Page 20 of A Duke in the Rough


Font Size:

He laughed again, his gaze darting away. “True enough.” He pointed to the doors. “I should leave. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

She didn’t want him to leave. “You have more right to be here than I.”

His gaze snapped to hers, his brows bunching over his narrowed eyes.

“As Burwood’s man of business, that is. He told me you would be living here as well.”

He visibly relaxed. Strange. What had she said that made him wary?

“I’m a guest. I should be the one to leave.” She started to rise.

“Wait!”

Drake couldn’t lether leave. If only for a few moments, he wanted her to himself. To remember how things had been. Before everything went horribly wrong. “On second thought, it’s a big room. The door is cracked for propriety. May I join you?” He pointed to the wingback opposite her.

The smile reflected in her eyes battered his heart, and she nodded.

He settled in the chair. If nothing else, he wanted to gaze upon her away from prying eyes. To feast upon her beauty—which reminded him. “You didn’t eat much at supper. Was it not to your liking?”

She tilted her head, drawing his attention to her long, slender neck, and especially the spot near her shoulder he knew to be sensitive to touch.

“Burwood asked the same thing. I assured him no selection could have been more pleasing. I simply had little appetite.”

Remembering the marzipan in his pocket, he removed it and set it on the circular table between them. “Perhaps this will tempt you. If memory serves, it’s one of your favorites.” He carefully unwrapped it from his handkerchief, relieved it had not melted entirely.

“Oh. I couldn’t.” She stared at the sugary treat. The tip of her tongue peeked out, subtly licking her bottom lip and contradicting her words.

His mind took an inappropriate detour, and he shifted in his chair.

She continued to eye the confection. “Didn’t you save that for yourself?”

“I’m happy to share. I can always ask the cook to prepare more.”

Her lips quirked. “So Burwood permits you to submit requests to the cook?”

“He prefers it, actually.” He inclined his head toward the temptation. “One for you and one for me.”

Her dainty hand reached forward, and he admired her long, graceful fingers as she plucked a piece from his handkerchief.

He popped the remaining square into his mouth. Sweet, but not as sweet as her kiss.

Mid-chew, he stopped to stare at her.

Eyes closed, she sighed. A smile ghosted her lips as sheer rapture painted her face. Then, after glancing down at her chocolate-coated fingers, she licked them, one-by-one.

He choked on the half-chewed candy.Good Lord.

She bolted from her seat and rushed forward. Grabbing his coat sleeve, she pulled him away from the back of the chair and pounded his back.

Between a residual cough and laughter, he twisted enough to grasp her wrist. “Stop. Stop. I’m fine. No need to beat me to death.”

Pink like the first blush of sunrise bloomed on her cheeks as she backed away and retook her seat. “Forgive me. I would hate to witness your demise by a piece of marzipan.”

He peered at the book which had slipped into the crevice of the chair. “Perhaps if the good friar had provided Juliet with chocolate-covered marzipan rather than a draught of sleeping death, Romeo would have seen through the ruse from the chocolate coating her lips, changing it from a tragedy to a comedy.”

“And it would have been much more enticing to kiss off than poison.”

“True enough.” Oh, how he’d missed those moments with her as they shared alternate endings and twists to the books they had read. His heart soared in her presence.