Page 26 of The Duke Undone

How had she entered into such a complicated new arrangement? Even her breathing seemed tangled with his. She had to go still, hold her breath, to begin extrication. He gentled his lips, coaxing, teasing. He could bring a statue to life with that mouth, make Venus sway from her plinth.

She brought up her hands and pushed once, hard, against his chest. He was immovable. A solid wall. But after a moment, he stepped away.

His green eyes dazzled, hot and bright between those bone black lashes.

“Bravo,” he said dryly, with unpardonable composure. “I won’t forget that anytime soon.”

He pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen forward, the gesture so graceful she felt her heart trip.

Beauty would be her doom.

She sniffed. “I should hope your mind isn’t so marinated. It’s midday and you smell . . .”

“Like what?”

He smelled delectable, like he’d been spiced. His scent still flooded her.

“Not like a barrel of gin,” she said. “That is, sober.”

“I am sober. I’ve given it up.”

She repressed a snort. She was the terrible liar? He frowned. For some reason, it seemed to matter to him that she believe his claim.

“Congratulations,” she said. “Did you leave your blue ribbon at home? It’s probably for the best. Temperance badges elicit rude comments in bars and gaming houses. Brothels too, no doubt.”

He gritted his teeth at her. Fine white teeth, flawless.

“You jump to conclusions about my habits based on an anomaly. I was not myself in October.”

She lived in Shoreditch, not under a rock. Scandal sheets sold on street corners all over London. She did snort.

“And before? In September? When you broke the window at All Saints?”

He stretched his neck, turning his head to the side. “Sometimes anomalies come in twos.” The way his nose came down straight from his forehead—the impression it gave of strength and nobility—he’d done nothing to merit such a profile.

“A sacrilegious act.” She folded her arms. “It might have been a window by Burne-Jones! He is a brilliant painter.”

In fact, one of her and Kate’s favorites.

“His stained-glass designs aren’t decorations only,” she said. “They’re masterpieces.”

At that, he began to laugh. He hadn’t laughed like that in her presence, boyishly. Dimples creased his cheeks.

Dimples. She was entirely undefended against dimples.

“It’s not the vandalism of the church that concerns you,” he said, “but the possibility that the work of Burne-Jones might have been its target.”

“Of course the vandalism of the church concerns me,” she snapped. “And if you’d so much as cracked a panel of a Burne-Jones window, you’d be concerned too, because you’d be going straight to hell.”

“I don’t suppose my innocence of this particular crime will spare me the fate you prescribe.”

He didn’t sound concerned. He sounded cold, matter-of-fact. His smile had vanished. He had done all manner of appalling things, things he remembered and things he’d forgotten. The papers had reported some of it. The lion’s share of misadventures were no doubt unrecorded. A man like him would never change.

“No, I suppose not,” she murmured. “Although I’ve heard you’re not so wicked as your brother.”

She shouldn’t have said it. If he’d sounded cold before, now his voice iced over.

“Spare me your thoughts regarding my brother.” He was looking down his nose at her, a look that made her want to shrivel.