The Duke's Wife (The Three Mrs #3) - Jess Michaels Page 0,15

too long. “Fairness is of great importance to you.”

“Fairness should be of great importance to everyone,” she said, and edged past him to the sideboard. There she poured herself a whisky and stared at the liquid swirling in her glass. She sipped slowly, wincing at the burn of it.

“Now please, take your shot, Your Grace,” she said.

He shrugged. “Very well.”

He aligned the balls once more and then easily executed the shot she had been struggling with. She frowned. It would have been much easier if he hadn’t made it look so effortless. But she had never stepped down from dragons before, even ones with perfectly constructed forearms. So she drew a shaky breath, set her drink aside and lined up her shot. She measured it carefully as he watched, eyebrow arched.

“Shoot or don’t shoot, Abigail,” he finally said with a chuckle.

“Don’t rush me,” she scolded, but she took the cue from him and then carefully leaned over the table, trying to recall the right angles. She said a brief prayer to whatever patron saint might help her make a trick shot and put a duke in his place, and then she let the cue fly forward, rapping the ball.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion as she did so. She stared as the edge of the cue hit just the right spot on the underside of the ball and it roared up and forward, only just clearing the second ball in the row.

She let out a little scream, triumph and pleasure all at once, and pivoted to face Nathan. “Ha!” she crowed as she moved toward him almost against her will. She pushed the cue against his chest gently. “There now!”

But she didn’t release the cue. She meant to, but instead she left her hand there, flat against his chest. His very firm chest.

She looked up at him and he down at her in the quiet, the private of this room where no one could see them, no one would judge. And she found herself staring at full lips. He had a little scar over the top one, barely there, but she still wondered about it. Where had he gotten it? What would it feel like if he pressed it to her mouth?

“Good show,” he whispered, then leaned a little closer. “Abigail,” he breathed.

He was going to kiss her. She could see it in every bit of his posture, every line of his expression, every way that his breath hitched and his pupils dilated. And damn her to hell, but she wanted him to do it. She wanted to feel his horrible arms around her and his wicked mouth on hers.

Which was why she backed away, putting her back to him as she fought to regain her breath. This was not happening. She couldn’t allow it to happen, not with this man of all men.

“While it’s very satisfying to best you twice,” she said. “I think that is enough stimulation for the night.”

She shook her head at the innuendo of those two sentences. What was wrong with her?

But he didn’t acknowledge it or argue against her pulling away. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and nodded. “Of course. Well done, Abigail. Let me show you to the foyer and call for your carriage.”

She moved to the door without waiting for him to follow, though she felt his presence behind her with every step. He was too close as they meandered down the hallway, her hands shaking at her sides as they neared the foyer. His butler met them there, and Nathan said something to the man. As Gardner hustled off, Nathan motioned her toward the front parlor.

“Just until they bring the rig,” he explained.

She nodded and followed him into the room. She paced away from him, as far as possible so that the moment of weakness in the billiard room would not be repeated. To keep herself busy, she made a show of examining the portraits, just as she had in the first parlor where she had been left earlier in the evening.

She frowned at the painting she was met with. A young lady with thick blonde hair and beautiful, piercing blue eyes. The unknown woman wore modern clothing and the date of the painting was just two years before.

She glanced back and him and found he was watching her. “Is this…is this your sister?”

Nathan nodded slowly. “Yes. Ophelia.”

Abigail jerked her gaze away. “I know her name.”

“She…will be joining me in London in a few weeks,” he said,