“You frighten me,” she said.
“Describe fear.”
“Is it not obvious?”
“No.” He leaned back. “Where does your fear reside?”
She kept her eyes from rolling. “You know how fear feels, Duke.”
“Do I?” He tilted his head. “Perhaps I did, once. Humor me.”
She frowned. “My chest is constricted.”
“How?”
Her frown deepened. “As if I were wearing stays.”
“Breathe,” he reminded again. “And go on.”
Why did she feel like a bug, pinned for examination? “I fear what you will do next and yet”—breathe—“my heartbeat pounds when I feel your touch.”
He placed her closed palm against his cheek. Reflexively, she opened her hand. The flesh beneath her fingers was rough.
“If yours is an apt description,” he said, “then I am not afraid.”
“Youare not afraid because I pose no threat to you,” she said accusingly.
“Don’t you?” he asked, more curious than assured, as if internally testing the question.
A mad little laugh broke free. “Hardly, Your Grace.”
“Ash.”
“Pardon?”
“Your Grace will become tedious. Ashbey if you must, but,” he hesitated, “I’d prefer Ash.”
“Do your otherfriendscall you Ash?”
“Yes,” he tilted his head. “Though I think of them as allies more than friends.”
She tugged on her hand. He held fast.
“Ah, I see your meaning,” he said slowly. “You should know that no other woman has occupied in this room. Not in my lifetime, at least.”
“You were married.”
“Yes.” His gaze shuttered. “She did not...join me here.” His tone flattened. “Been reading the peerage, have you?”
Yes. And curious as to why his wife and father had died on the same day. But she had no right to pry.
Her throat, suddenly dry, proved remarkably resistant to the apology she wished to offer.
“Ashbey,” she managed. “Why am I the first?”
“I haven’t any idea.” His gaze remained glacial, but its clarity could not be mistaken. He ran a finger along her face. “I respond to a pretty woman, as most men do, but I have felt nothing. Not for a very long time.” His eyes warmed. “Until you.”
Despite the fire and the silken robe, she shivered. “Until me?”
