Reading Online Novel

Accidentally Compromising the Duke(16)



Though he said the words lightly, instinctively she recognized that being honorable was important to him. But how could he commit to something as permanent as marriage for honor? How could Adel consent when a man who loved her was probably eagerly waiting to speak with her? She was clasping her hands so tightly together her fingers hurt. “You do realize I believed you were someone else.”

He prowled closer, his expression inscrutable. “Did you?”

She swallowed, taking small retreating steps away from him, desperate to maintain a particular distance between them. “Yes. A Mr. James Atwood. We are close in temperament and age, not that I am saying you are old, Your Grace.” Heat burned her and she was sure her face was as red as the lobster she had eaten earlier. “Mr. Atwood… Ahh…he offered for me, but my father said no. It was his chamber I had intended to enter.”

The duke frowned briefly. “I have a clear memory of you telling me I felt harder, tasted sweet, that you felt hot and wet. I put forth the argument you knew I was not your young Mr. Atwood, Miss Adeline.”

The bloody scoundrel! It was not the mark of a gentleman to so baldly and arrogantly remind a lady of her lapse in judgment. Worse, she was alarmed at the possibility that he was right. “You are mistaken, Your Grace,” she said frostily.

The dratted man smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “You knew I was not Mr. Atwood the instant you touched me.”

Her head swam with the humiliating truth of his words. She hadn’t been sure. But he couldn’t know…could he? The minute she had tumbled into his powerful frame, the masculine fragrance of sandalwood and a cologne she had never smelled before had wrapped around her senses, confusing her. In desperation she had reached out, feeling and caressing, and had been met with a hardness that surprised and enthralled her. She had wondered how it was possible for the very slim and elegant Mr. Atwood to feel so male. Awareness had bloomed, but she had ignored the doubt, insisting it was nerves and too much liquid courage.

Evie and Adel’s plan had not even intended her to kiss Mr. Atwood, only to be caught standing in his chamber. But she had kissed this man, and she had known without a shadow of doubt she had sneaked into the wrong bed. The curious desire that had blazed in her blood had been alarming and wonderful. How utterly foolish she had been.

“I have no notion of what you speak. You are kind in making your generous offer, but I cannot marry you,” she whispered, sickened with the awareness of how easily she had been inconstant. She needed to see Mr. Atwood right away.

The duke’s mien shuttered even more. “You are ruined and your current state can only be rendered respectable by marriage.”

Ruined. She trembled and his silver gaze sharpened. In that moment he looked like a predator and her heart started a slow thud. Why did he want to marry her? He was not even offering a token of resistance. Shouldn’t the duke be insisting he would not bind himself to a lady with so little to recommend her?

“Why do you wish to marry me?” It’s the mad duke. The whispers from the hallway crowded her thoughts. “Are you the man the ton calls the mad duke?”

Anger flickered in his gray eyes, and a chilling smile formed on his lips. She was at a loss as to how she had thought him charming and approachable. The man before her stood cloaked in cold ruthlessness. Uncertainty gripped her in a powerful hold. “Forgive me for being thoughtless and impertinent.”

“It is one of the names I’ve been called.”

He was clearly not afflicted.

“Why?”

“Does it matter?”

“If we are discussing marriage, yes.” What was she saying? Surely she was not even thinking on his ludicrous proposal. She knew nothing of this man but a sobriquet, and was certain Mr. Atwood awaited her.

The duke’s brows lifted and irrationally she wanted to step closer to him, tip on her toes and trace his slashing brows. Maybe even massage the lines on his forehead that indicated he had cause to frown often. She couldn’t do this. “You know nothing of my character, nor I of yours.”

“I value honesty above all else.”

“I…I…” She frowned. She had simply been making a point, not seeking his finer qualities.

“Whatever right I have to happiness I receive from being in my daughters’ presence.”

Her heart lodged in her throat. “You have children?”

“Yes.”

“I…I…what are their names, their ages?”

“Lady Sarah is six years and Lady Rosa is nine.”

It was impossible for Adel to speak. When had their mother died? Who was now caring for them? Were they happy? The crushing pain and loneliness she had endured when her mother passed reared its head.