Page 57 of A Duke to Steal Her
“Look at the mess you’ve made, Duchess. I’d better clean it up,” Ambrose murmured, reaching up to catch the drop with his thumb.
Instead of offering her a napkin, he brought his thumb to his own mouth, licking the chocolate away with deliberate slowness.
Emily’s eyes widened, her breath catching audibly. Her entire body went rigid, her hands gripping the arms of her chair as though anchoring herself. He could see desire battling with determination in her blue eyes, need fighting against pride.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them crackled with tension, thick enough to cut.
Then Emily stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, her voice admirably steady despite the flush staining her cheeks, “I believe I’ll retire early.”
She moved toward the door with measured steps
Ambrose felt pure masculine satisfaction. He’d seen the hunger in her eyes, the way her body had responded despite her evident resistance.
“Good night, wife,” he called after her, his voice rich with amusement. “Do try not to think of me too much.”
“So, tell me, old friend, how was the wedding night?”
Ambrose’s hand stilled on his brandy glass, his green eyes turning dangerous. The private room above the Crossed Keys was dimly lit, perfect for a conversation that required discretion, but William’s smirk was visible even in the shadows.
“That,” Ambrose spoke through lips that barely moved, “is none of your damned business.”
William leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying himself. “Oh. Judging by that thunderous expression, I’d say things aren’t progressing quite as smoothly as expected.”
“Drop it, William.”
“My, my. Look how you bristle the moment I mention your duchess.” William’s grin widened. “It’s quite fascinating, really. From your hostage to your wife. Quite an interesting leap there. I’ve never seen you so protective of a woman before. Almost as though you actually care about her.”
Ambrose set his glass down with deliberate control. “I said drop it.”
“Of course, of course.” William waved a dismissive hand. “Still, you’re remarkably on edge.”
Rather than rise to the bait further, Ambrose changed course entirely. “I may finally have a way of getting that bastard Peirce.”
William’s expression sobered slightly. “Ambrose?—”
“I’ve been working on something. A long-term strategy that will see him destroyed piece by piece.”
“Listen to yourself,” William said, leaning forward. “Your first plan backfired spectacularly. You set out to ruin Peirce and ended up married. Now you have a good wife—better than you deserve, frankly—and you’re talking about more schemes?” He shook his head. “Can you not count your good fortune and let sleeping dogs lie?”
Ambrose’s chair scraped against the floor as he stood abruptly, his face dark with fury.
“Let it lie?” His voice was low, dangerous. “How can I forget Lavinia? How can I forget how he treated Emily at the Weatherby’s ball?”
William’s eyes widened at the venom in his friend’s tone.
“You think I should ignore the fact that he’s out there while I sit in domestic bliss?” Ambrose’s hands clenched into fists. “You know nothing about what drives me, William. Nothing at all.”
“Ambrose, wait?—”
But Ambrose was already striding toward the door, his face set in lines of cold determination. “Enjoy your drink, Fulton. And next time, keep your counsel to yourself.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Your Grace, the carriage is ready whenever you wish to depart.”
Emily adjusted her gloves and checked her reticule one final time. After last night’s…encountershe needed distance from Nightfell Manor and her insufferable husband. When Martha had mentioned during her morning toilette that several villagers had been asking about meeting the new duchess, Emily had seized upon the excuse eagerly.
“Thank you, Simmons. I believe it’s important to establish connections with the local community as soon as possible.”
