Page 20 of Wedded to the Duke of Seduction

“Does it? I wouldn’t know.” Her feigned innocence only incensed Leo further.

“No?” His thumb traced circles on the inside of her elbow. “Then shall I quote the particularly vivid passage about the Duke’s preference for velvet blindfolds?”

A becoming flush crept up her neck. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?” He leaned closer, watching her pupils dilate. “Tell me, My Lady, why do you persist in writing about me? Do you enjoy imagining yourself in their place? Being claimed, possessed…” His voice dropped an octave. “Thoroughly ruined?”

“I told you.” Her voice wasn’t quite steady. “I have no choice.”

“We always have choices.” His hand came up to brush a loose curl from her cheek. “Although I’m wondering if you’re not choosing this deliberately. Perhaps you enjoy provoking me.”

“You flatter yourself, Your Grace.” Her voice held defiance, but he felt the slight tremor that ran through her as his fingers traced her jaw. “The stories are merely fiction.”

“Are they?” He stepped closer, backing her against the building. The morning sun caught the blue of her eyes, making them shine like sapphires. “Then why do you tremble when I touch you, exactly like your heroine in the conservatory scene?”

“I don’t—” She broke off as his thumb brushed her bottom lip, the soft gasp sending heat through his blood.

“Tell me, Lady Asquith,” he murmured, fighting to keep his voice steady, “do you write what you know or what you wish to know?”

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and the unconscious gesture nearly undid his control. “I have an excellent imagination.”

“Do you?” His fingers found her pulse, racing beneath the delicate skin of her throat. The rapid flutter betrayed her composure, making him want to discover what other reactions he could draw from her. “And what is your imagination telling you now?”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and for a moment, Leo forgot they were standing on a public street. He forgot about her stories, about his reputation, about everything except the overwhelming urge to claim those parted lips.

“Marina?” Caroline’s voice cut through his haze of desire. “I’ve found the most interesting volume on—oh!”

Leo forced himself to step back though every instinct screamed to keep Marina close. “Lady Clarkshire, I trust you found what you were seeking?”

“I… yes.” The look in Lady Clarkshire’s eyes told him their compromising position hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Though perhaps we should return to our tea? It’s growing chilly out here.”

“Of course.” He offered a bow. “Ladies, I won’t keep you any longer. Though, Lady Asquith?” He allowed a hint of warning to color his smile. “Be careful what you write. Some stories have a way of coming true.”

He forced himself to walk away at a measured pace though his blood still raced with unfulfilled desire.

Behind him, he heard Caroline’s voice fade into the morning air. “Well, I believe you have some explaining to do.”

Only when he rounded the corner did Leo allow himself to release a ragged breath.

The woman was more dangerous than he’d anticipated—and far more tempting.

CHAPTER 8

“Lady Asquith, what a delightful surprise.”

The following afternoon, Marina was browsing for herself at Hatchard’s bookshop when a familiar voice startled her from her contemplation of the latest gothic novels.

She turned to find Noah Crawford, Marquess of Blytheton, regarding her with undisguised amusement.

“Lord Blytheton.” Marina dipped into a curtsy. “I didn’t realize you frequented Hatchard’s.”

“Only when in pursuit of particularly engaging reading material.” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he glanced at the book in her hands. “Though I find Mrs. Radcliffe’s tales pale compared to certain anonymous publications currently making the rounds.”

Marina carefully replaced the novel on the shelf. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know.”

“No?” His smile widened. “How disappointing. I had hoped to discuss the author’s remarkable insight into certain ducal temperaments.”

“Perhaps you should speak with His Grace directly,” Marina suggested, wondering how much this man—someone she knew to be a friend of the Duke’s—knew or suspected.

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