His Grace, The Duke: Second Sons Book Two

James halted on the step as he took in the sudden appearance of Rosalie. Her dark eyes were wide. Her mouth opened in surprise. She instinctively leaned away from him, one hand rising to her chest.

“Heavens,” she breathed. “Why must you always pop out at me like that?”

“They are my stairs. Why do you always seem to haunt them? I begin to suspect you must lie in wait for me.”

“I do no such thing, my lord.”

His irritation flared. He’d been annoyed since that morning, watching Burke kiss her bold as brass in the morning room. No. That wasn’t entirely true. Witnessing that kiss was nothing compared to the jealousy that churned in James last night, knowing they were upstairs…together.

Burke found him this morning looking far too calm. Too satisfied. It left James in no doubt about what happened. Then Renley had to enter the room, glancing covertly at Burke like they shared a lover’s secret. Neither man said anything, but James knew.

It confused him as much as it made him curious. How could they stand to share her? How could they bear to see another man touch her, kiss her, make her moan?

And now you’re thinking of her moaning.

He blinked, focusing back on her. She was looking at him with those eyes that drowned him, those parted lips…

Goddamn it. Focus, James.

“Why are you in here?” he snapped. “We have proper stairs for guests, you know.”

She bristled at his rudeness. He didn’t blame her. “A footman fell on the stairs and injured himself,” she explained. “Mrs. Robbins directed me this way.”

“What happened?”

“He was rushing with a vase of flowers and tripped,” she replied. “I tried to help, but apparently I was just in the way.”

“Damn,” he muttered. Now that she said it, he could hear the faint sounds of a commotion. “Is he badly hurt?”

“Just a sprain. Mrs. Robbins has it well in hand.”

He frowned. “I’m sure. I’ll go see to it all the same.”

“Yes, of course. Excuse me, my lord.”

As she attempted to step past him, James shot his hand out, pressing it against the stone wall. “Stop.”

They each traced the length of his arm with their eyes. The arm that now blocked her path. Why was his heart suddenly racing?

“My lord?” she whispered.

“Stop,” he growled, feeling the storm front building in his chest. “Stop that.”

She looked up at him, those beautiful brown eyes full of confusion. “Stop what, my lord?”

“That,” he snapped. “Why are you calling me that? You’ve been doing it since—it’s driving me mad.”

Her complexion heated as her eyes narrowed. “What am I supposed to call you? Are you not a viscount?”

“Yes, but—”

“And was it not you, my lord, who demanded just yesterday that I forget any notion of a growing acquaintance between us?”

Christ, why did she make everything so difficult? “That’s not what I meant—”

She huffed. “James Corbin, Viscount Finchley, a lord who demands every piece on his chess board play according to his rigid rules. You are the one who wants me relegated to my proper square. Only now I gather you don’t actually know which square that ought to be, so let me enlighten you.”

She took a step closer, trying to even the ground between them. He had to hold his breath to avoid choking on her intoxicating perfume.

“I am neither your wife nor your intended,” she said, eyes blazing. “You have made it clear that I am not a suitable social acquaintance. That leaves but two options: either I am a business associate, or I am a servant. To my knowledge, we have no pending business. Thus, I am resolved to assume you mean to treat me like a member of staff. That is my square, sir. I, in turn, shall treat you like my employer.” She raised herself up to her full height. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my lord, I’ve taken up quite enough of your time. I will be on my way.”

Her words hit him like the spray from a double-barreled shotgun. As he assessed the damage, she ducked under his arm, determined to flee. Recovering quickly, he spun on his heel and snatched her arm as she passed.

“Unhand me,” she hissed.

“Don’t walk away from me.” He knew exactly what to say to rattle her cage. He lowered his lips to her ear and rasped, “I have not dismissed you yet.”

She sucked in a breath, righteous anger flashing across her face. “You’re being a brute!”

He smirked, still holding tight to her arm. “If you’re going to be difficult, two can play your game.”

“I’m being difficult?”

“Yes! You are one of the most difficult, obstinate, infuriating women I’ve ever met. You swan through life with the all the grace of a hurricane, leaving devastation in your wake—”

She scoffed, her cheeks blazing pink. “Comparing me to a swan? Heavens, that is quite the denouncement coming from you—”

“Don’t make jokes,” he snapped. “I can’t stand them.”

“You love jokes,” she countered. “You live for them. You and Burke exchange ten a day. You just don’t like being the target, my lord.”

“God damn it.” He boxed her in with both hands, pressing them against the cool stone wall. He lowered his face inches from hers, that spicy floral scent making him weak. “I will rage if you call me that again,” he said, voice hoarse.

They stood like that for a moment, foreheads almost touching, mouths inches apart, breathing the same air. He watched the rapid rise and fall of her chest, knowing his was doing the very same. This close, he could trace with his eyes the gentle curves of the tops of her breasts as they disappeared into her dress. He tried to look away. He had to look away. This was impossible. Intolerable.

Don’t do this.

His breathing became ragged as he felt himself pulled to her, leaning closer.

Do not break.

She tipped her chip up. Was she daring him to kiss her? Or simply refusing to back down? Or both?

Let her go.

He groaned, his elbows going slack, dropping an inch closer.

He was going to break.

She sucked in a sharp breath, shifting away. “What else can I call you?” she asked, not meeting his gaze. “What are we to each other but master and servant? I will not raise the suspicion of this house by being overly familiar with you. That will serve neither you nor I.”

“A compromise then,” he muttered.

She huffed a little laugh. “What possible compromise can there be?”

He pointed down the stairs at the closed door. “Out there, I will be the viscount and you will be Miss Harrow. I will swallow my irritation when you dismiss me with each cold utterance of ‘my lord’…but you must stop looking at me like that.”

She blinked, lips parting again. He hated when her mouth did that. Damn, he loved it…and he hated it. “Like what?” she whispered.

He raised a hand, ghosting his fingers over her lips. “Like I mean something to you.”

Her breath left her in a rush. He felt the warmth of it against his fingers. “James—”

“Outside this stairwell, we shall play our roles.”

She still held his gaze, those dark eyes searching his. “And…in here?”

A long moment stretched between them. Neither of them moved. Neither of them breathed. Then James broke. He dropped his forehead to hers, letting himself shift his hands to her shoulders. She didn’t stiffen under his touch, thank God. She let him sink into her, keeping her chin tipped up so their foreheads could stay pressed together.

Her lips were so close…he could kiss her. He could claim her. Taste her like he did in the library. Nothing sweeter. Such a forbidden fruit.

But that’s not what he needed from her now. Surprising himself, he pulled her from the wall, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, tucking her head under his chin. She didn’t hesitate, bringing her arms around his waist. He couldn’t remember the last time he held someone or let himself be held.

“I can’t sleep,” he murmured into her hair.

She stilled but didn’t pull away.

“It’s been going on for months,” he added. “I’m…I think it could drive me quite mad if I don’t…if I can’t fix it.”

“Have you seen a doctor?” she asked, her voice muffled by his cravat.

He nodded. “Three.”

“And?”

He relaxed his hold on her. “They’ve all prescribed various tonics and curatives. But each one makes me groggier than the last. It’s not so much a sleep they induce, but a sleep-like-death. They leave me miserable. I’m done with them.”

She broke their embrace, shifting away. He let his hands fall to his sides, even though he wasn’t ready to let her go. She surprised him when she raised her hands to his shoulders. Slowly, she kneaded the muscles there, her grip gentle but firm. It was bulky through the layers of his coat and waistcoat, but it still felt good. He groaned, eyes closing.

“Atlas holds up the sky as a punishment,” she murmured. “It is not a noble act, James. It is a torture. Why do you choose to bear so much alone?”

He opened his eyes to meet her worried gaze. “There is no one else,” he said with a shrug.

Her hands stilled, then dropped away. “You’re wrong. If you would but open your eyes, you’d see that you are surrounded by people who think the world of you, people who would help you…if you’d only let them.”

He gave her a weak smile, feeling his walls rebuilding now that he lacked her touch. “I don’t know how to let others help me. It’s not in my nature.”

She returned his smile. “I know. We are very similar in that respect. I too struggle to let others in. ‘Infuriating,’ I think you called me.”

“I’m sorry. It’s not you—”

“Don’t apologize,” she said with a laugh. “I am infuriating. And distant and judgmental, selfish…and I’m not a very good Christian most days…or a very good lady. I am neither chaste nor demure. Come to think of it, I might just be your nightmare.”

Her smile was intoxicating.

“Well, you’ll have to be my waking nightmare, for I never sleep,” he added, making them both grin.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I doubt very much that I’m helping…”

James breathed a deep sigh. “No—it—I feel…better,” he replied, surprised to actually mean the words.

Her smile brightened her face. “Good.”

Before either of them could say another word, the gong rang out. She jumped, head spinning towards the sound. Then she looked at him, already resigned to what was coming next.

“Miss Harrow,” he said with a nod. He left her there, feeling her eyes as she watched him walk away.