Page 61 of Duke of Pride

“Miss Victoria,” Blackwell protested. “I thought I would have the honor of your company today.”

Stephen’s fingers tightened around his fork. Victoria’s eyes darted to him for one endless second. She could accept, provoke him, openly defy him. His blood boiled at the thought, and he was afraid he would make a scene, appearances be damned.

“You’re too kind, Your Grace,” she said, her voice carefully light. “But I’ve already promised Annabelle.”

A lie. A beautiful, calculated lie.

Stephen’s pulse roared in his ears as she moved toward them, her steps measured, her posture flawless. But he knew. And, God help him, the sheer perversity of it all sent a rush of dark satisfaction through him. Victoria did asheasked her to.

She made her way to his side of the table, just Annabelle between them. She took her seat, all polite smiles and clever retorts about her tardiness, but Stephen could see the tightness of her movements. And he knew the real reason. She couldn’t sleep either.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” she greeted in a slightly hoarse voice.

Did she catch a cold, after all?

Stephen panicked.

“Good morning, Miss Victoria. I hope you are in good health.”

“My health is good.”

She gave him a clear answer.

It was not her health. It was everything that was in disarray. Stephen was equal parts intrigued and guilty. He made her feel this way with his actions, his decisions. He was a gentleman. He shouldn’t have behaved like that. Did she lay awake, thinking of her situation and how her reputation would be ruined?

Or was she thinking of what they did in the greenhouse, reminiscing about the way he made her feel? Did she chase after the same heights of pleasure on her own, alone in her bed?

He coughed to mask the moan that rose from deep within him. Now, that image would be etched into his brain forever.

He dared a look her way while she talked with his mother. He was shameless to have such thoughts of an unmarried lady under his protection. His mother and sister were on either side. But there was no stopping the emotions, raw and naked as they formed.

His hands twitched. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to reach for her and feel more of her, have her finally bare to him, open, pliant under his body.

Stephen!

He wanted more than that, and that was scary. Desire and lust were the basest of instincts, but those he could understand. He was a man, she was a pulsing woman. But he needed to hold her, smooth the lines of worry on her forehead, and promise her that nothing would ever harm her.

Stop!

This was most improper. And it stopped now. He was a man of honor, and he allowed himself to soil that honor. He permitted too much smear on his integrity. And hers. This stopped now. Only one solution remained.

“So, today’s program!” Dorothy touched his hand to draw his attention. “Croquet!”

She was vibrating with mischief, reminding him of that fateful day he yelled at them from the window.

“Then, Miss Victoria.” Blackwell smiled. “You can make up for leaving me desolate during breakfast by being on my team.”

Stephen would bludgeon him with the mallet.

“Miss Victoria will join me,” he declared, eyeing Blackwell over the rim of his cup.

“Most unfair.” The rake had the audacity to question him. “You can enjoy Miss Victoria’s company anytime you want, since she lives under your roof.”

“Trust me, it’s more for your safety. Miss Victoria can be lethal with the mallet.”

Dorothy snorted at that. Victoria gave him a look that said she couldn’t believe what was happening.

“I think,” Blackwell said in a voice that dripped with fake sweetness, “I can handle Miss Victoria just fine.”

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