Page 23 of Wedded to the Duke of Seduction

“Indeed. Lady Cowper insists the author must be a man, given the, ah, explicit nature of the encounters. I, however, maintain that only a woman could capture such emotional nuance.” Lady Jersey leaned forward. “The scene where the Duke whispers poetry as he—well, you’ve read it, I’m sure.”

“I have heard of it,” Marina hedged, hardly believing the direction of this conversation.

“The point is, Lady Asquith, that there is nothing more fashionable at present than discussion of these stories.” Lady Jersey rose, her mission apparently complete. “I expect to see you at the Ellinsworth’s ball on Wednesday. The Duke of Blackmere is rumored to be attending, and I would not miss the ton’s reaction for all the tea in China.”

After Lady Jersey’s departure, Marina sank back into her chair, stunned.

Her scandalous stories, far from ruining her socially, had somehow become her salvation. She savored the irony—and the delicious knowledge that the very society that had rejected her was now celebrating her work while claiming indignation.

The thought of facing the Duke again, surrounded by everyone who had all read her intimate imaginings of him, sent a thrilling mixture of dread and anticipation through her.

Would he recognize the library scene for what it was—not just fiction but a retelling of their own heated encounter?

The clock in the hall chimed and reminded her she had promised Caroline a visit that afternoon. No doubt her friend would find Lady Jersey’s unexpected call highly amusing.

Almost as amusing as Marina’s increasingly complicated feelings for the Duke, who was both her muse and her nemesis.

CHAPTER 9

“That bit with the bookshelf was particularly inspired. Though I wonder about the practicality—surely the shelf would wobble?”

Leo stared at Lord Haverton, scarcely believing the words coming from the elderly banker’s mouth. They were meant to be discussing a significant investment in Leo’s shipping venture not… whatever this was.

“I beg your pardon?” His voice had grown dangerously quiet, but Haverton seemed oblivious.

“The latest story of course.” The banker’s jowls quivered with barely suppressed mirth. “My wife read it to me last night. Couldn’t get through a page without dissolving into giggles. I must say, you cut a dashing figure in print.”

Leo’s fingers tightened around the investment papers. “Lord Haverton, I believe we were discussing business.”

“Ah yes, business.” The banker’s expression sobered though his eyes still twinkled. “I’m afraid I must decline your proposal, Your Grace. The investment committee feels that associating with such colorful figures might undermine confidence in our institution.”

“Colorful figures,” Leo repeated flatly.

“Indeed.” Haverton rose, already extending his hand in farewell. “Though if your literary alter ego ever tires of the book trade, perhaps he might consider banking? We could use that sort of, ahem, creativity.”

Leo barely maintained his composure as he showed the banker out.

The moment the door closed, he swept the papers from his desk with a violent oath. “Damn that woman and her blasted stories!”

“I take it the meeting didn’t go well,” Noah said from the doorway.

“Haverton declined the investment.” Leo paced the length of his study. “Because of those damnable stories.”

“Ah.” Noah settled into a chair. “The bookshop one. Quite imaginative, I thought. Though I hadn’t realized you had such a profound interest in literature.”

Leo shot him a withering look. “It’s not about me.”

“No? The tall, brooding nobleman with ‘eyes the color of autumn leaves’ who possesses a ‘particular talent for making ladies forget themselves among the classics’?”

“Half the lords in London have hazel eyes.”

“And how many have a distinctive scar across their left shoulder?” Noah countered. “From a duel in Naples as I recall—which your literary counterpart shares in rather exquisite detail.”

Leo stopped mid-pace. “How did she know about that?”

“The same way she knew about the conservatory, I imagine.” Noah shrugged. “London ladies talk, especially about men like you.”

Leo rubbed his temples. The story had spread faster than any previous one, consuming drawing room conversations and club gossip alike. He’d even overheard his own footman discussing it with the cook that morning.

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