“Well, I do not care if you take my wordsunkindly, Your Grace,” she spat out. “Unhand. Me.”
And where were Catherine and Lord Thompson? Should they not have been back before any of their chaperones noted their absence?
Her eyes darted in the direction of the gardens that Catherine had disappeared into just earlier. Her tongue darted to swipe her bottom lip—a nervous habit, and one she wished she had stopped in its tracks before her captor could take note of it.
“Why?” he drawled. “So you can run off to your lover in the gardens?”
“I suggest you leave before anyone takes note of either of our absences and we are caught in such a compromising position,” she hissed at the stubborn, yet attractive, oaf. “You might find it quite entertaining to be forced into marriage, but I would appreciate not having to spend the rest of my life with an abominable cur such as yourself!”
The man was far more obtuse than she gave him credit for. She had to bemadto find any of this titillating—yet she most decidedly did, saints help her.
“Now, that would not be such a bad idea.”
Juliana froze at his words. Her eyes flew up to meet his gaze, his fierce hunger burning into hers, and the insistent throb deepened into something entirely new.
Longing.
A frisson of excitement skittered down her spine, coiling low in her belly. The ache within her began to throb anew with far more insistence than it did in the days past.
Mad. She had certainly gone mad to evenconsidertying herself in any way to this man.
He was all things wicked, dangerous, and reckless. Everything she was decidedlynot. Everything she could not afford to be.
“Do not toy with me,” she snapped, though her voice betrayed her with the faintest tremor. “You think this amusing? You think me some naïve girl to be dazzled and discarded at your leisure?”
His expression altered then, subtly, but unmistakably.
“I do not toy with what I intend to keep, Juliana…”
Her heart slammed against her ribcage. NotMiss Hawthorneormy sweetor any of the ridiculous but hollow nicknames he might have used for a hundred other women he found passingly notable.
Her name.
Juliana.
The soft gasp left her parted lips just before he crashed his mouth into hers, effectively stealing her breath. His fingers speared through her hair at the back of her head, holding her in place as his kiss laid siege to every last bit of her defenses. His tongue traced the seam of her lips before boldly pushing past her teeth, plundering her depths without mercy.
Her toes curled inside her satin slippers, her fingers clutching fistfuls of his jacket as she opened up pliantly for him. She felt the throb in her legs escalate into an ache as she pressed againsthis hardness, seeking some relief she could not name.
“Juliana!”
The shrill cry tore through the haze of desire that clouded her mind. Her eyes flew open as cold terror washed over her at the sound. The Duke quickly maneuvered her, blocking her line of sight, but not before she saw something that made her blood run cold.
Standing just a few feet away were her brother, her grandmama, and a scandalized Lady Hampton.
“You bastard!” Kit howled in rage.
Her life, as she knew it, was effectively ruined.
Chapter 8
It was a nightmare.
One that unfolded before her with startling, horrific clarity.
Her Grandmama, a handkerchief pressed to her lips, her eyes wide with horror. Lady Hampton, who managed to affect a scandalized look despite the ill-concealed glee in her sharp gray eyes. And Kit, wild with rage.
Not even the Duke of Stonevale’s broad shoulders could shield her from her imminent ruination.
