Page 53 of Duke It Out
I clear my throat and ignore his comment. “I—um, we—I need to talk to you about the diaries.”
His jaw tightens again and then an expression crosses his face so fleetingly I wonder if I’ve imagined it. Then it’s gone, replaced with his usual stony restraint. But it’s enough to make me pause.
“The diaries.” His voice is low. His eyes flicker to the pile of red-covered journals on my desk and there’s a shift in his expression. He folds his arms and his chin lifts slightly, as if he’s bracing for a fight.
I pull out the pages I’ve marked with sticky notes, flipping books open and laying them face up on the desk. “There’s something… off. And I don’t know, I’m not sure what to do.”
“What do you mean?” The words are hissed, his mouth barely opening.
I hesitate, feeling the weight of his attention on me. “There’s—” I choose my words carefully, almost wincing as I say them. “There’s a restoration grant that was supposed to go toward the stables. But he says he spent it converting the orangery. And it’s been signed off by someone who doesn’t exist. I checked.”
The hand he’s braced on the desk clenches briefly and the knuckles turn white.
“Are you suggesting that someone has been stealing from the estate?” He shoots me a sideways look.
I shake my head. “I think someone might have been mismanaging funds. Or—” I shake my head for a moment, “Removing them. Maybe.”
He rubs the dark stubble of his jaw and then I watch as his gaze flickers over the pages, and something crosses hisexpression, frustration, maybe, or the first crack in his ice-cool exterior.
“You seemed to be enjoying yourself in my absence.”
I glance up, my eyes meeting his. His voice is low and controlled, but there’s something else there. Something simmering below the surface.
I tip my head and feign innocence. “I wasn’t aware I needed your permission to use the pool.”
There’s a pulse quickening under my skin that has nothing to do with anger.
Rory steps closer and I’m conscious of the heat of his body through the fabric of his shirt. His sleeves are rolled again, and I watch his forearms flex as he presses his hands down on the desk.
“You don’t.” His eyes don’t leave mine. A slow heat seems to curl somewhere low in my stomach, unwelcome but impossible to ignore. I try to force a casual shrug.
“If you want to lay down some rules,” I say, pushing the chair away and standing to face him.
It’s meant to be flippant, defensive. But his eyes narrow and he glances away, hauling in a ragged breath. I watch the muscle tick in his jaw for a moment.
“Perhaps next time, invite someone that isn’t my brother.”
I arch a brow, something twisting in my chest.
“Jealous?”
He doesn’t answer straight away. He picks up his whisky and takes a slow sip, watching me steadily before placing it down with measured calm.
“Careful.” He steps even closer, so I have to tilt my head to keep his gaze. “You don’t want to know what I’d do if I was.”
The ticking of the clock seems to be echoing around the empty room. A log shifts in the grate and a shower of sparksflies up the chimney. My chest raises and falls. I should say something. I should move.
But I don’t. And neither does he.
“Edie,” he says, and the word is a low growl, like a warning.
I tilt my head slightly as his hand takes my chin, tipping my face up as he leans in and kisses me. He catches my lower lip for a moment, and I gasp, my hands reaching up to feel the solid muscle of his back. His fingers tangle in my wet hair and I hear him groan against my mouth as he pulls me against him for a moment and then?—
“We can’t do this,” he says roughly. His eyes drop to the button of my shirt and as I watch as he reaches out, fingering it for a moment, as if battling with his conscience. I look down and see the dark hairs on his wrist and the faded ink of the thistle tattoo on his forearm and I take an unsteady breath and sidestep towards the desk, knocking a pile of diaries to the floor.
It’s as if Dickie Kinnaird himself has walked into the room. The atmosphere changes in an instant. Rory stiffens and steps away, and mask of the duty-bound duke returns.
“Forgive me,” he says brusquely. “That was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”
