The Duke Effect (The Rogue Files #7) - Sophie Jordan Page 0,77
. . . those words that he uttered rather grimly. What could that mean?
She moistened her lips. “What do you mean?”
“It is clear what must be done,” Constantine repeated with a touch of insistence. “What we must do.”
She reached for the counterpane and pulled it over herself. Serious conversations probably functioned better if one wasn’t naked.
He frowned as she covered up her nudity, as though he preferred she remained naked.
Perhaps he did not agree with her logic, but she felt more composed at least.
“I’m afraid I fail to understand you.” She shook her head in confusion. “What is clear?”
“After what just happened? Is it not obvious to you?”
Several things were obvious to her as she clutched the counterpane to her bare breasts. The primary item being that she was entirely too enamored of Constantine, which was insupportable.
She had thought she could do this. She had thought a physical liaison, a tryst, was possible without engaging one’s heart. She thought she was a sensible female who could balance such a thing.
And perhaps it was possible.
Only not for her.
Apparently, Nora was not capable of an affair. Or at least she was not capable of a meaningless affair with Constantine. Apparently, she was equipped only for something meaningful with him and that, unfortunately, wasn’t to be.
She tightened her grip on the counterpane and sat up, glancing from him to the door.
When was he leaving? Would he not take himself from her bed now? Her bedchamber? Is that not how these things, these trysts, were done?
He continued, “After this”—he motioned between them—“we haven’t any other choice.”
They would speak candidly of this then? She had not been convinced they would.
Constantine was not a man of excessive words. Nor was he the manner of man to proclaim his feelings or easily own his emotions. She wasn’t sure he possessed any softer sentiments at all.
Just an inflated sense of honor and duty.
She was duty to him. Nothing more. And that truth stung. Again, proof that she should leave this house as quickly as possible and take herself home where she knew every bump and ridge in the terrain, where nothing could surprise . . . or hurt her.
At any rate, what could he say?
However shattering, this had simply been a physical act. It was no more complicated than that. At least it would not become complicated. She refused to allow it to become a difficult thing. Especially considering she would be leaving.
He stared at her steadily, his impatience palpable, crackling on the air between them.
“I must confess, what you speak of is not obvious to me.”
A flash of exasperation crossed his face. “Come now. You’re clever. I don’t see how you haven’t reached the same conclusion I have.”
“I’m sorry. I must be obtuse,” she snapped, glancing at her bedchamber door again, wishing he would simply leave.
He motioned between them again. “We cannot pretend nothing happened between us.”
“Very true, we cannot do that. But we can make certain it never happens again.”
“That is neither here nor there. Whether it happens again or not, the damage has been done.”
Damage? She flinched. So what happened between them was damage?
She may have decided they would not repeat tonight and she would remove herself from here, but she had not thought of it in those harsh terms.
Her gaze slid toward the door, strategizing how she might get him to leave without just telling him to leave.
She faced him again. He looked at her expectantly, arching one eyebrow.
“Yes?”
“Need I be the one to say it?”
Her chin lifted. “I think you’re going to have to.”
“You are irreparably compromised.”
She blinked. At least he had not said ruined again. She might have slapped him if he had.
He held up both hands and pumped them in the air as though encouraging her to say something, to reach what clearly, to him, seemed an obvious conclusion.
“I’ll speak to the duke tomorrow and then we can travel to Brambledon to—”
“Wait. What? Why would you want to travel to Brambledon with me?”
“To inform your family that we must marry. Of course.”
Of course.
Must marry . . .
The word must made her feel faintly sick. She pressed a hand to her suddenly roiling stomach, wishing she could scrub the sound of it from her ears.
She laughed mirthlessly. “You really know how to charm a lady.” She held up two fingers. “I’ve been insulted with two thoughtless proposals from you now. Two.” She angled her head. “But can we even call these proposals since you have proposed nothing? You simply told me what