Page 17 of The Duke Who Dared Me
Her mouth dropped open.“It has everything to do with him.You agreed to help him find me a husband by the end of the Season.You agreed to the wager.”
The words hit him worse than her slap had in the park.Alistair's shoulders went rigid, his jaw clenching as the full weight of what he'd done—what he’d promised—crashed over him.He’d wagered on her future.On finding her a suitable match.And now...
Alistair stepped closer.“Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy that kiss.”
Verity’s dark eyes widened before she scoffed and shoved at his chest.
He fell back a step, willingly.
“You arrogant, pompous?—”
Alistair raised his brow, fighting back the smirk tugging at his lips.Let her be angry if it meant…
This time, it was her mouth that crashed into his.Her fingers tangled in his hair, her body pressed close.Like with everything involving Verity, the kiss was chaos—frenzied and angry and impossibly hot.
Alistair groaned against her lips, gripping her hips, pulling her flush against him like a man starved.She tasted like tea and raspberry jam and fury, and he didn’t care what it meant.Didn’t care if she was wrong for him.That she was the opposite of everything he ever told himself he wanted.
She was right here,real and unforgiving.Punishing.
It wasn’t about the wager.It wasn’t even about the kiss.It was the terrifying sense that she was already inside his head and wouldn’t leave without tearing something loose.
They broke apart with a gasp.
He was breathless.She looked murderous.
“That never happened,” she said, yanking herself from his grip.She blinked hard, then brushed her hands over her dark-brown hair, and cleared her throat.
“But it did.Twice now,” he said, his voice barely steady.“Either that was my imagination, or…”
“Neither kiss happened.”Her words came too quickly, breathless.“It won’t happen again.It can’t.You understand?”
Her hands were shaking as she smoothed her skirts, and there was something wild in her eyes, like she'd surprised herself as much as him.
“Can’t?”he demanded, his voice ragged.“Am I supposed to convince myself I tripped and fell against your lips?”
She pressed her back against the stable wall, as if she could disappear into the wood itself.“It was a mistake.An accident.”Her voice caught, barely a whisper.“I allowed my feelings to cloud my better judgment.”
Feelings.The word echoed in his mind like the abbey bells at Westminster.She had feelings.For him?
And God help him, watching her struggle against whatever was building between them, seeing her so utterly undone by her own actions, was the moment he knew he was lost.Completely and irrevocably lost.
She could deny it all she wanted.Could call it a mistake or an accident until her voice went hoarse.But he’d felt the way she’d kissed him back, desperate and hungry.Had seen the shock in her own eyes afterward, as if she couldn't quite believe what she’d done.Verity was all fire and determination, and still, he wanted to beg for more.
“Don’t,” she cut in.“Don’t say my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you mean to say it.Like you, like I might…” She trailed off, pressing her lips together.
He stared at her, waiting, but when she didn’t continue, he turned on his heel and stalked toward his horse.He didn’t say another word.Didn't look back.Didn't let himself admit he already wanted to kiss her again.
And they weren't finished.Wager be damned.
* * *
An hour later,he strode into his Mayfair residence, Bisham House, his boots muddy and his mood darker than the gathering storm clouds.It smelled like snow.All he wanted was the sanctuary of his study, a stiff brandy, and the luxury of reliving every second of Verity’s mouth against his without interruption.
Instead, he found his mother.
