Her head shot up.
Another tap. Not a bird, surely.
She scrambled to the window, pulling aside the curtain just enough to peek into the moonlight.
“Charlie?” she whispered.
The Duke of Kenbrook—although he would always be Charlie to her—stood just beyond the shrubs beneath her window,shadows slashing across the noble cut of his cheekbones and the hard set of his jaw.
“We need to talk,” he called softly.
Her heart thudded.
He could be here for any number of reasons—most likely to convince her to give up on attempting to purchase the land. Definitely not because he wished to rub his thumb across her wrist again, perhaps pull her closer this time…
“I’m not giving up!” she half-whispered, half-called down to him.
Instead of ridiculing her, however, he sighed. “Just… Come down. For once in your life, I’d appreciate it if you could forget…”
Forget?
“… the damn feud. Just this once.” Felicia’s heart skipped a beat when he added, “Please?”
Her feet were moving before her brain could even catch up. She grabbed her dressing gown and belted it tight over her night rail. Even though by all intents and purposes, it was modest, the fabric clung in places it oughtn’t, thanks to the heat of her skin and the curse of her very unladylike bosom.
No slippers. No bonnet.
Definitely no careful consideration.
She slipped through the back door and padded across the dewy grass until she reached him.
“Have you gone mad?” she hissed. “You can’t just… appear beneath a lady’s window like this!”
“Would you have preferred that I come to the front door? Announce to your father’s household that you and I need to discuss—”
Felicia reached up and clapped a hand over his mouth, silencing him before he could say it aloud—on the off chance anyone, however unlikely, might overhear.
And then she realized, with a strange little jolt, that she was… touching his mouth.
His lips, which she’d always imagined to be cold and hard—like the rest of him—were surprisingly soft. And warm.
And while she was having that disconcerting revelation, his gaze swept over her, slow and heated, lingering for a breath too long just below her neckline before climbing back to her eyes.
“I take it that’s a no?” he said, his lips moving beneath her fingers.
Flustered, she snatched her hand away as though burned. “What do you want, Your Grace?”
“You need to give up this mad scheme of yours—”
“Absolutely not. No.” She spun on her heel to walk away but only made two full steps before he reached out and caught her arm.
“Just… hear me out.”
She froze. His hand on her bare arm through the thin sleeve of her night rail was scandalous. Scalding. Paralyzing.
He took her silence as leave to continue.
“You looked at me today like I was the villain.” She heard his feet shuffle. Felt him move closer. “But… I’m not. I need you to give me your word that you’ll let Loxley do the bidding.”
