Page 17 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke

“Oh?”

“I’m a fan of John Donne’s work myself.” The duke finished perusing her books, his gaze now fixed directly on her. “Tell me, have you readThe Flea?”

Thalia had not been expecting a literary discussion when she first entered her room, and she certainly hadn’t expected one from the duke. She drew towards her belongings, taking a book in hand as some excuse to do…something, she supposed. “I’m afraid I haven’t, Your Grace.”

He seemed pleased with her response, and cleared his throat lightly.

Mark but this flea, and mark in this,

How little that which though deniest me is;

It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,

And in this flea our two bloods mingled be

The duke paused, seemingly gauging Thalia for her reaction. “It’s one of my personal favorites. I wonder… if you could deduce why that is?”

It was worded like a challenge, but not one Thalia was so eager to take on. Still, it felt rude to simply brush past his question, and Thalia set her book to the side, kneeling down to collect a few dresses from one of the abandoned suitcases. “It’s… a unique poem, certainly. And you yourself seem drawn to unique things, Your Grace.”

From the corner of her eye, she watched him draw closer to her side. “Do you consider yourself unique, Miss Sutton?”

Briefly, her breath caught in her chest, and she forced it out as nervous laughter. “I would say I’ve had unique circumstances, though in the whole of London, I would consider myself quite average.”

She moved to put her dress away, her skin tingling as the duke’s hand found hers. The splinted one, precisely, and he held it with just the right amount of tenderness and restraint. He wanted her to stay, but not if it injured her further.

“Do… you see me as wholly unique, Your Grace?”

* * *

He did. Gabriel Harding did, and he was not willing to admit as much to himself, let alone aloud for Thalia to hear. Oh, he’d had women come and go in his life, hunted and pleasured dozens far above Thalia’s own stature.

Yet this woman who stood before him—dress in arm and green eyes so wide and desiring more than life had offered her—was so inexplicably different. The urge to pull her close, to devour her there and then, was almost inescapable, and Gabriel fought to keep himself under control.

There was nothing outwardly alluring—typically alluring—at any rate. Her dress was rather modest, her hair done up in a typical manner and powder practically non-existent.

But all of this only served to accent what made her so desirable; the curve of her waist, the grace of her stance, the warmth and optimistic gleam that hid buried deep within her expressive face.

Even the way her lips pursed—the way she looked questioningly at him now, as if waiting for him to make the next move. A little rabbit, familiar with carefully watching the wolves life had sent after her.

Gabriel gently tugged against her hand, and to his delight, she pulled closer. He cradled her splinted wrist, fully taking it in under the guise of careful inspection. “This is healing well, then?”

Thalia nodded, the scent of sunshine bouncing off her curls and infecting Gabriel’s mind. “Thank you again for helping. You really didn’t need to.”

Oh, but he would do so much more to help. Gabriel was ready to destroy any standing Giles Tilbury hoped to have among high society, and to his utter bemusement, he still hadn’t a proper reason as to why. Deep down, he had an inkling, and deep down, he suspected Robin had guessed it as well.

What are your intentions with my sister?

Gabriel gently placed a kiss against her bandaged knuckle, gaze rising to meet Thalia’s. “Such matters aren’t your concern anymore, little rabbit.”

“B-but…”

“Consider this time for you to recover,” Gabriel added. “So I may have the chance to catch you properly. Prey is hardly worth the chase if it is injured, after all.”

There—he could feel the pleasant shiver running up from her fingertips and traveling the length of her hand, sending her cheeks into a bright flush.

Gabriel stood upright, daring to pull Thalia even closer to his person, and she obliged. He inspected her face, the roundness of her cheeks and fullness of her lips, and he wondered what part of her body would taste the most divine. “What are you thinking about?”

Thalia looked as if he’d just asked her a wholly intimate question. “Th-Thinking, your Grace?”

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