Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
‘There was no time to collect my belongings, and it would have provoked questions as to where I may be venturing alone and, worse, with whom.’ I let him drape his jacket around my shoulders, the move bringing him oh so very close. I am now frozen for an entirely different cause, and it would seem the Duke has been rendered inert also, his big, capable hands holding the tops of my arms. My nose is invaded by his manly scent, a heady intoxicating mix of Scotch and his natural fragrance, and my eyes are rooted to the vast expanse of his chest just a mere few inches away. I have absolutely no control of my mind or my body around this man. It’s arousing. It’s alarming. It’s… dangerous.
I find myself stepping back, and his hands fall like stones to his side. I am immediately regretful of my move, not only because the absence of his touch physically pains me, but because I have provoked an unquestionable fleeting look of irritation on his otherworldly face. He was enjoying our closeness too.
‘Worse, with whom?’ he says, his irritation flaring. I find no joy in his apparent disgust, and a strong blush lands on my cheeks, surely sending them pink.
‘I am promised to another man!’ I blurt like a fool. ‘I mean––’
‘Frederick Lymington is not a man, Eliza. He is a blithering idiot, and I do not wish to speak of him.’
‘Oh,’ I whisper, with a lack of anything more appropriate to say. He is not mistaken, though, as Frederick is somewhat of a blithering idiot. A judgemental one, too. ‘You do not like him?’
‘I do not like anyone who speaks ill of me.’
I laugh. ‘Then you mustn’t like anyone,’ I say, but immediately regret it when anger replaces the irritation. ‘I mean––’
‘Perhaps you should not speak at all,’ he suggests.
‘Then why am I here, if not to speak?’
‘You tell me, Miss Melrose. I was simply taking an evening stroll when I saw you running towards me half-dressed.’
I stare at him in disbelief. I accept, he may not have directly ordered me to come to him, but his body language certainly did. And his eyes. They most certainly spoke to me, yet his intentions are ambiguous. However, whatever his motives for enticing me into his personal space, I should have resisted. I am surer than I have ever been that if my mother, or, God save me, my father, or any member of the ton, for that matter, were to become privy to my liaisons with the disgraced Duke, I would be persecuted. Perhaps even sent away in shame. What a scandal! I ponder that for a moment. Sent away. From here. From all of this fluffy nonsense of matchmaking, suitors and status. Good heavens, I must shake those selfish thoughts from my mind without delay. ‘Then I shall leave you in peace, Your Grace, so you are no longer forced to endure the apparent trauma from my lack of dress,’ I say, unceremoniously flinging his jacket off my shoulders and pivoting, now too angry to suffer the effects of the cold on my skin. The idiot! Why I spent hours pondering this man is beyond me. I do, however, know that I shall waste no more of my contemplations on him.
‘But half-dressed is apparently your favourite state of dress, if a man is to make assumptions based on a lady’s behaviour.’
I halt, feeling my nostrils flare, and I swing round, ready to give this yellow-livered arrogant fool a piece of my mind. ‘I was simp— oh!’ I crash into his body, ricocheting back. ‘Bugger it all,’ I murmur.
‘A lady should not use such language.’
‘We have been over this, Your Grace. I am no lady.’
‘Perhaps that is a blessing.’
‘Trust me, it is not,’ I say over a laugh, putting more space between us once again. ‘Now, would you be so kind to inform me of why I am here.’
‘Because you’re attracted to me, of course. I thought you were a bright woman, Eliza.’
My eyes widen. ‘I told you, I am pr––’
‘Yes, yes, I know. Promised to another.’ He shakes his head, exasperated. ‘Your challenge would be met with respect, if there was any sincerity in the reasoning for you brandishing such a ridiculous statement.’ On a huff, he scoops up his jacket and drapes it across my shoulders again before claiming my hand and leading my stunned form through the entrance of the gardens. His big hand envelopes mine completely. A man has never held my hand before. It feels rather nice. Warm. Safe. Capable.
Capable of what?
Murder?
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ I hiss, my sanity finding me, and I try in vain to prise his grip away, but his strength, of course, far outweighs mine. ‘You cannot manhandle me, you big ape!’