Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Haven’s plan to saunter haughtily down the stairs and ignore the duke altogether, as he had ignored her all day, died at the heart-stopping sight of him waiting regally at the foot of the sweeping staircase.
It should be illegal to look so good in formal wear.
He wore a black suit coat over a pristine white shirt, and an equally white cravat was tucked expertly beneath his square chin.
His black trousers did nothing to hide the power, strength, and utterly lip-licking outline of his thighs.
Holy hell, how was she supposed to sit through dinner with him?
Her dilemma became more perilous when she saw his face, one that should’ve been harsh because of the Roman angles, but was breathtakingly gorgeous.
Full lips were like a delicious prize beneath the arrow of his straight nose.
His black eyes telegraphed messages of hot, bone-melting sex.
Her legs liquefied under her weight, and the once dry space between her thighs welled with unwelcome slickness.
Shit.
She wouldn't make it through the evening if she had to spend the whole time fighting back the desire to finish what they’d begun in the parlor.
The trip from the landing felt more like a march to her execution than a simple placing of one foot in front of the other.
When she reached the final step, the duke held out his hand. What else could she do but take it? Her hand burned within his grasp, and the palatable heat ratcheted up a few notches when his mouth grazed her knuckles, sending hot rushes of want to her already scorching core.
The sounds of Millie descending the staircase behind her made her blush. How could she forget the dear older woman standing right next to her?
Shamed into action, she moved to stand beside the duke as he thread her trembling hand through the loop of his well-built arm. The moment her fingers closed around the rock hardness, she regretted her decision. His strength was hard to ignore, and she found firm muscles attractive.
The same for his scent, which was a narcotic to her; intoxicating and addictive.
Her mouth watered, and she hadn't even sat for dinner yet.
Mmmm….
What would it be like to run her nose along his neck, his chest, and ever lower, inhaling the scent of him, of power, man, and arousal?
Inwardly shaking, she followed him to the drawing room, and as they approached the door, she heard the murmur of cultured voices. Apparently, she and Millie were the last of the party to arrive.
Great. My first nineteenth-century dinner party and I’m already making a mess of things.
The door to the drawing room was within reach, but she didn’t know if she could go in. Her breath quickened. Preparing for a quick and most likely graceless retreat, she turned to look at Millie. The woman's smile gave her pause; there was complete confidence in her expression.
Haven couldn't help it, she smiled back. Energized and excited, she straightened her shoulders, pushed up her chin, and walked into the drawing room like she owned the whole damn house.
Though she’d never met him, she recognized Harry on sight.
During her many conversations with Millie, the older woman mentioned him, his family, and their connection to the Dunhams. Their families had been as thick as molasses for decades.
Harry was standing beside a young woman who had the same hair color, engaging smile, and laughing eyes.
It had to be Harry's sister. Movement on her right directed her attention to an older woman, maybe in her fifties, seated on a chaise beside Harry and his sister.
She had to be their mother, because she shared the same coloring as the siblings, but lacked the exuberance of her children.
The elegant lady peered at Haven with narrowed eyes.
Well, so much for making nice with that one.
She meant to pull her hand from the duke's arm to follow Millie to the group gathered near the fireplace, but a strangely familiar sensation crawled up her neck.
She turned to look into the shadows at the corner of the room.
Standing as far from everyone else as possible were two well dressed, coolly elegant people. A beautiful woman, and an equally beautiful man.
Twins.
Knowing it was polite, she pasted a smile on her lips, her expression one of friendly welcome. The woman’s razor-sharp gaze looked right through her to the man at her side.
The brother returned Haven’s smile with one of his own. His fixed stare focused on her like she was the only thing in the room.
Haven’s smile faltered.
A familiar, unnamed sensation bade her to move along. Quickly.
Two sets of eyes raked over the woman as she entered the overly warm room. In a language unknown by any other in the party, the exquisitely dressed and beautifully crafted woman purred, “Brother, she is just as you described her.”
“Yes, I am eager to further my acquaintance with her.” Her brother's gaze never left the vision before them, his face an open book.
She knew him, every nuance of him, and saw he was near delirious with the prospect of getting the woman alone, and beginning his slow, deliberate masterwork.
“Be cautious, brother. While I know your desire is pure, and your cause divine, I fear no other will appreciate your passion. You must approach her with care, separate her from the duke, and do as our Heavenly Sire has commissioned.” She turned to her brother.
His face was a tight mask over strong bones, and his expression was one of barely contained disgust.
“And separate them I will. Worry not, beloved,” he replied through clinched teeth.
His voice was a low, grave whisper that would have chilled anyone else, but she was his sister, his mirror half, his soul double.
No one understood him as she did. No one else saw beyond the beautiful facade of his features to the pure and passionate spirit beneath.
The spirit that sought perfection in all things, hoping to please the memory of their earth father, and bring glory to their Heavenly Sire who'd gifted them with brilliant life and divine purpose.
She took his hands in hers. “Worry not. The duke will only be a pebble in your shoe for a while longer.”
She backed away and looked pointedly in the direction of the others standing within the glow of the fire.
“If you are to gain her attention, and her submission, we must follow convention, and make polite with the insignificant.”
Raising her fan to hide her curling lip behind its elaborately decorated folds, Divinia Kroger followed her brother out of the shadows.