Page 35 of The Wrong Duke

Needless to say, the whole situation was as confusing as it was frustrating.

She and Lord Malnor continued in their game of cribbage, another ten minutes worth until she beat him soundly and a little too easily.

“Cribbage,” she said with a triumphant smile as she moved the peg on the board to the finish. “And you, Lord Malnor, are the... what’s the term? Forgive me, but I forget.”

His expression was unamused. “The skunk.”

“That’s it!” she laughed. “You’ve been skunked.”

Lord Malnor burst into laughter, a little louder than she had expected. And when he did, movement out the corner of Amelia’s eye caught her attention, and she glanced over just in time to see His Grace stumbling from the room. His footsteps were heavy and rushed; they sounded almost angry. If she didn’t know any better, she might have said he was jealous.

Although likely, he was just annoyed because his plan to stop her and Lord Malnor was failing spectacularly. She might have felt rather pleased with herself if that was what she wanted. But again, and despite the circumstance, Amelia had no choice but to admit that it wasn’t Lord Malnor who she desired.

That prized role was now reserved for another.

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

What was wrong with him?

Evan stood by the basin in the washroom, staring at his reflection, a sense of repulsion roiling through his body because he truly felt that disgusted with himself. Not to mention ashamed.

He’d spent the entire day pondering how he felt about what had happened between him and Amelia. He’d spent hours alone, doing what he could to convince himself that this was all part of the plan and that the feelings which besieged him, those which harangued him, didn’t really mean what he knew them to mean.

He was here because of his friend, he chastised at his reflection. His only goal was to stop his friend from making a terrible mistake — from being tricked in to one. Everything he had done so far was for him, and everything he felt was a mere extension of that. It wasn’t jealousy he was feeling. It wasn’t lust or want. It was anger, rage, and a deep seeded sense of frustration because he was so very clearly failing his best friend.

But it was more than that, and no matter how hard he tried to deny it, no matter what he told himself, the lies he forced down his own throat, he knew better. Not that this made things less troublesome.

Miss Baker well may have been a liar and a sneak. She might have been trying to seduce his friend under false pretenses. And if he allowed it to continue, then Lord Malnor would surely have his heart broken as it had been so many times before. Only right now... Evan didn’t care as much about that as he should have. And while he hated the fact, he hated even more that his own selfish desires were what drove him.

“Get a hold of yourself, Evan,” he seethed at his reflection. “This isn’t about you!” he snarled.

He was beginning to have desires toward Miss Baker.

On the surface, it was lust that drove these impulses which might have been a relief because lust he could understand. Lust he could control. Lust was but a base desire which could be avoided if he wanted it. What happened between them this morning was perhaps the most passionate, heated, damn erotic moment of his life. He felt himself harden as he remembered the taste of Miss Baker on his lips. He felt his pulse quicken as he let his mind drift back to the feel of her thighs squeezing his head while his tongue worked its magic.

He had mistaken their bickering for antipathy. He had misconstrued their arguing for animosity. But the more he thought about it, the more he remembered what was said and how they had said it, the more he came to realize that there was more between them than pure animus.

It was their conversation before he had taken her that continued to wage war with his emotions and reason. The first time that they had spoken without fighting and they’d had perhaps the most honest conversation he’d had with anyone for as long as he could remember. He’d felt comfortable with her. He’d felt heard. He had been so disarmed by her agreeable nature that he’d opened up to her in a way he never had with anyone, and what was more, she had listened and understood and accepted him.

He didn’t hate Miss Baker as much as he wished that he did. Dammit, he wanted her! And tonight, being forced to watch his friend flirt with her the way he was, and she with him, he’d felt sick to the stomach. More than once, he’d considered barging in and disrupting as he had done time and time again, but for the first time, he stopped himself because, and this was truly pathetic, he didn’t want to embarrass himself or upset her.

“Evan, what have you become...” He met his eyes in the reflection, looking through them to the man who he’d kept hidden for so long. Emotionally unavailable. Romantically reserved. Happy to live and die alone because he couldn’t bring himself to trust another. That version of himself seemed a far-off thing, trapped behind a curtain being held up by Miss Baker because she had dared to bring out a new side that he didn’t even know to exist.

A shake of the head and Evan forced himself back from the basin, tearing his eyes from the reflection. Another shake and he stumbled toward the door.

There was nothing else to it. He was going to have to avoid being alone with Miss Baker from now on. If he didn’t, there was no telling what he might do or say.

As to how he was going to do this and keep David from falling for her? Perhaps it was time he had a conversation with his friend? Perhaps it was time he told him everything. He would take the blame, he decided. He would do what he must to spare Miss Baker shame. But it was the only way he could think of to save David... even if deep down he knew that was only half the reason he wanted to keep them apart.

“What are you doing?”

The voice spoke from down the hall. So soft at first that Evan almost missed it. Still in his own head, he couldn’t even remember leaving the washroom, figuring that his feet might do the honorable thing for once and lead him back to his quarters where he could sleep this day off and pray for a better one come sunrise.

“Miss Baker?” Evan gasped as he steadied, catching sight of Miss Baker down the end of the hall. She was alone, standing beside a torch that burned a deep orange against the wall; it set her porcelain skin alight, making it appear as if she was on fire. “Wh — what are you doing?”

“I hardly think that is your business,” she said rightly. “This is my home, remember?”

There it was, that sharp tongue that he loved so much. The moment she spoke, Evan opened his mouth to respond. A sarcastic comment came to mind, something that was sure to ignite her. But before he let it out, he was quick to catch his tongue and force the comment back, careful not to say something that might start their bickering again. He could not afford to let that happen.

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