Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
I do, however, know one thing for certain. I am rather enjoying this odd breathlessness.
‘And I am no gentleman,’ he whispers, remaining unmoving by the door, his shoulder resting on the wood so very indifferently.
‘What is that supposed to mean?’ I ask, watching as his eyes dance, as if he might be having fun. I fear he is. I, however, am feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the situation that I have come to find myself in. I laugh at the absurdity of my thoughts.
You mean the situation you walked right into, Eliza?
What was I hoping to find here at the Winters’ residence? Evidence of his supposed crimes? Answers to my endless questions? A kiss? Wherever they have sent King George for going stark raving mad, I think they should send me there also, for I am without question missing my common sense.
‘It means what I say,’ he rasps, inciting a flurry of tingles inside me. I inhale and shift in my boots, though the full skirt of my dress and my cloak over it hides my fidgeting, I pray. Johnny Winters is a tingle maker. ‘I am no gentleman, my lady,’ he whispers, ‘so expect no chivalry or kindness.’
‘I believe I have already enlightened you to the fact that I am not a lady, Your Grace.’
‘Then what are you, Miss Melrose?’ he asks, pushing away from the wood and stepping further into the room. ‘A whore? A harlot?’ He nibbles the corner of his lip, in contemplation, I think. Is he really considering that? ‘An adventuress?’
Dangerous.
And not because he is suspected of murdering his family in cold blood. I believe I may have just crossed a line, so to speak. ‘How do you know my name?’
‘How do you know mine?’
I narrow an eye. ‘I overheard someone in the park the day you returned to London. You?’
‘I was curious about who was in my way that day, so I made inquiries.’
I feel my lips purse. In his way? ‘So you’re not dead,’ I say evenly, and I am sure I see him flinch.
‘I am not dead,’ he replies quietly.
‘And where have you been this past year?’ My instinct is off on a tangent, digging for all of the information I can get.
‘You are certainly full of questions. Am I on trial?’
‘Should you be?’
His eyes narrow, and despite feeling a little uncertain, I lift my chin in feigned confidence. The mystery of the Winters is a story desperate to be told and the only person in this world to tell it is before me. ‘Perhaps you have outstayed your welcome,’ he mumbles.
‘I was welcome?’
‘I invited you in, didn’t I?’
‘And now you are inviting me out.’ I say, my voice strong, eyeing the door past the Duke’s broad shoulder. He does not wish to discuss his family. Hmmm.
‘Why are you here, Miss Melrose?’
Good question. Why am I here? I cannot seem to rem— Ah! ‘I should like to know what you meant by your letter to me.’
‘Letter, my lady?’
‘Note,’ I retort, my eyes falling to the exposed flesh of his chest. It is the first naked chest I have seen, aside from my brother, of course, and it is an impressive one at that. Must he brandish it so unethically? ‘And I am not a lady.’
‘Perhaps,’ he muses, ‘I should be the judge of that.’
‘And how will you make your judgement?’ I ask, facing him with grit I am unsure I can uphold for very long.
‘By how loud you scream when I pleasure you.’
I inhale, stepping back. He really is an unrepentant, hedonistic rake! Provocative. Devastating in every sense of the word.
But I am not foolish like I expect many of his bed companions to be. Blinded by his unholy handsomeness and the body of a Greek god. It must be the reason their knees go weak for him, because I see no admirable qualities in his character, and I am not about to waste time trying to find any. I do believe I am looking at the most conceited, confident libertine, and despite being entirely opposed to conforming, I refuse to be subjected to such… such… such…
Excitement!
‘Good evening, Your Grace,’ I mutter, walking forward, wondering why on earth I am addressing him so courteously when he is certainly far from cordial.
The Duke takes one careful, purposeful step to the side, allowing me to pass, and I take the doorknob, turn, and look down. His exposed legs come into my view, and the fire burning intensely across the room seems to heat my back. Or could it be the heat radiating from the Duke?
‘You were leaving,’ he says, and I look up. Our eyes meet, and I am lost in the muted green tone of his stare. ‘My lady,’ he whispers.
‘Your Grace,’ I murmur, pulling the door open. And I quickly slam it shut again. He’s infuriating! ‘You lured me here.’