The Duke might not have been scared off by Hannah’s actions—but he wasn’t scared off by Phoebe’s attitude either. It was an uncomfortable realization. Confidence—real or otherwise—had been the thing that had kept her from peril when she visited London’s less savory corners.
“It’s interesting that you bring up secrets,” he said. The leonine edge to his smile had Phoebe backing up a step, which she loathed. “Because I think thatyouhave secrets of your own.”
Phoebe willed every inch of her body not to react. She had too many secrets, really. She had Hannah’s note burning a hole in her pocket. Then, there was her father, and that time he had caught her sneaking out of the house; she assumed he wouldn’t reveal this indiscretion to the Duke, out of worry that it wouldreflect poorly on Hannah, but one never could tell with her father.
And then there was the real secret—that Phoebe had snuck out many, many,manytimes before her father had seen her. That she had been to the kinds of places that most young ladies of thetoncouldn’t even imagine, let alone ones that they would ever visit. That she was, in effect, a walking and talking scandal.
She took another stumbling step back. The wall prevented her from retreating any further.
The Duke’s smile grew sharper as he took that last step forward.
“Then it’s good, I suppose, that you aren’t marrying me,” Phoebe said. She couldn’t believe that she managed it. She could scarcely draw breath. When she sucked one in, the front of her bodice grazed just against the front of the Duke’s waistcoat.
He looked down at the point of contact.
“Good, indeed,” he said, his eyes fixed first on her heaving bosom, then his gaze trailed upward like a touch until it landed on her mouth.
She knew he was going to kiss her a split second before it happened.
She gasped at the first contact, for all that she had accused the Duke of being cold, his mouth was warm—blazing hot. He didn’ttouch her anywhere except for where his lips pressed against hers—the way he bent his head down to reach her put an inch or so of space between their fronts, and she felt the loss.
It was the only part of it that felt like anything resembling loss, however, because the warmth from that kiss spread through her in tendrils that overtook her more and more with every heartbeat.
Phoebe might not have her own experience with kissing, but she’d seen things—she’d seen many, many things—and so she knew that this was very nearly as chaste as kisses came. He didn’t try to slip his tongue into her mouth. He didn’t try to tug her closer or grasp any of her softer parts.
And yet she felt it. She felt itso much.
And it felt incredible. Wonderful. Right.
Which meant that it wassowrong.
That wrongness crashed down on her later than it ought to have done, and she was so caught up in the pleasure of it by that point that it took her another heartbeat before she reached up, put her hands flat against his chest, and shoved him back.
She knew that she would feel that extra heartbeat as an avalanche of shame when she next had to look her little sister in the eyes.
He stumbled a step or two away from her, and she did not doubt that it was due to surprise more than the force of her thrust. He looked surprised by all of it, actually; his eyes shot open, and he gaped at her like he didn’t understand how they’d come to be there together.
“I can’t,” she said, feeling wild.
“Go,” he said, sounding just as out of control as she felt.
Phoebe didn’t know if it was a rejection or permission. She didn’t wait to find out.
She shoved past him and raced back to her room, only pausing when the door was closed and locked behind her. Then, she pressed her spine against the unyielding hardwood, feeling it support her as she sank to the floor, put her face in her hands, and tried to figure out how in thehellshe had let herself do something so unbelievably awful.
CHAPTER 7
Abetter strategist, Aaron knew, would let things lie.
Lord and Miss Turner would be gone in—he glanced at the clock on his mantelpiece—two hours. Maybe less, if Aaron’s staff proved particularly efficient. All he had to do was sit right here in this chair and not move, and many of his problems would be solved.
If any of his problems in the war could have been solved bydoing nothing, Aaron would have sent a prayer of thanks up to the heavens—and he had never been a particularly religious man.
And yet, here he was, safe in his own home. Comfortable. He even had a hot pot of tea at his elbow.
He got to his feet.
Christ, he was a fool. Miss Turner was making a fool of him.
