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Except then he was there, standing in front of her, tall and toned—not like any aristocrat she’d ever seen before. Aristocrats were supposed to come in small, narrow, pasty packages. They were supposed to scare and cower and complain. No one had apprised the Duke of Clayborn of such a thing.
She lifted her chin and tried very hard not to reveal the way her insides were tumbling about. “Are you still hungry?”
“I am.” He did not stop at the table, however. He went round the edge of it. Until he was close to her, his trousers threatening to brush up against her skirts.
She stood.
Food.Food she could do. “The roasted veg is quite—”
“I noticed.” He cut her off. And did not move.
She was vibrating. Was she vibrating?
“Your meal grows cold.”
“I like puzzles,” he replied.
She gave him a little smile. “You cannot eat a puzzle.”
One side of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Mmm.”
The sound sent something heavy and hot deep within her. She sucked in a breath.
He heard it, one dark brow rising in a perfect arch. “I promised to give you clues about the box if you told me the truth... and I think that breath... it might be the most truthful you’ve been tonight.” And then he lifted his hand, reaching for her. Tempting her.
She stilled, waiting for his touch, her breath gone shallow and uneven in her chest.
“What was it you said downstairs?” he asked, low and deep. “It’s warm in here?”
The words were a code downstairs. Adelaide had a feeling they were a code here, as well. But a different code. One she did not understand.
“That much is true,” he continued. “You are flushed.” His fingers touched her cheek, setting fire to her skin. “Here.” He ran them along her jaw, down the line of her throat, to the gold chain that hung, always, around her neck, then low—lower, until it disappeared beneath the fabric of her dress. He lingered there, and she wondered if he would lift the chain, pull the pendant from where it lay like a secret against her skin.
When his touch moved again, tracing the chain oncemore, back to the base of her neck, she closed her eyes, keenly aware of the way her heart raced.
“This...” He painted a little circle on her skin there, where her pulse throbbed, betraying her. “This is the most truthful you’ve been.”
Her eyes flew open, meeting his, already watching. Waiting for her to look at him. Glittering with knowledge of what he did to her.Dammit.
He lifted his hand, removing his touch.Dammit. Dammit.
“The box does not have a key,” he said softly. “If you force it, it will lock. There will be no way of accessing the information within. But you sensed that already.”
She nodded, barely listening. Wondering what he would do if she grabbed his hand and returned it to her skin. “You could break it open,” she said, barely recognizing her own voice, gone breathless. “A hammer would do the job.”
“You could,” he replied. Was he closer now? At her ear? The words a caress? “But then it would be destroyed. And that isunacceptable.”
Adelaide shuddered at the word, spoken with firm certainty and a thread of darkness, as though he would not allow such a thing.
They hovered in silence, Clayborn finally breaking it as he took a step back and looked away, to the food. “Apologies. I should not have...”
When he trailed off, Adelaide said, “It was not—”
She did not have to find the words to finish her own sentence, because he cut in. “It was unacceptable.”
How could one word spoken twice in mere seconds carry such different meanings?
“I should not have touched you tonight.”
