A Dance to Tempt the Duke - Chapter 8

This was a bad idea, a very bad idea. And yet Victor stayed as if frozen in the doorway, the light and music spilling out onto the terrace, reminding him of where he should be, back in the ballroom, on the dance floor, not here, with this woman.

Instead, he continued to look down at the garden, where she was standing, as still as the stone statues that populated the grounds, the moon illuminating her, shining on her blond hair and the naked creamy skin of her shoulders.

‘Felicity,’ he said quietly, taking a step towards her.

Her spine instantly straightened, her head lifted higher, and even from this distance he could hear her sharp intake of breath.

‘Are you quite well?’ he asked, determined that as soon as he had reassured himself that she was not poorly he would return to the ballroom and his quest to find a suitable duchess.

‘Yes, I’m…’ Her words trailed off and she turned to stare out at the dark garden.

He approached her slowly, aware that what he was doing was unwise but seemingly unable to stop himself from doing so.

‘You’re not dancing?’ he said, stating the obvious.

‘No.’ She turned to face him. ‘And neither are you.’

‘I was worried about you.’

She gave what could only be described as a snort of laughter.

‘Why is that so hard to believe?’

She looked up and stared him straight in the eye. ‘I’m not sure whether you think I’m completely deluded or you just like to delude yourself.’

‘You appear to have developed a tendency to talk in riddles since we were last...’ He gestured around the garden, remembering the last time they had been alone together in a garden such as this.

She gave another laugh that held no humour. ‘And were you worried about me when you were frequenting those gambling dens and low haunts on the Continent? Were you worried about me when you were mixing with those so-called honest women?’ She turned to once again stare out at the garden. ‘I think not.’

His spine stiffened. She had the gall to question his behaviour.

‘You’re right,’ he said with a hollow laugh. ‘I did not think of you when those beautiful French and Italian women had their arms and legs wrapped around me. Why? Would you prefer it if I had?’

She gasped in outrage as he expected her to do.

‘You are disgusting,’ she snapped at him.

‘No, I am telling the truth. A concept you are seemingly unfamiliar with.’

‘How dare you?’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘I have never lied to you.’

He stared at her and slowly shook his head from side to side. She was unbelievable. Despite what he had witnessed with his own eyes, she was still trying to deceive him. And despite knowing exactly what she was like, he was still inextricably attracted to her.

‘You wouldn’t know the meaning of the word honesty,’ he murmured, his hand under its own volition lightly stroking the soft skin of her cheek.

She tilted her head and closed her eyes. She still wanted him, as much as he foolishly still wanted her. He had denied himself in the past, determined not to ruin her, but he suspected she was already ruined. Why should he deny himself this time from taking what he still wanted so desperately?

Ignoring that annoying voice in the back of his head that was telling him this was a very bad idea, he leant down and kissed those tempting, waiting lips.