Page 35 of Twisted Kings

There's nothing else I'm supposed to be doing while she's in her lessons, as far as my phone tells me, there's no trip to prepare for or other outing. It's just a regular day.

"I'd love that," I say to her, and her smile broadens. It's as if the sun has come out from behind the clouds, and for a moment I wonder if the duke looks like this when he smiles.

That's not something I've seen him do yet, but maybe one day. He's so severe and tied up by whatever occupies him that his expression is always solemn. I'd like to think that if I were a duke, with my own estate and miles and miles of land to explore, with a full staff and billions of dollars at my disposal, I'd smile more.

Maybe it's true what they say, that a title doesn't bring you happiness.

Benedict seems happy enough for the both of them. A littletoocomfortable.

"What do you think?" Madeline asks me later that afternoon, clipping her blue velvet helmet on, her dark brown curls braided into two tails over her shoulders. She looks like a miniature of some great riding lady, small button-down shirt a little too big on her, and cream riding breeches free of a single smudge. That won't be the case once she's done riding, but for now, there's not a stray hair out of place.

"You look very chic," I tell her, and she beams. The outdoor riding ring is shaded with a giant retractable ceiling which shocked me when I first saw it. Such a thing is so expensive, but I guess the duke can afford the very best.

"Does your father ride?" I ask her as we walk through the side gate and I pull it closed behind me. At the far end, her riding master waits, with a tacked-out pony and a mounting block.

"When he has time. Uncle says that he used to do it a lot more before I was born, but things are busy now." She sighs, the footing soft and scuffing over the tops of her boots. "You'll get mad if I'm too messy," she says, looking down at where they're already collecting dust.

"Not in the slightest," I reply, "the whole point of riding is to get dirty." I pat her shoulder. "If I don't see at least three smudges on this white, I'll be disappointed and think you didn't have any fun."

Madeline smiles up at me, heartbreakingly sweet, and my chest clenches. Whatever I'm doing here, hiding from my past, trying to eke out a financial cushion for myself, there's a little girl who is in desperate need of love and attention. It's obvious the duke barely has time for her, and her uncle is nothing more than a lecherous drunk. And I haven't seen hair or whisper of the duchess—

"Excellent my lady, you look ready for the day, thank you nanny," the riding master says, a red-haired man named Jethro about my age, who barely looks at me before helping Madeline into the saddle. I duck under the riding ring rails, a set of raised bleachers there with cushions every few feet waiting for me so I can sit and watch. There's a breeze under the roof here, but the day is already baking hot, and I can feel the sweat gathering at the back of my neck under my hair. I wish I'd brought a pin to twist it up and out of the way.

Jethro's walking alongside Madeline as her pony trots, and he's trying to help her correct her seat and posture.

The bleachers vibrate and clang. I look to the side, and my breath catches.

Benedict stands there, looking out of place here in a baseball cap, white t-shirt, and scruffy, ripped jeans. The California sun sets his skin on fire, and the breeze tugs at his dark hair. All I can think of is his hands, tracing my body, pulling me close, the firebrand of his mouth on mine.

My breath stays caught until my chest feels like it's going to explode, and a shiver runs along my spine. My skin tingles. He walks toward me, careful on the slippery metal of the bleachers.

"This seat taken?" He asks, eyes sparkling with mirth at his own stupid joke.

"Yes," I reply, and look forward at the ring, where Madeline is now trotting on her own, posting beautifully, her braids bouncing along her back.

"Liar," he breathes, and sits next to me, too close. His knee brushes mine, and I can feel his presence like the heat of a fireplace, or the crackle of a raw electrical wire, dangerous to touch.

He's pure peril, sitting an inch from me, so close that if I breathe too hard, my arm will touch his. If I shift, my thigh will press into his.

He leans forward, the proud profile of his face is too handsome for fairness, and I'm sure that I've seen him in some magazine prior to ever meeting him. Probably a shoot inTown and Countryif he's proper, orHello!if he's not.

Lordling takes it all off! Showing the other half are just like us!

March Marquis Madness - These five eligibles have all the ladies in a swoon

Lord Benedict: Top Five Characteristics He Likes in a Woman

My mind spins through possible headlines as he turns to me, knee bumping mine, his green eyes shadowed with want.

Definitely not proper. He's absolutely been inHello!, because I've seen that look before, and it wasn't one of the few times I let him into my immediate sphere.

I pull my hat off and begin fanning myself with the braided grasses, shifting away to give us both some space.

Not that he wants any. Not that I want it either, but I can't do this, not again, I need to keep myself safe.

"You're very good at pretending you're not interested," he murmurs, as if there was any risk that Jethro and Madeline could hear us at the far end of the ring. There's no way they possibly would though, not over Jethro's commands, the wind, and pony's hoofbeats.

"I need to stay focused on my charge," I say, and his eyebrows lift.

---