The Duke Goes Down (The Duke Hunt #1) - Sophie Jordan Page 0,27
he said to her—about her?
Clearly she was thinking about him too much. Whenever they were in the same room, Imogen’s gaze was drawn to him, and now, thanks to Mrs. Berrycloth, she couldn’t cease to contemplate his manly thighs. And he felt only indifference toward her? Wretch.
Suddenly she was heartily glad of all her meddling. Evidently her occasional stab of guilt that she was perhaps taking things too far with her sabotage was misplaced.
She regretted nothing.
He continued, “I need you to stop spreading lies and change the minds of those who are laboring under these delusions you’ve woven.”
She tsked. “That might be tricky.”
He took a step toward her, backing her deeper into shadows. “I don’t care if it requires Herculean effort. You owe me—”
“Owe you?” Outrage flared through her. “I owe you nothing.”
“You owe me the truth.”
She rolled her shoulders, squaring herself in front of him. “I cannot attest to the untruth of any of these allegations.”
“Oh, that’s rich.” He laughed roughly, looking off to the side as if searching for patience before facing her again.
She adopted an innocent look, blinking with exaggeration. “I think it a fair point.”
He grabbed fistfuls of his hair and tugged on the locks hard enough to make her wince. “See? Real! My hair is bloody real. You are welcome to pull it yourself.”
Her palms tingled and she curled her hands into fists at her sides to resist his irate invitation. The last thing she would ever ever do was lay hands to him.
“Not necessary. And very well,” she acknowledged with a shrug. “I suppose I can attest to that, if you insist. If anyone should put the inquiry to me I will tell them your hair appears quite real and you are not bald.”
“And as for my feet . . .” He stepped back and bent, reaching for his shoes.
“What are you doing?” She peered down at him curiously.
He looked up at her, a fiery glint in his eyes. “I want you to have no doubts, Miss Bates. You may count my toes.”
“That’s really not—”
It was too late.
He had one shoe and stocking off, and then the other. “See there. Count them. Ten toes. Now all the superstitious tattle can cease regarding the number of my toes. Let us put that one to rest.”
She peered down at his bare feet in the gloom. They were surprisingly nice feet. Long. Lean. Clean. Nails neatly trimmed. Until this moment she did not know that attractive feet were so very significant. And yes, there were indeed ten toes. Not that she expected to see any differently. She had spun the rumor from pure imagination. “Indeed,” she murmured. “I see that.”
He spread his arms wide at his sides. “And as for my chronic flatulence. I have now stood here for some time with you and have not given offense. I am quite certain you invented that particular rumor on the spot just now with Mrs. Berrycloth.”
Truer words had never been spoken, but she dared not admit such a thing to him. She would never confess. Never apologize to the wretch.
She did not consider herself a stubborn person. To anyone else, she would admit wrongdoing, but not to him. Not to this man. For some reason she was intractable when it came to him.
You would need to put a bag over her personality. Perhaps that was the reason.
“And,” he continued with a great breath, “I can assure you, I am not a terrible kisser.”
Fire flamed his eyes, a burst of light in the night, and she recognized that this one point on the matter of his kissing prowess stung more than all of the other rumors about him. Of course. His ego could not tolerate the belief that a woman might find him—or his lips—less than desirable, less than skilled. Vain peacock.
And so very predictable.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Ha,” she coughed out, the single sound brash and defiant.
He flinched. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said ‘ha.’”
“Yes, I heard you.” He shook his head as though trying to make sense of what was happening. “What does that mean?”
“Oh, did that sound not capture my complete disbelief on the matter of your kissing expertise?”
His eyes narrowed.
She continued, “You must confess, there is no way I can ascertain the truth of this. I can do nothing to dissuade others from believing this particular allegation—ack!”
In one smooth move, he reached out, closed his hands around her arms and tumbled her against his person.