Carolyn Jewel

One must do the outrageous with style. With élan. With complete conviction.

Because, good God, Lily Wellstone had the face of an angel, the body of a goddess, and the spirit of the devil glinting from her eyes. She was a woman worth losing his soul for.

She laughed, and the sound pierced his heart.

He nodded. A curt movement of his head, and she was, for no reason at all, convinced that the man before her was not in dislike of her but simply a man who did not have words come easily to him because he__ grown up alone. She thought of him as a boy. Lonely here, with no father and no mother to hold him, only the servants for company, and Killhope as an unceasing reminder of the centuries of duty and responsibility that were his. Her heart twisted up.

If he spoke, there was no possible outcome but another disastrous exchange of words at cross-purposes. The chances of him finding both the right words and the right inflection were, in his experience with her thus far, vanishingly small. He would either growl at her, or tell her what was in his heart.

She bent her head over the flowers. He knew she was not beautiful. He knew she did not see herself as the object of a man__ lust. He knew if he told her he found her desirable, she__ not understand his meaning. She__ think he meant something other than marriage. In that, she would be right, but a man could want both things from the same woman.

Miss Edith Clay brightened the room with her presence. Just from walking through the door, she__ made the room a happier place. This was true despite his having spent the last several months assuring himself his recollection of her had to be incorrect. His recollection was not incorrect. It was appallingly accurate.

She cocked her head. The ribbon tied beneath her chin glinted dully in the light. __ave I said something wrong?___o."__ have._ She stepped closer. __ou are the most inscrutable man I have ever met._ He laughed. No mirth at all. ____ quite serious._ She studied him. __o._ Her quiet voice lanced through him. __on__ look away. Not when I am about to understand you._ __re you certain you wish to?_ He held her gaze, and the silence of his hunting box became unendurable. He fixed in his head an image of her in his bed. Nude. And of him, there to touch, and taste, experiencing that moment when his prick slid into her body. Her. Not any woman, but her. Specifically. The woman who made him see beauty where he__ once seen only duty.

You are walking to Hope Springs?_ __es, Your Grace._ __n this weather?_ She glanced around and gave him a smile. __ haven__ any other weather to walk in.

Her smile hollowed out his chest. She__ changed since last he saw her. She was brighter. More vibrant. Happiness suited her.

She laughed, and the duke might actually have smiled, though one could never be certain.

He remounted. __ will ride with you._ With some effort, he gentled his voice. __f that would be agreeable to you._ __ow kind of you. Thank you.

He fell quiet, but she understood this was his way. He was not a talkative man. Once, she__ imagined him sitting alone in his house, a monster ready to devour anyone who came near. What she imagined now was a man who had both his rank and his natural reticence working against him. She smiled at him. If he continued in his gruff ways the rest of his life, she would defend him to anyone. Anyone.

Her gaze collided with the duke__. His eyes were a clear, pale green. Why was he staring so intently when there was hardly another woman less interesting than she?

She looked over her shoulder at him, as ever, not in the least affected by him or his consequence. Not one whit. She was a lady, yes, but she would never believe herself the sort of woman who might marry a duke. __ou aren__ the sentimental sort, are you?_ ____ told not._ She considered him, and he felt the curiosity behind her scrutiny of him. He had no idea what to make of that and so pushed off the wall he__ leaned against and headed for the door. She followed.

There is a view,_ he said. __ou will admire it._ A command. All wrong. He meant for her to hear that he wanted her to see the view, but no. By habit, he demanded that she accompany him. __ should like for you to see it. Please.

Dread that she would meet some other man and see in him all the joy of life that he lacked. __ will see you home._ The words came out all wrong, with gruff emphasis on the word will. One look at her, and he lost all chance at serenity. Because he had never in his life cared whether anyone liked him. He__ never thought about it. Until her.

He__ seen that absent look from her dozens of times in London. She thought herself invisible, and was not. Not to him. This was the second time he__ mentioned marriage to her. The second time she heard nothing but his words.