His grip on her chin tightened, and she was well and truly ensnared. His obsidian eyes burned with desire, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. He trembled with obvious restraint, and she appreciated his strength and self-control, but what would it be like if he threw off the guise of duke, and bared himself as a man—a mind-blowingly sexy man with a touch worthy of worship? Yes, she was going to Hell for blasphemy, but she’d damn well enjoy every second of it.
A crackle and pop from the fireplace startled her. Like a splash of cold water in a sauna, she used the cool dash of reality to summon her logical mind back from where it sat to play Scrabble with her long-departed modesty.
Apparently, explosions of fire and ash worked on hardwired, hot-bodied dukes as well.
He released her, took a step back, and breathed deeply.
Why did she miss his touch already? The intimacy of his hand on her face was a delicious and addictive feeling.
“Miss Edwards, I am ashamed of my behavior. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt, and I shouldn’t have spoken to you with disrespect. My aunt will draw and quarter me when she finds out.”
Haven laughed.
His eyes darkened further.
“Well, in an effort to show you I’m not as evil as you think, I promise not to tell her.” She choked on a giggle at his relieved expression. Why did she keep laughing? Did his big, hot, oh-so-delectable body turn her mind to pudding?
The situation could only get worse.
He smiled.
Or better....
His unexpected but utterly swoon -worthy grin completely transformed his face. His brooding brow and the hard line of his cheeks softened, and his entire countenance brightened. Dear God, he was beautiful. His sexy grin turned her insides to butter. His twinkling black eyes propelled the heat rising within her right to her core. Like a cruise missile fired at an enemy vessel, it was going to hit right on target and make the whole damn ship explode.
He hadn’t smiled at her once since she’d arrived. At least not a real smile. Maybe he had a glass face, and any sharp, abrupt movement would shatter it to pieces. He’d brooded, glared, and even pierced her with his gaze four or five times a day, but not one single sincere smile.
She pulled her fingers from his grip, and turned to survey what remained of the painting.
Before its mutilation, it was a beautifully wrought piece of art. She could make out a wall of mirrors behind a red velvet upholstered high back chair in the background. Someone sat in the chair, but that was where the slicing and dicing had done the most damage. Someone poured their rage to the portrait, especially the face.
She picked up a piece of canvas and turned it over. She gasped. It was a small, beautifully painted section of a young woman’s face. She had deep blue eyes, flawless, ethereal skin, and rich chestnut brown hair shining in the rays of an adoring sun.
It took her breath away.
“She’s beautiful. Who is she?”
He furrowed his brows and tightened his jaw.
After moments of tense silence, he answered, “I don’t want to talk about her.”
His voice was hollow and pained.
Was the woman in the portraitthatimportant to him? His wife? Had she died? Was the portrait the last surviving image of the woman he loved? No wonder he was upset.
A strange depression settled over her, and she sighed.
Time to call it a night. She needed to get to her room, crawl into bed, and try not to relive the last five minutes over and over again in her dreams.
“Thank you for such a lively and unforgettable evening, Your Grace. I think I’ll go upstairs now.”
Turning to make her way to the door, she caught a flash of disappointment on his face.
His lips pressed into a thin line on his stony face.
What was that about?
“Goodnight, Miss Edwards. Sleep well.” His dark gaze never left her face.
