Page 20 of All Duke and Bothered

A dark smirk crossed his face. “Your jailor? Oh, you have no idea.”

Need he be so handsome in his black tailcoat and his black breeches, the dancing fire of the candles standing on the mantel reflecting from his dark eyes and hair and giving his olive skin a beautiful glow.

But however handsome he looked, however he had disarmed her just now with his permission to paint, with his compliment on her skill, she must remember he was the devil himself.

She straightened her neck and her shoulders. “You are determined to ruin my father for reasons you hide from me. You are telling me how to live my life.”

“Am I?” he asked, his nostrils flaring.

“You are. But, Duke, no matter what you think to yourself… You. Do. Not. Own. Me. I will never belong to you.”

Their eyes locked, and she was sinking in the black depths of his irises. She breathed heavily, glaring at him. He glared right back. It felt like the heat of the grate ignited the air between them.

“It is you who are mistaken, Duchess,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “I was patient with you. But you need to be taught a lesson. You are mine now.”

He crossed the two steps between them, and his arms wrapped around her, locking her into the prison of his embrace. His lips sealed over hers, hot and delicious and wicked. She softened for a moment—but she knew she wasn’t his, wife or not.

She needed to show to herself she was stronger than this aching need, this warm melting.

She pushed against his chest, expecting a struggle.

But to her shock, his arms left her, and she was suddenly quite free.

He stared at her, blinking, his eyebrows drawn together, the expression in his wide eyes murderous.

“Very well, madam,” he said. “If that’s how you want to play it. I will never force anything a woman isn’t willing to give. Therefore, I will find more pleasant company.”

9

Preston rushed downstairs, Penelope’s rejection stinging, though he didn’t understand why it should. One of the footmen swung the door to the dining room open for him, and he stopped and stared into it. Four other footmen stood at attention as well as the butler, Porter, a dignified man in his sixties with tilted eyes and thick, almost white hair. Porter glanced at him and then back at the beautifully decorated table with two place settings ready.

This was Spencer’s dining room, where he could have been sitting with Penelope for his first dinner with her as man and wife.

And because of Preston and Lord Beckett and Penelope herself, that would never happen.

Emptiness spread through his heart like poison through his blood. He couldn’t sit here, dining with the ghost of his brother and the specter of his doomed marriage.

No. He needed to leave.

Run.

“I’m not dining tonight, Porter,” he said. “Tell Mrs. Brown to send something up for Her Grace.”

With that, he left. He didn’t know where, just away. The carriage was already waiting—he’d ordered it as he needed to go out after dinner. Despite his angry words to Penelope, when he laid his hand on the cold, smooth surface of the carriage door handle, he knew he wouldn’t go to a prostitute. He had a hunger for a woman in his blood. But it wouldn’t be satisfied by just anyone.

It was her, the damned vixen upstairs, whom he wanted. No one else would do.

“I will never belong to you,” she’d said.

And she was right. She never would because she would always belong to Spencer. And even if she had never loved his brother and had only been leading him on for his money, Preston began to understand why Spencer had been so enthralled with her.

“Where to, Your Grace?” asked Sam, his favorite coachman, a tall young man with kind eyes. Sam had a special talent with horses, Preston had always thought.

Where to, indeed? He wanted relief, something physical to ease this anger and this unexpected desire. Should he bother his fencing instructor, Mr. Bowen? No. It was dinnertime. He didn’t want to take the man away from the dinner table with his wife. Boxing, perhaps? No. The sport was too ghastly and brutal. Not sophisticated enough. He had dabbled in it but never felt the joy of it like Spencer had.

He took in a deep breath of the spring air. It smelled fresh and flowery and warm. Like a new beginning.

Exactly what Spencer should have enjoyed with the woman who was upstairs and wed to Preston now.