Page 27 of His Runaway Duchess

His eyes were narrowed, and the light spilling in through the window illuminated his figure, playing across the strong planes of his face.

Daphne, as usual, spoke without thinking twice.

“You look like a Greek statue.”

He stared at her, baffled. “What?”

“Nothing. Go on, then. What were you saying? I can’t be a spinsteranda married woman.”

He leveled her with a scornful look. “Of course you can. We’ll marry, but the marriage will be in name only. You’ll lead your life, and I shall lead mine. In fact, I would prefer it this way. If I wanted to be married, I’d have found someone by now. You canhave a set of rooms here—well away from mine—and we’ll stay out of each other’s way. You can do what you want, but don’t interfere in my life,orAlexander’s. Is that clear?”

She took a moment before responding.

“And then what? We live separate, lonely lives, quietly hating and resenting each other? What a lovely idea.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not forever, foolish girl. Just for a few years, until Society forgets about us. Once we’re married, they’ll lose interest. You’ll stay here for a few years, perhaps two or three, then go off and do whatever you like. Go wherever you like. You’ll have money, and I’ve got other houses.”

“And what about children?” Daphne asked before she could stop herself.

The Duke went still, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

“I have a son,” he said, his voice flat. “I don’t want another. I don’t want more children. Perhaps I wasn’t clear. We won’t be sharing rooms or beds, Miss Belmont. You will be a spinster, just as you wanted. I can promise you that I’ll never touch you. You’re quite safe from me.”

Daphne narrowed her eyes at him. Perhaps it was the whiskey, but she felt exceptionally mischievous. The horror of the scandal sheet and her feelings of awkwardness had evaporated, and the whole business felt ridiculous.

Yes, it was definitely the whiskey. Had she drunk it too quickly? Almost certainly. Too quickly to shrug off the definite and upsetting sensation of disappointment.

I am not disappointed. Why should I be? Of course, the wretched man doesn’t wish to share his bed with me. I don’t want to share minewith him, either.

She cleared her throat, rolling back her shoulders. “Oh? Don’t you like me then,Your Grace? I thought you found me so very alluring earlier when I was all wet and bedraggled. I rather got the impression that youlikedwomen who looked as though they’d been ducked in and out of ponds all day.”

She took a step forward and was immediately gratified that he took an instinctive step back.

Pushing her advantage, she stepped forwardagain. Once again, he backed away, bumping against the edge of his desk. They were too close now, closer than was proper, and she could smell something fresh and crisp emanating from him.

“Perhaps it’s because I’m dry and clean now,” she sighed. “You must find me entirely repulsive. Perhaps you prefer someone a little softer, whodoesn’tsay what she thinks all the time? What a pity.”

Daphne was not sure what she expected from this interaction. A little blustering, perhaps? A blush?

She certainly had not expected the Duke to surge forward and wrap his arm around her waist. Overbalanced, she would have fallen in an undignified heap on her backside if he hadn’t steadied her, pulling her tight against him. Tight enough to feel his hard body against hers, tight enough to make her suck in a surprised breath. She could almost feel his heart beating against her chest. She had to tilt her head back to look at him.

Should I… struggle? Do I even want to?

Oh, heavens, I’m in trouble.

“No, you wretched, foolish woman,” he hissed, his voice low. “I do not find you repulsive. I find you unladylike, vexing, and entirely too outspoken—andyou meddle in business that is not yours—but I certainly do not find you repulsive. I can assure you that I wish with all my heart that I did.”

Before Daphne could gather her thoughts enough to respond to this deeply ungentlemanlike speech—she couldn’t even begin to imagine what she was going to say—he quite abruptly, without bothering to say a by-your-leave or even to give her a warning of what was about to happen, leaned down and kissed her full on the mouth.

CHAPTER 8

Daphne had never thought that kissing was particularly interesting. She’d caught glimpses of her older sister, Anna, kissing herhusband, and the whole business did not seem appealing. Theyhad appeared to enjoy it enough, but Daphne had been baffled as to why.

After that, she’d simply filed the memory away to be ignored and made sure she knockedand waitedbefore walking into rooms in her sister’s house.

Being kissed, however, was entirely different.

His lips did taste of whiskey. He was warm and firm, but nothard, not like a plank of wood. His arm around her waist was tight, and his fingers curled around her neck, leaving red-hot pathways of sensation in their wake. That tug returned to her gut, and this time Daphne could not fool herself that it was anything other than arousal.

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