Page 52 of The Design of Dukes (The Beautiful Barringtons 2)

A pained look came over her lovely features. “And I completely understand, Your Grace.”

“You do?” he murmured.

“You wish Theo and me to leave the house party. It is unfortunate you and I have formed such a dislike for each other.”

“Is that what you are calling it?”

“I’ll make an excuse that I’m ill or that I’m concerned for my mother so we may return to London with all haste.” She turned away from him and bent at the waist, giving him another lovely view of her backside, glaringly apparent through the folds of petticoats she was encased in. Her hands flew over the papers spread out across the grass to gather them up.

Andromeda assumed, incorrectly, that he wanted her to leave The Barrow. The very thought created a hollow sensation in the middle of his stomach.

“No. I would never suggest such a thing.” His voice sounded chilly even to his own ears.

“You don’t need to, Your Grace. I take your meaning.”

Andromeda hadn’t the slightest idea how badly David wanted her. He looked over her shoulder as her hands began to stack the papers neatly together. Not drawings of the stream and woods as he’d thought. What most young ladies with a mediocre talent for sketching would draw. But gowns. Dresses. One with a motif of butterflies across the skirt. There was even a sketch of a riding habit.

I have an acquaintance who owns a dress shop.

Andromeda, already fascinating, became more so.

“I don’t wish you to leave the house party,” he said to the trim line of her back.

“My presence clearly annoys you, Your Grace.”

Indeed it did, in so many ways, David had stopped counting. “A correct assessment.”

“Then Theo and I will leave in the morning.”

“No,” he said roughly. “You will not.”

Andromeda’s hands stilled on her drawings, stiffening with what he could only assume was anger at his commanding tone.

David stared at the line of buttons running down her spine. Could he bite them off with his teeth? The dress would fall away from her shoulders, exposing all her glorious skin.

She turned back to face him, angrily tying a piece of leather around the portfolio to keep it closed. “What else could you possibly want, Your Grace? An apology for the insult about your coat? How petty; it was well over a year ago.”

His head fell forward, nose gliding up the slope of her neck, inhaling the soft lavender scent lingering on her skin.

A soft gasp of surprise left her, but she didn’t move away. The portfolio slipped from her hands.

“I want this,” he whispered. David nuzzled the bit of skin just beneath her ear before catching her lips with his.

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