Page 54 of Duke of Pride

Oxygen whooshed out of her. She was certain that the last breath she would ever draw was the one just before Stephen took her hands in his and blew his hot breath on them.

“You are reckless, Victoria.” He sounded genuinely concerned. “Venturing out in…this.”

“Says the man who ventured out with his shirt.”

“Touché.” He smirked and looked up at her.

Too close, so close, not close enough.

Stephen snapped out of it first, dropped her hands, and straightened his back. He leaned against the lemon tree, putting even more distance between them. As he let his head fall back, Victoria followed the silver moonlight shading his cheekbones, his sharp jawline, his bobbing Adam’s apple.

“Uhm, the house party is a success,” she commented to dispel her thoughts.

“It is,” he admitted, still looking up at the moon through the glass. “You have officially restored my name as a gracious host.”

“I did not do?—”

He looked down at her, and she forgot what she was going to complain about.

“You did. Can we not argue about that, too?”

Victoria simply nodded, accepting the compliment gracefully.

“Have you decided on your dance card tomorrow?” he asked.

Victoria’s heart stuttered. She sensed the sudden shift in the air, and her head was spinning from the sudden changes. She was not mad, somehow. It was not deliberate, not some game. Stephen was too straightforward for this. He, too, was trying to find his footing.

“You sound like a general planning a campaign.” She smirked, their banter a familiar ground.

“Isn’t it?” His mouth quirked. “Strategy, alliances, calculated retreats…”

“You are merely trying to find me a husband.”

Stephen studied her. “You always refer toourplan, as if it were something I desire. You truly are not interested in marriage?”

Victoria looked away and out at the night spreading across the immaculate grass. She could say half the truth. She valued her independence, and no man could ever understand her intellectual pursuits. Everyone in the ton knew her as the bluestocking lady. But for some reason, she couldn’t lie to him. Not tonight.

“No, Stephen. I do not wish to marry. I fear almost nothing in the world?—”

“The way you screamed for me when you thought a spider was attacking you is evidence to the contrary.”

She chuckled. Perhaps this was why she didn’t want to lie to him. Somehow, even by insulting her—but not really—he made everything easier.

“I did sayalmost nothing,Your Grace,” she said with a cocked eyebrow.

“Spoken like a true barrister writing a contract,” he allowed. “You were saying?”

“I fear marriage,” she stated flatly.

Stephen looked at her seriously. He didn’t wear that dismissive look men had when they talked about marriage with women.

“I understand,” he said. “For ladies, it can be… permanent.”

“It is more than that.” Victoria looked down at her hands. “You see, my father…”

Stephen didn’t move a muscle, said nothing, and didn’t push. Victoria looked up and saw him waiting for her to take her time to answer. For an obnoxious man, he could be so considerate. Somehow, that was worse.

“Let’s just say that my mother withered away in a cruel, loveless marriage. I do not wish this on anyone. And I do not want this for myself.”

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