Page 64 of His Unwanted Duchess

The carriage was in view by now, dark and silent, in a row of other carriages, their crests glinting in the occasional lantern light.

Beatrice could have kept going—shouldhave kept going. But no, she seemed to have a wish to cause herself as much pain as possible.

What did you expect?asked a mocking voice in her head.You knew what he was. You agreed to this, for heaven’s sake!

She whipped around to face him. “I’m not a fool. I agreed to this, but I thought we had a rule that you had to be discreet. What aboutthisis discreet to you? At the very least, tell her not to meet youtooopenly. Perhaps we should revise our rules a little.”

She didn’t let him respond, instead turning on her heel and hurrying towards the carriage.

The driver was gone, of course. He had, quite rightly, expected that his masters would be in Almack’s for a while—a few hours, at least—and had likely gone to a pub for a pint and a pie. There were plenty of scruffy young boys hanging around the entrance to the venue, keen to run down to the pub and fetch so-and-so’s coachman for a penny.

Beatrice found herself longing for the dark cold of the carriage interior, with those lovely plush seats and wide, deep footwell. She might even lie down and rest her eyes while Stephen fetched the coachman or perhaps spent some time withMiss Thompson.A quick glance over her shoulder showed that Miss Thompson and her carriage were nowhere to be seen.

She had just about reached the carriage when Stephen scuttled forward, stepping in front of her and forcing her to stop.

“There was a time when Cornelia and I were more than friends,” he said, his voice low. “But believe me when I say that there’s been nothing between us these six or seven months at the very least. I am happy to remain her friend, but she is… well, she is not content with that. I think she imagined herself as the Duchess of Blackwood. She’s a calculating woman, and I imagine she showed up here to embarrass me and warn you off. She’ll stop at nothing.”

Beatrice regarded him flatly. “How inventive.”

He clenched his jaw. “I am notinventinganything. It is the truth.”

She let out a bark of laughter. “Oh,please. Stephen, look. I meant it when I said that I wanted you to be yourself with me, notLord Blackheart.”

“It’s Duke Blackheart, actually.”

She looked as though she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or slap him. Perhaps she felt inclined to do both.

“I am well aware,” Beatrice said, choosing her words carefully, “that you have had, and intend to have, affairs. Even without our rules and your very frank explanations, I knew it already. That is none of my business. But we agreed upon discretion. You are the one who put these rules in place. Just because you will never be attracted to me the way you’re attracted to them, just because you find me repulsive, doesnotmean that you can treat me with disrespect, Stephen!”

She made to move past him, intending to duck under his arm and into the carriage, to the dark, cool safety. But Stephen grabbed her by the upper arms as though he were going to shake her, and pulled her close to him, very close, so close that the tips of their noses almost touched.

“Repulsive?” he echoed as if sounding out the word in his head, almost disbelievingly. “Repulsive? You think that I find you repulsive?”

She clenched her jaw and tilted up her head. This close, it was hard to look the Duke in the eye—or rather, it was hard to focus on his face.

“Perhaps that is a strong word,” she acknowledged, trying not to think about how good his long, cool fingers felt on her. “But the point stands. Your obvious lack of attraction?—”

“Ah, you think I am not attracted to you.”

There was a sort of wildness about him now, something wide-eyed and vivid, something that made Beatrice’s breath hitch in her throat and that uncomfortable tightness return to her gut.

“I…”

“Those rules that you speak of so disparagingly,” he continued, his eyes dark and his expression unreadable, “are to keepmein check, my dear little wife. How would you feel if I told you that, since the moment you burst into my study to request my help, I have thought of little else beyond unlacing the front of your gown? I have given the matter a great deal of thought. These things cannot be rushed, after all. All of your clothes would need to come off, naturally, and your hair would be down, and I would have you naked all day long, and all night long, and all day again. Some people balk at making love in the daylight, but I can assure you that a little light only enhances the pleasure. What would you say tothat, Duchess?”

There was a long, tense silence. Beatrice stared up at him, wondering why her limbs seemed to have ceased working and her heart was trying to claw its way up her throat. Desire pulsed through her, wrenched out of her by a few smooth, confident words.

She swallowed hard, aware that he was waiting for her to respond.

“My… my dress laces at the back,” she stammered.

Stephen went still. “I beg your pardon?”

“My dress. It laces at the back, not the front.”

He tipped his head back, squinting down at her. “Has anyone ever told you that you are a most infuriating wretch?”

She grimaced. “Frequently.”

---