Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Miss Edwards’ voiced carried sugar, but her eyes carried poison.
Damn. She was as easy to read as a children’s book, but she didn’t conjure up images of erecting towers with blocks in the nursery.
Looking as she did, sitting so primly in her snugly fit morning dress, she looked fresh and luscious, and she brought to mind a different kind of erection altogether.
Her hair swept up from her neck and piled atop her head, leaving her creamy neck exposed and begging for kisses.
Her breasts, while confined to an ill-fitting, tight bodice, were high, perfectly round, and begging for his touch.
He tensed, fighting his arousal.
How could this woman, this total stranger, incite such deep, dangerous desire?
He used his anger as a splash of cold water. “I must insist you stay here until I am available to take you to the south pasture.”
Tensing for Miss Edwards’ reply, he was grateful when Millie raised her hand to silence her. Miss Edwards’ eyes narrowed, but she seemed chastened rather than upset. “When are you expected at the vicarage?”
Puzzled, he answered, “After luncheon. Why?”
She nodded. “Good, you’ll have plenty of time to escort Miss Edwards to retrieve her bag and still be able to make your meeting with the vicar.”
He knew when he’d been outmaneuvered, and rather than look like an utter ass and refuse, he met her gaze.
“Well, it’s settled. Please be ready within the half hour. We’ll depart as soon as the carriage can be readied.”
He nearly growled when he caught the blatant challenge spelled out on her face. She did nothing to hide her expression, and took it one-step further by arching her eyebrow and quirking one side of her plush, succulent mouth.
Straightening his shoulders, he met her gaze, daring her to look away.
When she only stared back, her expression willful, he almost smiled. Almost. For someone who’d experienced much hardship over the last two days, she certainly had spirit.
Bowing, he held her stare, turned, and left through the terrace door, almost missing the mischievous delight fluttering over his aunt’s face.
Carriages weren’t as comfortable as they looked in the movies.
Besides the rocking motion, and the lack of shock absorption, the seat needed a few extra feet in length.
Not a simpering miss who shied away from the proximity of a well-built and beautiful man, she acknowledged that the duke was too large, too intimidating, and far too delicious a treat.
He was impossible to ignore, even though he tried to make it easier for her to do so.
He hadn’t said a word since they’d left the manor.
When he handed her up into the open carriage, he’d dropped his hands from her like she’d been cloaked in burning acid.
Well, he might not have appreciated the close contact, but she’d admit she’d been rattled.
How in the hell did a single moment of his hands on hers turn her insides to warm, sloshing Cream of Wheat?
She refocused her attention to the man brooding in the seat beside her. “How much longer?”
Not deigning to turn his attention from the horse’s rear, he replied, “Not much.”
Well, that conversation died a horrible death.
She tried again. “Your estate is beautiful. You must be proud.”
“Yes.” His clipped reply dug into her skin, and her face tightened.
Is that it?
It was like pulling tiger’s teeth. She’d done her best to be polite and act the gracious passenger, but if he wanted to pretend she wasn’t there, she’d be damned if she made it easy.
“I must say, everything looks greener than I imagined. Of course, most things look greener when you’re not slung over the pommel of a saddle, unconscious.”
His knuckles turned white on the reins, and she hid her smile behind her hand, unwilling to give him something more to grumble about.
“Bad things happen when you slink around in the dark.” His deep voice carried an undercurrent that played havoc with her brain, and areas much lower.
Hell.
She shifted in her seat, too warm for her dress. What did he mean by “bad things?”
While she conjured up naughty images, he continued ignoring her.
For God’s sake, she made a great living grabbing and holding the attentions and desires of thousands of men over her career.
Why was it so difficult to get this man to acknowledge her presence for longer than the second it took to spit out a response?
For that matter, why did she even care? Leaning as far from the duke as possible, she turned her gaze to the grass passing beneath the front wheel.
She couldn’t understand her ridiculous and incredibly dangerous desire to have this man’s full attention.
She’d spent thousands of dollars a year on hair and skin products, cosmetics, a gym membership, boutique clothing, and hours of electrolysis.
Her job required she look her best, and she enjoyed the benefits her good looks brought—namely the obscene tips she earned that helped her pay off Elgin’s debts.
While she primped and pampered, she didn’t do it for her own personal benefit.
She’d be perfectly happy in a pair of old sweats, bare faced, and her hair up in a sloppy bun.
Honest with herself, she couldn’t care less if her hair was glossy, or her clothes brand named.
She wasn’t a vain person in the least, shrugging off compliments, kudos, and the feverish, hungry looks she’d earned for performances.
So why did she care about what the duke thought of her, or whether he looked at her?
Her anger was out of place and so unlike her personality and usual attitude. None of it made sense, but she couldn’t keep from hungering for any morsel of his consideration.
Breathe. Don’t be an attention glut. I don’t need his eyes on me every moment, even if I do feel a spark when he looks at me with those dark pools of sex.
Butterflies fluttered deep in her belly and rose to fan the low fire in her chest into an uncomfortable flush.
The carriage leaned to the right as the slope of the ground changed, and his thigh brushed against hers.
Heat burst through her left side, but didn’t stay there.
The delectable and addictive burn invaded her blood where it swam with great eagerness to the apex of her thighs, lodging like a deliciously heavy lodestone above her clit.
Pulling the reins, the duke brought the carriage to a stop. Turning his full menacing and heated gaze upon her, he growled, “It’s just over that rise.”
Realization dawned. He meant they were close to where they’d first met, which meant her bag was a few steps away. Impatient, she didn’t wait for him to help her; instead, she gathered her skirts, and jumped from the carriage in a rush.