Page 22 of The Duke Who Dared Me
“I did.”
“Then perhaps we should be very quiet,” she said, lifting her chin, “so no one suspects we’re trapped in here together, with my dignity on the floor and your infernal buttons to blame.”
His mouth twitched.But he said nothing.
Verity turned away from him, pressing her back against the door, but there was nowhere to go in the cramped space.Her body felt strange, as though humming with an energy she couldn’t name.Her breasts ached, and she had the maddening urge to step closer to him instead of away.
Was this what it meant to desire a man?To crave his touch even when you despised him for it?
“Verity.”His voice was softer now, almost careful.
She kept her gaze fixed on the wooden shelves, anywhere but his face.“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t say my name like that.Don’t look at me like…” She swallowed hard.“Just don’t.”
The silence stretched between them, heavy and charged.She could hear his breathing, feel the warmth radiating from his body in the small space.Every nerve ending seemed alive, aware of his proximity.
And that terrified her more than being discovered ever could.It was becoming dangerously clear that she was softening.And she'd be damned if she'd give the Duke of Tunstall the satisfaction of knowing it.
* * *
Alistair stared at the door.Then at Verity.Then back at the door, as if it might spontaneously open out of sheer frustration.
“I’ll yell,” she threatened again, arms folded across her chest.“If you so much as breathe suggestively, I’ll scream bloody murder.”
“Very well,” he said tightly.“I’ll just stop breathing altogether.See if that makes you happy.”
“It might.”
God help him, he wanted to laugh.Or touch her.Or kiss her again and damn the consequences.
He’d only ducked in here to avoid Lady Clara’s nonstop commentary about the weather and his hobbies, and then Verity had burst through the door like she was fleeing the hounds of hell.
The darkness of the closet wrapped around them, but he could just make out her profile of sharp chin, round cheeks, the stubborn tilt of her mouth.
“You’re glaring at me,” she muttered.
“I’m not.”
“Are too.”
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?Whether to strangle me or seduce me?”
“Both,” he said honestly.
Her breath hitched.Barely.But he heard it.
She shifted back a step, but there was nowhere to go.Her shoulder brushed against the wall, releasing the faint scent of orange blossoms.He hated how well he knew her perfume now.Hated more how he found himself craving the smell of it in her absence.
“This was a mistake,” she said stiffly.“I can’t believe you locked the door.”
“I didn’t lock the bloody door,Verity!It shut on its own.”
They both went still.Breathing hard.Too close.Always too close.
