Page 7 of A Duke to Steal Her
“Preparing for dinner, of course.” He pulled his cravat free with deliberate slowness, the soft whisper of fabric against skin unnaturally loud in the quiet room. “One cannot dine in travel-dusty attire. I could have a fresh dress sent over for you, too, if you’d like.”
Her back stiffened further.
“Certainly, not. Have you no decency?”
“According to most of society, very little,” he replied cheerfully, as he unfastened his shirt. The garment slid from his shoulders, leaving him bare-chested in the close confines of the room. “Does my state of undress disturb you, Lady Emily? I assure you, this is quite modest compared to what you’d witness at any gentleman’s club.”
The evening light filtering through the window burnished his skin to gold. He knew precisely what she would see if she turned—years of fencing and boxing had sculpted his physique into something that had made more than one opera dancer sigh with appreciation.
“I am not accustomed to observing half-naked men,” she hissed, still rigidly facing the wall.
Her head tilted slightly, just enough to reveal she was listening intently for his movements.
His bare feet made no sound on the wooden floor as he approached her.
“A pity,” he murmured, deliberately pitching his voice lower, letting it rumble from deep in his chest. “Perhaps your education has been lacking.”
He stopped directly behind her, close enough to feel the heat emanating from her body and catch the subtle scent of her hair that made his mouth inexplicably dry.
His breath stirred the fine golden hair at her nape, and he watched gooseflesh rise on her exposed skin in response.
“Or perhaps you’re not as indifferent as you pretend to be,” he added.
She whirled around, eyes blazing with indignation, only to find herself mere inches from his bare chest. The words of whatwould surely have been a scathing retort died on her lips, replaced by a small, involuntary intake of breath.
Ambrose stood perfectly still, allowing her gaze to travel where it would. He watched with visceral satisfaction as a flush spread from the modest neckline of her gown, creeping up her throat to stain her cheeks crimson. Her eyes, clearly against her will, dropped to trace the contours of his torso.
Something electric crackled between them. For a fractional moment, her pupils dilated, and Ambrose felt an answering tug of desire.
“Such hunger in your gaze,” he said softly, his voice huskier than intended. “How ever shall I protect my virtue?”
It was intended to break the spell, and it worked.
Lady Emily pushed past him, the brush of her skirts against his legs sending an unwelcome jolt through his body.
She made a desperate dash for the door, only it did not budge.
Slender fingers rattled the handle with increasing desperation before she turned back to him. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, a combination of exertion and something more primal. It mirrored his own quickened breathing.
“Looking for this?” He dangled the key from his fingers, using the moment to regain his composure.
“How dare you lock me in here!” she snapped, her flaring eyes replacing the momentary vulnerability. “This is imprisonment!”
“I prefer to think of it as precautionary planning.” He tucked the key into the pocket of his trousers, noticing her gaze following the movement. “I’m not an idiot, Lady Emily. Of course you’d try to escape at the first opportunity.”
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, knuckles white with restraint.
Such control in such a small package.
“That’s because I do not want to be part of whatever it is you’re doing here. You cannot hold me captive forever.” A strand of golden hair fell across her flushed cheek, and Ambrose fought an inexplicable urge to brush it back.
“I have no intention of it.” He tilted his head, deliberately changing tactics to break the growing tension between them. “What’s your favorite dinner? I’ll have the kitchen prepare whatever you prefer.”
She stared at him, clearly thrown by the abrupt shift. The confusion in her eyes was almost endearing. “You’re mad.”
“Mad and hungry,” he agreed with a careless shrug that drew her gaze back to his shoulders. “Surely one can be both.”
“I want to go home,” she said, voice suddenly small rather than defiant.
