Page 10 of The Duke's Auctioned Virgin
“Is that true?”
“No. It was a bread knife. But the point stands.”
John stared at him for a long moment. Then, against what was clearly his better judgment, he almost smiled. “Just don’t hurt her.”
“That,” Edward said, “is the one thing I can promise.”
He pushed off the tree and walked inside.
The two men nearest the empty chair saw him coming and stood so fast that one of them knocked his wine over. A third man quietly put his bread back down.
Edward pulled out the chair beside Valeria. She was looking at her plate. She had not seen him approach, or she was pretending she hadn’t. She was eating soup in small, careful spoonfuls, and the candlelight was doing something to her hair that he needed to stop noticing.
He did not sit. Rather, he leaned close. Close enough that only she could hear. Without looking at her, he reached across and put a piece of bread on her plate. Casually. The way one would do it for someone one had known for years. He did not say a word about it.
She smelled of lavender and clean linen and something else, something warm underneath. He cataloged that information and put it in the same locked room in his brain where he kept the color of her eyes.
“Were you hoping I’d chop off a hand or two, Duchess?” he murmured. “I can oblige, if you wish.”
She looked up at him. “It does sound like you, Duke.”
“Luckily for me, I don’t need a weapon to beat these poor men.” He met her gaze. “The sooner you realize that, the sooner we can come to an agreement.”
He took her hand and kissed her knuckles again. Held it a beat too long. Her breath caught. Her fingers tensed, then relaxed.
Sir Marcus had gone still. John, who had returned to his seat, was leaning forward.. Caroline had clapped her hand over her mouth.
“I’ll expect you in my chambers after the feast, Duchess,” Edward murmured against Valeria’s knuckles. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
He let go and sat down. Then he tore off a piece of bread and ate it. He could feel her looking at him.
Focus,he told himself.She’s a means to an end.
He did not believe a word of it.
From her other side, Sir Marcus cleared his throat. “Your Grace, might I have the pleasure of a tour of the grounds tomorrow? My own gardens at Hale Park are rather well-known, and I believe I could make some suggestions about the south lawn that would?—”
“I will take that under consideration, Sir Marcus,” Valeria said, cutting him off at the knees without raising her voice.
Edward tore off another piece of bread. He could get used to watching her do that.
Across the table, Lord Barton was trying to catch Valeria’s eye. Mr. Ashworth was writing something on his napkin. Caroline was whispering to John, who was watching Edward with thefocus of a man who had just been told a story about a bread knife and could not decide if it was funny.
Edward ate his bread. He did not look at Valeria again. He did not need to. He could feel exactly where she was in the room, the way he could feel a draft or a loaded weapon. It was instinct.
He did not trust instinct. It had saved his life a hundred times and ruined it twice.
She’s a means to an end,he told himself again.
The bread tasted better than anything he had eaten in years. That was also a problem.
His eyes strayed to Valeria. She was laughing at something her sister whispered, one hand over her mouth, the candlelight catching the column of her throat.
He put the bread down. Picked up his water. Drank it slowly.
You are in trouble,man.And you rode straight into it.
CHAPTER 4
