The Duke is Wicked (League of Lords #3) - Tracy Sumner Page 0,21

neck, the inside of her wrist, all areas on vulnerable display before his oddly ravenous gaze.

One minor move and he could leave the woodlands they traveled through in cinders.

Contradictory desires tore at him. To protect her; to protect himself. To seek everything; to seek nothing. To run to her; to run away. Discernment of the path he should follow unraveling like silken thread until there was no path. He gazed at the twins, the girl dozing, the boy close to it, with a weighty feeling permeating his chest, similar to the boulder that had landed there when he’d returned to find his brothers dead and the ducal title his.

Responsibility, dread, anticipation.

They were alone, these Terrible Two. Through a Bow Street Runner he’d hastily engaged, Sebastian had learned enough to determine this. One connected to his world by her formidable mind, one by love for his sister. In over their heads in a sea he was considering diving into to try and rescue them. When he wasn’t such a solid swimmer himself.

Who was he—firestarter, scoundrel, scapegrace, lost duke—to think he could save anyone when he’d barely been able to save himself?

“She’s smarter than you,” Case murmured sleepily from where he’d wedged himself against the carriage wall. “Which is always the problem.”

Maybe that’s the attraction, Sebastian reasoned, and turned to stare out at the stormy world he traveled through.

Maybe that’s the attraction.

Delaney was in love. At-first-sight, total and complete love.

Not with the Duke of Ashcroft—but with his castle.

It was wondrous, it was amazing, even more magical by candlelight.

She tiptoed down an arched passageway, then took a narrow stairwell leading to the bowels of the dwelling, the air cooling with each step. To the English, it was nothing but a crumbling pile of sandstone, a burden, a hovel, but to an American, where everything was shiny and new, this house was a revelation.

They’d arrived after dark, snaking down a sweeping drive cut through towering oaks, starlight bathing their path in liquid silver. She’d known the moment a turret came into view through her carriage window—an actual medieval turret—that her heart and mind were engaged.

An extremely rare occurrence.

She couldn’t wait to find the library, dive into research about the house. The vaulted bridge they’d crossed had spanned what looked like a moat. An actual moat.

“This is studded oak. Tudor,” she’d murmured reverently as they’d crossed the threshold into his home, Delaney’s hand helplessly caressing wood she’d guess was six hundred years old. Bending down, she peered at the wrought iron hinges. “And the hinge is original to the structure.”

Arrested, Sebastian had glanced at her with a stunned expression, then shaken his head to bring himself back. “I purchased it because you can’t burn stone,” he’d said carelessly and escorted her to a bedroom he said was ideal for her: the Knave’s Suite. She could almost laugh at his jest, though, of course, he hadn’t.

Anyway, she didn’t believe it, didn’t believe him.

He loved this place, probably the only thing he loved aside from opium.

Worn carpets, nicked paneling, moist walls, warped floors, it was a gorgeous architectural tragedy. No one would acquire it for any reason except devotion because they yearned for it against better judgment. Delaney halted to press her palm against the cool stone and shivered. If the stairwell led to a dungeon, she would faint in ecstasy.

Grinning to herself, she continued down—and that’s when she heard it. Faint, haunting, sensuous, the music floating down the hallway to take her in its arms, a formidable enticement. She entered the chamber at the bottom to find the duke standing with his back to her, a violin tucked against his collarbone, his chin resting on the glossy wooden lip. He skimmed the bow over the strings with great skill, his elbow high, his form perfect. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered but lean, and he somehow made the entire scene one of elegance and grace. When he finished the piece, he turned, his breath cutting short as the bow slipped from his hand to the stone floor.

Heart racing, Delaney braced her elbow on the doorjamb. Say something, you idiot. But she continued to stand there, dumbfounded. It was always this way when she discovered an unexpected fact, a fact she hadn’t accounted for.

“As I mentioned, I had to find other outlets.” Sebastian lifted his chin from the instrument and went to his knee to retrieve his bow. “Sorry if I woke you. I didn’t think the sound would travel outside the oubliette. I don’t suppose your