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‘You must be wondering what I’m doing in here,’ she said, sure she was the colour of the prize-winning beetroot the cook had talked of growing in the kitchen garden.
‘You’re the lady of the house now. For a little while at least. You’re welcome to unfettered access.’
The thought of him, naked in bed, granting her unfettered access to his body, flashed through her consciousness. She heaved in a quick breath, heat blistering across her cheeks.
He pushed off the door jamb and came into the room with her, then went to a velvet-covered armchair and picked up the navy-blue bathrobe draped across it. He held it out to her.
‘This might make you feel less...exposed.’
She took the plush dark fabric and slipped the robe on. It was warm, soft, and smelled as delectable as him. He walked up to her and took the belt, tying it tightly round the waist, as if she were some child. The garment swamped her. How mortifying. Here she’d been fantasising about him naked in bed and he’d thought she was flaunting herself. She shuffled her feet, looking at the floor.
‘Why don’t we go into your room now? I have something to show you.’ His voice was gentle. When he turned and walked back into the Duchess suite, she followed. She found him sitting on the floral chintz couch, overlooking a view of the rambling rose garden. Sara sat at the other end, but even that was too close.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, flicked to something on the screen and handed it to her.
‘What’s this?’
‘An article in one of the tabloids.’
On the screen was a series of photographs of them in the lane yesterday. His hand to her cheek, looking into her eyes. Then the kiss. The way they looked at each other, simmering, intent. Lance slipping the ring onto her finger. That private moment, invaded. The headline shouted‘Debauched Duke Domesticated!’
‘How?’
He leaned back on the couch, hands behind his head, looking smug.
‘There’s usually significant interest in me but, on this occasion, I gave them a hot tip.’
She had a nasty feeling in the pit of her stomach, as if something had congealed. Silly. It was an excellent reminder that everything about this was fake. She’d thought maybe he’d been lost in the moment too. But no, it had only been her. Anyhow, what did it matter? Dashing dukes and handsome, aristocratic men weren’t on her agenda. She straightened her shoulders and handed the phone back to him.
‘So I’m guessing everyone knows now.’ Why did her voice sound so quiet and hurt? She cleared her throat. ‘Excellent.’
He frowned, then leaned towards her. ‘You wanted a scandal, and you certainly have one now. Since it’s public information, your parents will no doubt be aware. As will Annalise.’
She hadn’t thought of that. When she’d checked her phone she’d ignored all the messages. She couldn’t discuss this with Lise, not yet. And perhaps she didn’t know yet, being on her honeymoon, hopefully immersed in wedded bliss...
‘Thank you. Good job.’ She smiled then, but it felt fake to the core. That smile reserved for her parents, Ferdinand. The type of smile she’d promised herself she’d never give again...
‘I’m pleased you’re happy. Now, back to work.’ He didn’t look pleased, though. His frown remained. ‘We’ll be leaving in half an hour. You won’t earn a commission if you don’t find something worth selling.’
That was fine, excellent even. It was clear he wanted her out of his life. She wouldn’t stay anywhere she wasn’t wanted longer than absolutely necessary.
‘I need to—’
‘Put on some clothes... Of course. Take your time, and when you’re done—’ he stood and moved to the doorway, gave her a wink ‘—let’s go and find some treasure.’
Lance held the steering wheel in a death grip. George hadnotbeen happy about him driving, had insisted thatLady Sarawould expect a chauffeur. Good grief. His normally composed butler had finally cracked. Next the man would be breaking out the family Limoges dinner service and demanding they dine in the grand ballroom. It seemed to be all he could do not to wrestle the keys out of Lance’s hand and drive them both to the next town for their fossicking expedition.
Lance hadn’t really considered what it would be like, bringing a supposed fiancée into the house. Especially not one so...qualified as Sara for the role of Duchess of Bedmore. She was perfect in every way. Lance took his eyes from the narrow country road and glanced at her, staring out of the window, captivated by the vibrant countryside around them. She was wearing some exquisite pale yellow floral perfection of a dress. She looked like sunshine, with what appeared to be a thousand tiny, distracting buttons up the front. He had an irrational desire to undo each one slowly...
No. As much as he tried to project an image of wickedness, he wasbetterthan this. It was seeing her this morning, that was all. In the past twenty-four hours he’d broken a few of his carefully crafted rules. There were many things he shouldn’t have done. Acquiring an engagement ring which slipped onto Sara’s finger so perfectly it was as if it was meant to be. Proposing with words that left her eyes gleaming with tears and tugged at his unfeeling heart, seeming all too real for his cynical soul. Kissing her soft lips, which had the hit of a drug and left him addicted and craving.
But the most stupid thing he’d done in this litany of foolishness was freezing like a dumbstruck teenager as she’d stood next to his bed, rather than turning and walking straight out of the room, leaving her be.
He hadn’t wanted her to find those articles in the tabloids herself, or that was the excuse he’d told himself. That was why he’d gone to her room early. Then he’d found her and his downfall was complete. She was all glorious blushes and stuttering apologies when he’d beenthrilledto find her in his space in sleepwear that clung to her beautiful body, looking at his unmade bed with a distant kind of longing that filled him with a surge of heat.
He hadn’t been able to help himself. His gaze devouring her long, pale limbs...the golden curls tumbling round her shoulders...the tight nipples pressing against the fabric of her top. He shifted in his seat, the car becoming uncomfortably warm. What he wouldn’t have given to sink into the covers, mussed from a sleepless night, and bury himself in her until they both forgot their names...
Which was generally the expectation when a woman was in his room, under ordinary circumstances. But not Sara. He might have spent most of his adult life cultivating a certain reputation but there was no requirement to uphold it, not with her. His job was to protect the woman, not debauch her. As much as he’d failed in the past, he’d make sure he didn’t here.
