glanced back down at the scandal sheets, but he could not turn to page three. Not when his name was staring up at him—the subject of yet another scathing article about what on earth was wrong with him. How Lady Emma—now the Duchess of Hudson—must know something, and what an honorable lady she was to not lay his darkest secrets bare for all to enjoy.

“Sheran fromme!” he hissed. “She is not honorable. She is bloody lucky, that is all!”

Anthony pulled a face. “So, you saw the part about England’s favorite Duchess? I had hoped to divert you with Lady Artemisia.”

“I care nothing for Lady Artemisia,” William replied, a note too sharply. “I entertained her flirtations to amuse myself. She can do as she pleases—and has, I assume.”

He touched his cheek, realizing how differently the night would have gone if he had exercised some patience. Perhaps he would be on two separate pages of the scandal sheets if he had waited those twenty minutes. Perhaps that woman in the cat mask had done him a strange favor.

Anthony took another bite of his toast and swallowed before saying, “I assumed Lady Artemisia’s antics were responsible for your foul mood?”

“Not in the slightest.” William crumpled the scandal sheets in his hand. “And my mood was not foul, though it is now. How has Lady Emma managed to get away withherwretched antics? She has done far more dishonorable things, in my opinion, than Lady Artemisia.”

Not that I would know what Lady Artemisia is capable of…

He had never had the chance to find out, for after the cat-woman had left him with a ringing skull and a sweet taste on his lips, he had snuck out through the servants’ corridor. He had not paused to think of whether Lady Artemisia had still come or not.

“You are a duke,” Anthony said simply. “It does not matter what the scandal sheets or the Duchess of Hudson say, the ladies will still flock to you. There are very few eligible dukes at present, and what lady wouldnotwant to be a duchess?”

William sat back, staring at the crumpled ball. “Who is my competition? That ‘Beast’ fellow that no one has seen in years?”

“As far as dukes go, yes.”

“If the ladies of thetonwere presented with the choice of me or him, I think you would be surprised by how many could suddenly see past ugliness and a violent reputation.”

Anthony chuckled. “Are we still talking ofthe Beast?”

“Very amusing.” William flashed a half-smile, but the resentment coursing through his veins toward the Duchess of Hudson made a full smile impossible.

“Even if the unmarried ladies are reluctant,” Anthony continued with refreshed enthusiasm, “their mothers do not care about gossip—they care about titles and security for their daughters.”

William closed his eyes and shook his head, despairing. “You cannot possibly believe that, Anthony. The mothers read these sheets more thoroughly than anyone and gossip more ferociously. For many, it is their sole entertainment—picking apart the lives of others.”

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