Page 7 of Wedded to the Duke of Seduction

The London night wrapped around them as they made their way through the winding streets. Noah pointed out the building then took his leave. Leo found a shadowed doorway across the street and settled into wait.

He didn’t even know if the mysterious author would appear today. Still, he had to try, even if he waited all night.

Close to an hour passed before a cloaked figure appeared at the end of the street. She moved quickly and was clearly trying to remain unseen by keeping to the shadows.

Leo watched as she approached the printer’s side door. The light from the clerk’s lamp caught her face for just a moment as she handed over a sheaf of papers—enough for him to glimpse fine features and dark curls.

She turned to leave, and Leo made his move. In three long strides, he caught up with her and spun her into the darkened alley beside the printer’s shop.

She let out a cry of alarm as he captured her.

“Well, well…” He leaned in close enough to catch the scent of roses in her hair. “Haven’t you been a naughty little storyteller?”

CHAPTER 3

“Ahack!” The man’s whistle cut through the night air, and as if by magic, a hackney carriage appeared in front of them.

Before Marina could protest, he had bundled her inside with disturbing efficiency.

The scent of sandalwood and brandy surrounded her before she looked up to meet piercing hazel eyes.

The Duke of Blackmere.

Of course, it could only be him.

“Your Grace,” she gulped, proud that her voice remained steady despite her racing heart, “what do you think you’re doing?”

The dim light from the passing streetlamps illuminated the amused quirk of his mouth as he settled onto the seat opposite her. Marina pressed herself against the carriage wall, trying to put as much distance between them as possible in the tight space. The interior seemed to shrink, filled with his large presence.

“Now, My Lady, there’s no need to worry.” His voice dropped to a purr that sent shivers down her spine. “I assure you I mean no harm.” He leaned forward which forced her to tilt her chin up to maintain eye contact. “I merely wish to discuss your rather scandalous little stories.”

Marina’s heart thundered so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

The Duke of Blackmere was even more imposing up close than the ton’s whispers suggested. Broad-shouldered and powerfully built with eyes that seemed to see straight through her. She had written about men like him—men who commanded rooms simply with presence—but experiencing that power firsthand was altogether different.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, striving for a braveness she didn’t feel. “And I don’t appreciate being accosted in the middle of the night.”

His low chuckle sent heat curling through her belly. “Accosted? That’s rather dramatic. If I wanted to truly accost you, My Lady, you would know it.”

The suggestion in his words hung in the air between them, charged with possibilities that Marina had only dared explore on paper.

Marina’s hand flew to the carriage door. She was a widow who had fallen into disfavor with the ton, but she refused to be intimidated.

Just as her fingers closed around the handle, the Duke’s hand caught her wrist.

Heat surged through her at the contact. It was a jolt of awareness that had little to do with fear and everything to do with the sudden understanding of what her stories’ heroines experienced when the Duke touched them. His grip was gentle but immovable.

From his sharp intake of breath, she knew he’d felt it, too—that dangerous spark between them.

“Let go of me,” Marina demanded, but her voice came out more frantic than she intended.

The Duke made no move to release her. Instead, his thumb traced the delicate bones of her wrist, finding the pulse beneath her skin. “You have an unusual hobby for a lady of the ton,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving hers. “Sneaking about in the dark, writing stories that make dowagers blush and young ladies swoon.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Marina replied, trying to ignore how her body responded to his touch.

Her wrist burned where his fingers held her.

His Grace clicked his tongue and gave a little shake of his head. “I expected an accomplished writer like yourself to be cleverer than that.” The amusement in his voice deepened.

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