Page 4 of Duke of Pride

“The best idea you had all night,” Victoria quipped.

She turned to leave, her dressing gown swaying gently around her ankles as she made her way to the door.

Stephen dropped onto the edge of the sofa before the warm fire, dragging his hands over his face, his fingers pressing into his temples to fight the oncoming headache—or perhaps to squeeze out the ghost of her warmth still clinging to his skin.

Her hand was on the door handle when she paused.

“Your Grace,” she said, her voice softer than before.

No trace of irritation, no cleverness. Just a quiet tremble wrapped in formality.

Stephen looked up. Her back was still turned to him. She hesitated, then slowly looked over her shoulder. Her eyes flicked to his, and for a moment, all the fire in her seemed to waver, the storm behind her gaze calming into something… unsure.

“Did you…” she began, but the words stuck in her throat. She swallowed. “Did you see anything?”

Stephen let out a long breath, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, pinching the bridge of his nose before straightening.

“Whatever do you mean, Miss Victoria?”

She shifted, her eyes falling to the floor for a moment before she looked back at him again. Braver now.

“Did you… see me?”

The question struck like a crack of thunder and threatened to shatter his resolve. She was still waiting for an answer.

“No, Miss Victoria,” he replied smoothly. “As you so delicately put it, I barged in here like a bull. I did not even light a candle.”

He watched her carefully as he spoke. Her gaze searched his face as if reading the truth to his words, his noble bearing, the honesty in his eyes, the control in his voice. She let out a soft breath, barely audible, and nodded. Without any more delay, she finally left the room.

With a maddened sigh, Stephen leaned back into the sofa, the leather groaning beneath him. He hadn’t lied. In truth, he hadn’t caught the faintest glimpse of her in the darkness, not even in that brief flash of lightning. But he had felt her, every inch of her.

And somehow, that was worse than anything his eyes might have seen. The memory lived in his skin now, seared into his hands, etched into his palm, where her waist had fit too perfectly. That kind of knowing was far more dangerous.

CHAPTER2

Rules

Victoria went downstairs for breakfast even before the staff had the opportunity to set the table right. But she had given up pretending she was going to sleep well into the night as she tossed and turned in her bed. She decided to drown her frustration in buttery croissants.

She was ready to do exactly that when Dorothy, the Dowager Duchess of Colborne, walked in with her usual smile, having had a good night’s sleep, unaware of what unfolded under her roof.

“Victoria! You are up early!” Dorothy approached the table.

“His Grace is here!” Victoria blurted out.

Dorothy stopped in her tracks and looked around as if her son would be conjured by sheer thought. Which, given the Devil he was, might happen.

“Stephen is here?” She seemed beyond herself with happiness. “He didn’t send word.”

That would have saved us the… incident.

The ‘incident’ was what Victoria decided to refer to as the dressing room debacle from now on. Her mind kept betraying her, replaying the way his hand had landed, not clumsily or by accident, but firmly, as though claiming the curve of her hip.

It was scandalous. It was outrageous. And, worst of all, it was unforgettable. Victoria didn’t see anything, and that was the main reason she believed that he hadn’t either, but she felt himeverywhere,and that was somehow worse.

“I haven’t seen him for so long,” Dorothy lamented, her voice filled with longing.

She turned to head back out of the room, but then she paused and looked at Victoria.

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