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Rathe told himself to ignore the look of wounded confusion on Mary's face as he saw himself out. He was not abandoning her, dammit. They might have shared one fucking kiss, but that didn't mean they had anything going on.
Camille teased her friend for acting jealous for the very first time, and while Mary insisted that the other girl was mistaken—-being accused this way troubled her.
To feelanythingat all for someone as out of her league as the Duke of Flanders would be the height of stupidity, and since Mary had always found safety in doing what was smart...
Chapter Three
From the moment hehad stepped out of Mary Ashton's room, Rathe had sworn to himself that it would be the last time he'd have anything to do with Saffi's equally eccentric and impossibly curvy friend.
But he also found himself breaking his word the very next day. He had even bought her flowers, a task that he had always left for his secretary to take care of. He had never taken the time to personally buy something for any of his former lovers in the past, and he had no fucking idea why he had done so now.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Rathe had always considered it crass to reference movies when it came to life, but therewasjust something about Mary.
And whatever that something was now cursed him with his first taste of jealousy, when an amused Camille told him that Mary was at a nearby club for a poetry reading.
His mind immediately rebelled at the thought of pursuing her in public, and his already black mood turned even blacker when Rathe still ended up chasing after a teenage girl...and he saw for himself the kind of place Mary's so-called poetry reading session was being held.
Bloody, bloody hell.
Rathe was extremely familiar with establishments likeArt Hubz.Such businesses were typically put up by a group of individuals that looked down on any work of art that was commercially profitable. The seedier and shabbier their places of business were, the prouder they were, and upon entering its premises, Rathe saw right away that Art Hubz was no different.
His contemptuous gaze swept over his dimly lit surroundings. The stage in front was nothing but a couple of wooden planks haphazardly nailed together. It was an accident waiting to happen...just like the next thing he saw, which was Mary sharing a tiny table with another man who could only be none other than her professor.
Asshole.
The bastard looked to be about the same age as Rathe's. He had oily-looking hair that was evenly part in the middle and a pair of glasses that the duke supposed was meant to give the other man a pseudo-intellectual look.
One look at Mary's professor, and Rathe knew the smug SOB was the kind that had no qualms in using all sorts of pretenses to groom impressionable students into becoming his lover.
With Mary's attention focused on the student reciting some Shakespeare poem on stage, the professor wasn't even bothering to hide the fact that his eyes were fully trained on Mary's tits. It wasn't that she was wearing anything revealing, but with her all-too-generous curves, the modest cut of her lavender-colored dress only served to accentuate the fullness of her breasts.
Only Rathe's iron self-control kept him from grabbing the man by the collar and hauling him off his ass. He could have his own personal security escort the professor out of the premises in seconds with no one the wiser...but he also knew that would not solve anything.
The duke knew that Mary had to see her professor's true colors for herself...and Rathe knew exactly how to achieve this.
