mouth parted in shock, then quickly thinned to a prim line. “Don’t flatter yourself, sir. There is a simple scientific explanation for the phenomenon you have just observed. Cold air makes skin pucker.”
“So does heat,” he replied. It was evil to tease her. Truly evil to taunt her with his dark, debauched thoughts. And yet he couldn’t help adding, “Are you feeling a lick of fire between your legs?”
A swirl of the night air ruffled through the overhanging ivy.
“The intermission is almost over.” Her hands clenched. “I must be going back inside to my grandfather.”
Marco slowly stepped aside. “Yes, run on back to the bosom of your family, bella. As I said, it’s not safe for young ladies to wander around alone at night.”
“And as I said, sir, you might be surprised to find that some ladies know how to defend themselves,” she replied.
“You wouldn’t have a chance,” he said softly.
She moved past him, but not before leaving a last word hanging in the air.
“Don’t be so sure of that.”
Chapter Three
Repressing a sigh, Kate settled herself into the plush velvet seat of her grandfather’s carriage. Like all his possessions, it was of exquisite quality, but rather oppressive in its opulence. She preferred simpler things—all the gilding and gold-threaded draperies made her eyes ache.
Which matched the dull throbbing at her temples. The musical program had been even worse than she had anticipated. Lud, where did Lady Hamden find such egregiously awful singers? Opera was an art form, but she had heard a more melodic baritone from the rattle of rusty anchor chain.
And then, of course, there was the intimate interlude with Marco. Dear God, how dare he keep bedeviling her with his presence. She squeezed her eyes shut. How dare he tease such terrible longings to life inside her! Even now, a moist heat was lingering between her legs, an uncomfortable reminder of how little she had in common with the innocent young ladies of London.
The iron step shivered and a moment later the Duke of Cluyne eased his broad shoulders through the doorway. A liveried footman quickly fastened the latches and signaled the driver to set the team of matched grays in motion. The harness jingled, the wheels rolled.
Like clockwork, thought Kate. The duke’s servants functioned like a well-oiled machine.
“It was good of you to come tonight, Katharine.”
Kate looked up in surprise. Cluyne took obedience for granted. He expected people to bow to his wishes.
Unsure how else to respond, she merely murmured, “Of course, Your Grace.” Not ‘Grandfather,’ not ‘Cluyne,’ but the far more formal ‘Your Grace.’ His knees were just inches from hers, but in her mind he was distant, detached. A stranger in spite of their shared blood.
“Not that I imagine you enjoyed it,” he said gruffly. “Dreadful singers, dull conversation. But Lady Hamden is an old friend.”
“Of course,” repeated Kate.
“Her grandson and several of his friends were supposed to be in attendance. The fellows all belong to some sort of scientific society, so you might have found their company interesting. But I suppose the music scared them off.”
“That says something in favor of their intelligence.” She usually tried to temper her tart humor in the presence of her grandfather. However, the fact that he was taking it upon himself to find her a husband set her teeth on edge. Until now, Great Aunt Hermione had been in charge of finding a suitable match. But the poor lady must have thrown up her hands in despair.
“Be that as it may, Your Grace,” she went on. “Please do not feel obliged to act as matchmaker for me. I fear you will only be wasting your time.” And mine, she added to herself.
“Harumph.” The duke cleared his throat, as if trying to dislodge an irritant, and folded his arms across his girth. But rather than speak again right away, he turned his gaze to watch the moonlit mansions of Grosvenor Square roll by.
Lowering her lashes, Kate studied his profile. Austere. Autocratic. Arrogant. Those were the first adjectives that came to mind. Despite his advanced years, Cluyne was still a very imposing figure. His silvery hair was thick and showed no signs of retreating from the broad plane of his forehead. His brows were bushy, accentuating piercing green eyes and an aquiline nose. And though his mouth was usually set in a grim line, his lips were full and well-shaped. As for the jaw, its square shape and stubborn jut were all too familiar a sight—Kate saw them reflected each morning