Page 42

He couldn’t counter her requirements because he didn’t know a single jest. He didn’t think he was self-absorbed, but he wouldn’t, would he?

“I shall keep your ideal in mind while finding you a bride,” Torie promised. “You’ll be glad to know that the Duke of Queensberry has no objection to my visiting your nursery after we marry. His mama supports parentless children as well, the only difference being that she visits orphanages.”

The blasted duke was fighting dirty, giving his future duchess permission to visit another man’s house.

“You will visit the nursery, because you’ll be living in my house,” Dominic stated. But he already knew that such statements had no effect on Torie. She had to be the most stubborn woman he’d ever met.

At this rate, she’d end up married to a duke simply because she refused to marry him. Frustration leaped through him before he had an idea.

He did have assets that the Duke of Queensberry did not.

He pulled off his coat and tossed it on the couch, followed by his cravat.

“You have an astonishing belief that if you simply say that I’ll marry you, the ceremony will miraculously occur,” Torie said, before she noticed what he was doing. Her eyes widened as he unbuttoned his waistcoat. “What on earth are you doing? I’ve made up my mind to marry the duke.”

“Your betrothal hasn’t been announced. I mean to convince you otherwise.” Dominic untied the knot behind his neck and then reached backward and wrenched his shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor.

Torie’s lips rounded, but he saw no apprehension in her face. She trusted him. He put his hands on his hips, letting her look her fill. Some women in polite society wanted their men to resemble reeds. Others did not. He had more breadth in his shoulders than the young actor in Tartuffe.

Torie appeared to be struck dumb.

Remembering the scene, he pulled out his rapier before he dropped onto a chair, throwing his leg over an arm precisely as Mylchreest had in the play. “Close enough?” he asked Torie, waggling his eyebrows.

Some women liked rippling muscles. He swung his rapier in case she was one of them.

Torie made a choking sound. “You are cracked.” There was a giggle in her voice—and more than that, an undertone of raw desire.

Dominic slung one arm on the back of the chair in case she’d like to assess his biceps. His tailor regularly grumbled that he was built like Hercules.

He looked over to assess her reaction—and froze. She was standing in front of the window, and her cotton gown followed every line of her body. The dress was caught up just under her breasts in the new style, designed without the panniers.

Desire roared through him. Every inch of Torie was perfection, from those glorious breasts to the natural curve of her lush hips, to the surprising length of her legs, given how petite she was.

“Are you having fun yet?” he asked, threading a sensual invitation through the question.

A tide of color swept over her face. “Put your clothing back on,” she hissed.

“We haven’t finished that scene,” Dominic objected. “Though I’m not going to strut across the stage.”

Then he rethought it, bounded to his feet, and sauntered toward her. All the time her gaze flicked over him, watching the play of muscles in his chest. When her teeth bit down on her bottom lip, he knew he had her.

Caught like a fish—his lure being the body Leonora loathed. Not that he really cared about his former fiancée’s distaste, but no one wanted to be told that a woman anticipated gagging after he took off his clothing.

Once he was standing just before Torie, Dominic drawled, “I do know how to have fun, Torie. I have many sportive tricks to show you.”

Her pupils were dilated. She was definitely not queasy.

“I will laugh at your jokes, but never at you,” Dominic promised. “I will strut across the room without my shirt whenever you ask, with no need to purchase tickets. We will have a good marriage, Torie. Better for not agreeing about play productions. Do you know what I think of that scene?”

She shook her head. He flexed his chest muscles, which made him feel ridiculous but gave her something to look at.

“That actor’s shoulders were twice the width of His Grace, the Duke of Queensberry, and mine are broader than his. Perhaps you didn’t consider such shallow traits when imagining yourself a duchess?”

She dragged her eyes away from the trail of hair that disappeared into his breeches. “Certainly not.” She almost managed to sound disdainful, but her voice was too breathy to achieve it.

“I didn’t when proposing to Leonora, either. She and I would have had a wretched marital life, our intimacies limited to unhappy encounters aimed solely at creating an heir.”

Torie cleared her throat. “Clothe yourself, if you please. What if someone walks in?” Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t think I’ll marry you because you compromised me. I won’t, even if you stroll out of here naked as a jaybird.”