Page 7 of The Duke of My Desire

“Good. Would you like another whiskey? Or a cup of tea, perhaps?”

She shook her head as another yawn assailed her. “Thank you, no. I think what I need is sleep.”

“Of course.” He rose to his feet and took her empty glass, setting it and his own cup and saucer on the mantel. “Come. I’ll show you to your room.”

He extended his hand to her and Justina took it, shoving the blanket aside as he helped her to her feet. His hand closed around hers, his bare skin warm, his grip strong yet gentle, assuring.

He had large hands, steady and capable. The sort of hands that gave a woman ideas.

Flustered, she slipped free of his grasp and turned towards the door, her steps brisk. The duke fell into step beside her as they made their way upstairs, and she did her best to ignore him, or at least to ignore her unwelcome yet undeniable attraction to him.

There was something about him that intrigued her. He was a duke, and yet, not obviously dukish. Powerful yet not domineering. Handsome yet seemingly unaware of his appeal.

Justina usually knew the measure of a man within moments of meeting him, but the Duke of Paxton was elusive, harder to read, and that made her want to peel back his layers one by one until she knew what made him tick.

But she was being silly. She should be focusing on Nigel and what she intended to do tomorrow, not wondering about the man walking beside her. What was the matter with her?

“Here we are,” the duke said, pausing outside the chamber door at the end of the hallway. “I hope the accommodations meet with your approval, Lady Dunne.”

“My needs are few tonight,” she said with a self-deprecating smile. “Thank you, Your Grace. I am in your debt.”

He was silent for a long moment as color darkened his cheeks, and Justina wondered at the cause. Was he merely uncomfortable receiving words of thanks, or was there another reason for his blush? Oh, how she wanted to ask.

She didn’t, though. After all, what did it matter? They would go their separate ways tomorrow and likely never meet again.

“Well, good night,” she said, reaching for the doorknob.

“Do you need anything?” he asked. “I’m afraid I haven’t any lady’s nightclothes for you, but I would be happy to lend you one of my shirts or...” He trailed off, his blush deepening.

Justina bit her lower lip to keep from smiling. She was beginning to enjoy these blushes of his. “I’m fine, thank you. I have everything I need.”

For one brief moment she was tempted to tell him she always slept naked just to see him blush again, but the saint of self-restraint must have been with her, for somehow she held her tongue.

“Right. Very good.” He cleared his throat. “Good night, Lady Dunne.”

“Good night, Your Grace.”

Justina slipped inside her borrowed bedroom and as she shut the door behind her, she was struck with a slew of emotions. Gratitude. Worry. Exhaustion. And, yes, regret.

Regret that her time with the intriguing, blushing Duke of Paxton would soon come to an end.

CHAPTER 3

When Gregory awoke the following morning, he was greeted with soft sunlight streaming in through the windows and a stiff cock tenting his sheets.

Lord, have mercy.

He groaned up at the ceiling—or was it a growl?—and rubbed his very tired eyes.

Dash it, had he dreamed of Lady Dunne all night?

Waking up with an erection was not an unusual occurrence for him. He was a healthy young man in his prime, so of course he thought about women and sex on a fairly regular basis.

Or every two to three minutes, if he were being entirely honest.

Naturally, having an attractive young widow sleeping across the hall had made his body stand up and take notice, as he was sure it would for any man.

What he found so peculiar was just how enthusiastically his body responded to her. He’d taken himself in hand last night before finally falling into a fitful sleep, and if his morning erection was any indication, his lust still was not sated.